The village spread out like a rainbow across the sea. From the high planks of the dock we followed Kaelen into its heart, each step revealing more color, more motion, more life.
The homes rose on stilts above the shallows, their walls woven of reeds painted in bright dyes—turquoise, crimson, sun-gold. Shells and driftwood dangled from the beams, clinking in the breeze like tiny bells. Ropes of drying seaweed hung between platforms. Ladders led down into water so clear I could see schools of silver fish darting between the stilts.
Everywhere there were people, and every one of them worked with their hands.
An old woman knelt beside a cracked canoe, carefully binding it with strips of kelp. Her fingers moved with the surety of decades, not a motion wasted. Two men mended a torn fishing net, humming a low song that others around them picked up, until the whole dock seemed to thrum with rhythm.
Children scampered barefoot across the planks, leaping from rail to rail without fear of falling. One boy ran straight past me, laughed, and dove into the lagoon. A dolphin's sleek back broke the surface a heartbeat later, letting him climb on and ride it like a horse.
"Gods above," Mira whispered. Her eyes shone like she might burst into tears just from looking. Her minnow spiraled around her head, flickering in approval.
We passed warriors next. They stood waist-deep in the surf, bare-chested, eyes shut, their movements slow and deliberate. Arms curved, hands pressed, bodies swayed as if they were waves themselves. The water responded: small ripples turned into spirals around their legs, circling them without breaking their balance. Every motion was controlled, precise, almost like a dance.
"It's like taichi," Darin muttered, wide-eyed despite himself.
Lyra nodded slightly. "Flow. Not force. They're listening to the sea, not fighting it."
Callen folded his arms, watching with a scowl that looked almost defensive. "Pretty tricks," he said. But I saw the way he lingered, the way his jaw tightened when one of the warriors drew a thread of water into his palm like a ribbon of glass.
Further out, others swam beneath the surface in pairs. They slipped through the blue like shadows, disappearing for minutes at a time before resurfacing, only to dive again with spears of coral in hand. They never seemed to strain, never gasped for air. It was as natural to them as walking.
We walked on in silence, soaking it in. Every corner of the village bloomed with color and life. Painted cloths fluttered in the breeze, patterned with waves and whales. Bright fish swam alongside the stilts, unafraid of the humans above. A great sea turtle glided lazily near the docks, and children swam to it without hesitation, clinging to its shell until it carried them back.
"This is paradise," Mira breathed.
For once, even Callen didn't argue.
Kaelen led us to a wide platform where the villagers had begun preparing a feast. A fire pit blazed at the center, ringed with smooth white stones. Flat leaves were laid out as platters, already heaped with fruit: sea-grapes that burst sweet and salty on the tongue, long pale roots roasted until they split with steam, bright slices of melon that dripped down your chin when you bit them.
Fish roasted whole on spits—red-scaled, blue-finned, some larger than my arm. The smell of salt and smoke filled the air, rich and comforting. Bowls of stew simmered, thick with seaweed and shellfish. Children carried trays of cups carved from bone, filled with a drink that shimmered green in the firelight. When I tasted it, it was sharp, tangy, alive—like the sea had been distilled into liquid fire.
The people sat in circles, cross-legged on woven mats, and we were welcomed without hesitation. The Islanders clapped our backs, pressed food into our hands, laughed when Mira tried to copy their greetings and tripped over the words.
One warrior with hair braided in long cords leaned toward me, eyes glinting. "Wraithborn," he said. His accent made the word sound like a wave breaking. "We've heard your name across the water. You fought the raiders. Freed captives."
I nodded, a little stiff. "We fought because we had to."
"And because you could." He grinned, showing white teeth. "Strength is meant to be used."
A cheer went up as musicians began to play—hollowed shells struck like drums, bone flutes trilling high, voices weaving into a rhythm that matched the crash of the waves below. Islanders rose and danced barefoot, their movements fluid as the tide, arms arcing, bodies swaying, every step a mimicry of the sea. Mira was pulled into the circle within moments, laughing as she stumbled through the steps. Even Darin cracked a smile watching her.
I sat back, plate in hand, letting the music wash over me. For a time, it felt like we had left war and ruin behind. Like we had found a world untouched by corruption, a place where life was simple, joyful, whole.
But then my gaze drifted back to the warriors beneath the water, surfacing only to dive again. They moved like shadows through the darkening blue, never breaking for air.
"How?" I murmured, more to myself than anyone. "How do they breathe without surfacing?"
Lyra heard me. She didn't answer at once. She just studied the swimmers with a thoughtful, almost knowing look. Then she glanced my way.
"That," she said softly, "is the lesson waiting for you."
A shadow moved at the edge of the firelight. An old man with skin as wrinkled as driftwood, hair white as foam, leaned on a staff of twisted coral. His eyes, sharp and pale as sea-glass, fixed on me. He had been watching for some time.
He stepped closer, joints creaking, and lowered himself beside me with surprising grace. His voice rasped like the tide over stone.
"They draw upon their Soulkin," he said.
I blinked. "Their… what?"
The elder frowned, tilting his head as though I'd spoken in nonsense. "Their Soulkin. The other half of their spirit. Do you not see them?"
I glanced back at the swimmers. They darted like silvered shadows, cutting through the surf. I saw no animals, no hawks or wolves or stags beside them. Nothing at all.
"I don't see anything," I admitted. "No companions. No Soulkin."
The elder studied me for a long moment. His expression shifted—first confusion, then pity, then something like dismay.
"You walk with them," he said finally. "You carry them in your breath, in your bones. They are not beasts you command, but kin you become. When my grandson swims with the turtle, he is not beside it. He is it. He takes its lungs, its patience, its endless breath. That is how he moves beneath the waves. Do you truly not know this?"
My chest tightened. "No one ever told me that was even possible."
Lyra leaned in, brow furrowed. "We thought Soulkin were companions—separate, like Pan and Oriel."
The elder's lips twitched, almost a smile, almost a grimace. "Separate? No. That is a child's view. Your Soulkin is your shadow, your echo. When you merge with it, there is no division. Its strength is yours. Its senses, yours. It does not walk beside you—it is you."
I sat stunned, staring at the water where warriors glided like phantoms. I remembered Nyx's shadow-paired strikes, Ari's hawk circling above. Brenner wrestling with a bear's roar. I had thought them powerful allies. I hadn't imagined what it would mean if the bond went deeper.
"But… how?" The word escaped before I could stop it. "How do you do that?"
The elder tapped his chest with one finger, slow and deliberate. "Not with hands. Not with strength. Here. You let go of the skin and the fear that holds you. The Soulkin is always waiting. But most are too deaf to hear it."
Mira, listening intently, leaned forward. "So if Rowan had, say, a minnow—"
I elbowed her lightly, scowling. She grinned but kept her focus on the elder.
"—then he could… swim like one?"
The old man chuckled, low and deep. "Not swim like one. Be one. A shoal of minnows moves as one mind. One turns, all turn. No predator may catch them, for they are many and none. If the boy carries such a Soulkin, he carries the sea's own secret of survival."
The fire crackled. The drums and laughter behind us seemed far away. I found myself staring down at my own hands, remembering the small silver flicker of scales I'd seen since the storm, the bond that still felt so new and uncertain.
Could I truly become that?
The elder's voice softened. "You will learn. The sea gives, and it takes. If it has given you a Soulkin, it has already chosen your lesson. You need only surrender enough to hear it."
I swallowed, throat dry despite the salt air. Lyra was watching me, her expression unreadable, though her hand rested lightly on Bounty's flank as if she, too, was wondering what it meant for her own bond.
For the first time since leaving Wraithborn, I felt something deeper than awe, deeper than fear. Possibility.
And, beneath it, the cold edge of responsibility.