The word locked the magic in place.
The shadow beneath Noel's boots tightened, no longer clinging to the sand but stretching outward—thin at first, then deeper, darker—until it reached across the water like a held breath finally released. It didn't tear open. It didn't snap.
It connected.
For a heartbeat, the world compressed around him. Not the sensation of falling, but of being slid between two surfaces that had always been closer than they looked. Pressure wrapped around his ribs, firm and guiding, like the current of a deep river pulling him sideways instead of down.
The sea vanished.
Not in a rush—just gone, left behind as a distant, patient darkness that no longer concerned him.
Then the pressure eased.
Noel emerged from another shadow, this one pooled beneath the crooked roots of a twisted tree. Bark like scar tissue towered above him, branches bent by wind and salt. He dropped to one knee on instinct, one hand bracing against damp soil.
Not pain. Just habit.
