The first thing I noticed about the Water Kingdom capital was how quiet it felt.
Not the eerie silence of the Earth Kingdom.
Not the brittle stillness of war.
But the kind of quiet that comes from people pretending everything is fine.
We broke through the cloud line at dawn.
Mist curled over the water like a living thing, pale and luminous, reflecting streaks of sunrise across its shifting skin. Just for looks — the temperature had dropped significantly since we crossed the border. Below us, the Water Kingdom spread outward in layered terraces carved into cliffs and stone — bridges arching between towers of blue-gray marble, waterfalls threading down like silver ribbons, canals winding through the city like veins.
It should have felt like sanctuary.
I wanted it to feel like sanctuary.
Instead, my chest stayed tight.
Revik shifted on my back, fingers digging lightly into my scales as the wind buffeted us.
"You sure this is the Water Kingdom and not some suspiciously peaceful trap?"
I snorted, banking left as I descended. Trust him to break tension even while half-recovered from whatever torture the prison had put him through.
"Pretty sure," I replied. "If it is a trap, at least it'll be a pretty one."
Willow flew beside me in her dragon form — emerald wings catching the light, posture tense even in the open sky. She hadn't spoken much since we escaped the Earth Kingdom. Not because she didn't have words.
Because every word looked like it cost her something.
We landed on a wide platform overlooking the harbor — water lapping against polished stone steps, boats drifting in slow, careful lines like they didn't dare disrupt the calm.
Revik slid off behind me, stretching with a grimace.
"Note to self: next time we escape an impossible prison, let's do it without the emotional trauma."
I shifted back into human form, legs wobbling slightly when my feet hit solid ground.
"Next time?" I muttered. "Please don't manifest that."
Willow shifted moments later, brushing dust from her hands like she could wipe the Earth Kingdom off herself if she tried hard enough.
Before any of us could speak—
Footsteps echoed.
Measured. Unhurried.
A delegation approached across the bridge: Water Kingdom guards in layered blue armor, banners rippling behind them. At their center walked a tall man dressed in flowing robes of deep navy and silver — hair long and pale, familiarly so. Eyes bright as sunlit ice.
The Water King. Muir's father.
He smiled the moment he saw us.
Warm. Open. Immediate.
"Lyra," he said, voice smooth and kind. "Primal Dragon. You honor our kingdom."
Something inside me tightened.
"Your Majesty," I replied, bowing very ungracefully. "Thank you for granting us refuge."
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Refuge is not granted. It is given freely. Anyone fleeing war or tyranny is welcome here. Even you, Princess Willow."
Willow gave a deadpan stare before offering a curt nod.
Revik muttered under his breath, "Wow. Ten seconds in and I already don't like him."
I didn't disagree.
The king's smile didn't waver.
"You must be exhausted. Injured. Starving. Traumatized. Come — we will see you cared for."
He turned his attention to Revik, gaze softening.
"You are the Lightning Prince's former general, yes? Muir's… friend?"
Revik stiffened slightly.
"Unfortunately."
A flicker of amusement crossed the king's face.
"You will be safe here."
Safe.
The word felt… rehearsed.
Behind my ribs, something stirred.
Kagutsuchi's presence flared faintly — not alarm, not certainty, but suspicion.
Careful, little flame, he murmured. Still waters often hide sharp things beneath.
Njord's voice rolled through me more quietly, deeper — like a tide hesitating before retreat.
He smiles too easily. And water does not trust what never ripples.
I kept my expression neutral.
Tadewi stepped forward from behind him, her presence cutting through the polite calm like a gust of wind.
"Your hospitality is always appreciated," she said coolly. "But the Primal did not come only to rest."
The king inclined his head, still smiling.
"Of course."
"Come, Wind Child," she said. "You will be bunking with me."
Something passed between them — history, tension, something unsaid.
I noticed.
And I wasn't sure I liked it.
The Water Kingdom's upper city gleamed like a promise.
White bridges arched over slow-moving canals. Sunlight scattered across tiled rooftops like shards of gold. People smiled easily here. Laughed easily. As if the world beyond their harbor walls weren't breaking at the seams.
But promises had weight.
And I carried too many broken ones.
Tadewi walked ahead of us, her steps steady despite everything she carried — grief, responsibility, the quiet burden of leading a scattered people. The Air Nation refugees followed behind her as soon as she entered the refugee area: families, elders, children clutching what little they'd salvaged from their homes.
The Water King had offered them sanctuary.
Not a palace.
Not luxury.
But land.
Safety.
Space to breathe.
We passed beyond the city's central district into a quieter stretch of cliffs overlooking the sea, where the air felt cleaner and the wind tasted less like politics — and more like freedom.
Canvas shelters and light stone structures dotted the plateau — temporary, but carefully arranged. Wind ribbons fluttered from poles. Prayer strands swayed between posts, whispering in the breeze.
A refuge.
Not the same as the Air Nation.
But alive.
Tadewi slowed as we reached the heart of it.
"This is where we will rebuild for now," she said calmly. "Not what we lost. But what remains."
People bowed their heads to her as we passed.
She did not bow back.
Leadership weighed differently on some people.
When we reached the rise overlooking the camp, Tadewi stopped beside me.
"The Water King is not a fool," she said quietly, eyes scanning the horizon. "But he is a man who mistakes control for safety."
I folded my arms loosely.
"That's… concerning."
"He believes neutrality is strength," she continued. "He believes choosing no side protects his people."
Her gaze shifted to me.
"But in times like this, refusing to choose is still a choice."
I thought of Raiden.
Of corruption.
Of relics.
Of kingdoms standing at crossroads.
"So what should I expect?" I asked.
Tadewi's expression softened — not much, but enough.
"Expect ice," she replied. "Cold. Patient. Watching for cracks."
She hesitated, then added quietly,
"And expect yourself to be tested."
I swallowed.
"Honestly, when am I not being tested?"
A faint flicker of amusement crossed her face.
"You are right. That will not change."
Princess Willow stood near the entrance.
I'd thought she was following behind us — then remembered earth-wielding.
She straightened when she saw us, posture respectful but tense, as if bracing for judgment she wasn't sure she deserved.
Tadewi inclined her head slightly.
"You require no introduction," she said coolly. "I know exactly who you are."
Willow held her gaze.
"And I know who you are."
A pause.
Tension.
History.
Expectation.
"I did not expect to find myself here," Willow admitted honestly. "Standing beside the Primal Dragon and the Air Dragon. Let alone all of us in the Water Kingdom, of all places."
Her eyes flicked to me.
"But," she added, "I know that being here is the right thing."
I blinked.
Then offered her a small smile.
"For what it's worth, I didn't expect to be here either."
Revik muttered under his breath,
"None of us did."
Willow exhaled — like someone quietly relieved.
"Come inside," Tadewi said. "The wind carries too many ears."
Inside smelled like tea, incense, and quiet determination.
Woven rugs.
Low tables.
Wind chimes humming softly with every movement of air.
We settled into a loose circle.
Revik leaned carefully against a pillar, still pale, still recovering, but stubbornly upright.
Tadewi poured tea with slow, deliberate movements.
"I did not intend to sit idle while the world burns," she said. "So I listened. I watched. I searched."
Her eyes met mine.
"And I found something."
My pulse ticked up.
She slid a folded bundle of parchment across the table.
"Trade routes," she explained. "Ship manifests. Names of brokers. Places where children disappear."
My chest tightened.
Slave traffickers.
Sorin Vale.
The girls.
"I needed someone who could verify whether this information was real," Tadewi continued. "Someone who understands secrets. Hidden paths. False ledgers."
Her gaze sharpened.
"A thief."
I huffed softly.
"You make it sound so dignified."
"You make it sound survivable," she replied calmly.
Revik straightened immediately.
"She will not go alone."
His voice was steady — but thinner than usual.
"I'll go with her."
I turned to him flatly.
"No offense, Revik, but you are the last person I'd take on a mission that requires quiet."
He gasped.
"Excuse you?"
"You sound like a falling bookshelf," I added.
Before he could fire back, a familiar smug voice drifted from the doorway:
"You should hear his snores," Muir said dryly. "They could wake the dead."
Revik whipped around.
"Traitor."
Muir smirked.
"Accurate traitor."
For a moment — just a moment — it felt almost normal.
Almost light.
Almost like we weren't standing at the edge of another disaster.
Later, I stepped outside onto the overlook.
The sea stretched wide and endless below.
Wind tugged at my hair.
I thought of the Water King.
Of Tadewi's warning.
Of Willow's choice.
Of the girls who had died because of Sorin Vale.
And of Raiden.
Somewhere out there, he was moving too.
Toward relics.
Toward power.
Toward a path he might not come back from.
Toward a path that will one day collide with mine again.
And I wasn't sure I was ready.
I curled my hands into fists.
"This isn't over," I whispered to the night. "Not for them. Not for anyone… Not for us."
I looked inward and gently brushed the small thread that connected us.
The wind answered — soft, steady, knowing.
"Even if the darkness takes you… I won't let go."