The scream did not end.
It tore through the world like a blade forged of grief and thunder, cleaving through the hush that had fallen over the ocean mere moments before. It was not the kind of cry that came from a throat or passed over a tongue. It was older than language, deeper than voice—something born in the marrow of the earth and sea, remembered only by things that had lived long enough to forget their own names. It was pain made sound. Fury, grief, memory, and command woven together into one unrelenting note that resonated not just in the air, but through the bones of every creature that heard it.
Selena staggered as it vibrated inside her chest, shaking something loose—something ancient—that she hadn't known was bound. Her ribcage ached as if her bones themselves had heard the scream before her mind could comprehend its meaning. The sound was not merely heard—it was remembered. Remembered by the sea, by the land, by the storm, and by the blood within her veins.
