The Rule That Was Broken
The island had not seen sunlight in ten years.
Westwood existed beneath a sky of permanent twilight, where the moon ruled with quiet authority and the stars watched like unblinking eyes. The sea wrapped the island in dark silver waves, patient and ancient, as if guarding a secret too dangerous to surface.
Tonight, the mangroves trembled.
Deep within the limestone cave, a mirror buried in mud and roots began to stir.
It rattled softly at first—an almost apologetic sound—before the air thickened and the water along the cave walls shivered. The fireflies fled. The ocean drew back as if holding its breath.
Someone, somewhere beyond the Monochrome Borderline Sea, had touched its twin.
And rules older than memory were being violated.
A young woman stood barefoot at the edge of the shore, the hem of her dark dress soaked by restless waves. Her long hair whipped wildly in the salt-heavy wind, and though she did not yet understand why, her heart ached as if something precious had just been stolen from her.
Far away, under a different sky, a man stared into a mirror that should never have answered him.
Between them stretched a fate written in tides and blood, in broken oaths and forgotten kingdoms.
The sea had been awakened.
And it would demand its price.