All povs
The sea did not want to release her.
Aerin felt it in the way the currents hesitated, tightening briefly around her ankles as if reconsidering, as if the water itself were struggling against a command it despised. The bond beneath her skin throbbed low and steady, no longer warm—aching now, like a limb pulled too far from its body.
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt between them.
"I need time," she said again, though her voice wavered. Saying it aloud made it real. Made it hurt.
The Tide Prince inclined his head slowly, restraint written into every line of his body. "Time on land will quiet the bond," he said, even as the sea betrayed him—currents flaring erratically at his back. "It will give you space to think."
The Abyss King did not move.
He stood just beyond her reach, towering and still, the darkness of the deep clinging to him like a second skin. His gaze followed the faint glow of the crescent beneath her collarbone, his jaw tightening as if holding something dangerous in check.
"Space," he repeated softly.
The word tasted bitter.
Aerin met his eyes despite the instinct screaming at her to look away. "I won't disappear," she said. "I just—"
"You will return," he said.
Not angry. Not pleading.
Certain.
The conviction in his voice sent a sharp ache through her chest.
The Tide Prince stepped closer then, placing himself deliberately between them—not in defiance, but balance. "She must choose without pressure," he said quietly. "Or the vow will fail before it begins."
The Abyss King's gaze flicked to him, dark and volatile. "And if the bond fractures while she is away?"
"It won't," the Tide Prince replied, though his fingers curled slowly at his side. "Not yet."
Aerin didn't miss the hesitation.
The water shifted beneath her feet as the sea finally obeyed, lifting her gently upward. The bond stretched painfully thin, like a thread pulled too far, vibrating with protest.
As she rose, she felt it—them—not voices, not thoughts, but presence tearing loose from her awareness.
It was like losing gravity.
When her head broke the surface, the air felt wrong—too sharp, too empty. She gasped instinctively, lungs burning as the sea released her fully.
Below, the water darkened.
The last thing she saw before the waves closed was the Abyss King's eyes—black, endless, burning with something dangerously close to fear.
On land, everything felt… incorrect.
The shore she had known all her life suddenly seemed hostile, stripped of its quiet familiarity. The waves sounded louder, harsher, crashing without rhythm. The wind cut through her thin clothes, raising goosebumps along her arms.
She climbed the path toward the village on unsteady legs, each step away from the sea tightening the ache in her chest. Her skin felt dull, heavy, as if something essential had been peeled away and left behind.
That night, sleep found her whether she wanted it or not.
She dreamed of water.
Not the gentle shoreline, not the familiar depths—but a vast, open expanse where the sea had retreated unnaturally far from land, leaving slick, glistening scars across the earth.
She stood barefoot in the shallows, the crescent beneath her collarbone glowing faintly, painfully bright.
Something moved beyond the waterline.
Not swimming.
Waiting.
A shape stood at the edge of the exposed seabed—too tall, too still. It did not breathe. It did not blink. Its attention pressed against her like a hand at her throat.
You left, it whispered—not in sound, but pressure. Now you are visible.
Aerin tried to scream.
She woke gasping, heart slamming against her ribs, sheets damp with sweat. Her room felt too small, the shadows too deep. She pressed her palm over the crescent and hissed as cold flared beneath her skin.
Not warmth.
Not comfort.
Warning.
The dreams returned the next night.
And the next.
Sometimes she saw her mother standing on the shore, hair whipping wildly as she shouted words Aerin could never quite hear. Other times, the sea itself writhed unnaturally, tides pulling back in panic rather than rhythm.
Always, there was the presence.
Closer.
Watching.
By the fifth night, Aerin stopped sleeping altogether.
Beneath the sea, the absence was unbearable.
The Abyss King shattered stone without realizing it, pressure waves rippling violently outward as his control finally snapped. The bond raged beneath his skin, screaming for its missing center, reacting as if a limb had been severed.
"She is not safe," he growled.
The Tide Prince felt it too—the constant, gnawing pull toward the surface, toward land that had never interested him before. His patience frayed, sharp words escaping him where calm once ruled.
"I know," he snapped. "Every current tells me the same."
The sea reflected their unrest.
Storms formed without warning. Ancient migratory paths twisted. Tides rose and fell erratically, ignoring celestial rhythm.
The Sea Council convened in haste.
"You have destabilized balance," the eldest Councilor said, her voice echoing through the chamber like a tolling bell. "The anchor walks unguarded on land."
"She is not a possession," the Tide Prince said tightly.
"And she is not expendable," the Abyss King added, eyes blazing.
The Councilor's gaze hardened. "Nevertheless, something stirs."
The chamber stilled.
"An Echo," she continued. "Land-bound. Old. Drawn to vow-breaker blood."
The Abyss King went very still.
"It should not have awakened," he said.
"It has," the Councilor replied. "And it follows her."
On land, Aerin stood at her window, staring out into the darkness as the wind rattled the shutters. The village slept uneasily beneath a sky heavy with clouds.
She had the distinct, horrifying sensation of being watched.
Not from the sea.
From somewhere much closer.
The crescent at her collarbone pulsed once—cold, insistent.
Far below the waves, two kings turned toward the surface at the same moment, fury and fear colliding into a single certainty.
The separation was a mistake.
And whatever had awakened on land had been waiting a very long time for her to be alone.