The ocean parted like a faithful servant as Cale waded deeper into the impossible sea. The water swirled around his legs, not with the chaotic churn of natural waves but with deliberate, almost reverent movement.
It caressed his skin, then pulled back, leaving barely a ripple in its wake as he advanced toward the submerged temple.
Apollo felt the bow against his back settle into a steady rhythm, its earlier frenzy replaced by a calm pulsing that matched Cale's measured steps.
The gold in his veins cooled to the same tempo, no longer burning with urgency but humming with satisfied recognition.
"Look at the water," Mira whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of waves. "It's moving for him, like it knows him."
"Or it's hunting him," Thorin countered, his thick fingers still clenched around his axe haft. "I've seen predators lure their prey with gentle movements before they strike."
