Violet stood there, silently...
His voice was hollow. Empty. "You didn't even come to see me."
My heart dropped into my stomach. Turned to lead. To ice.
"Papa, no—"
"Maybe..." The knife clattered from his hands. "Maybe I was too weak."
"PAPA!"
***
Violet's eyes snapped open.
Her cheek was wet—tears or sweat, she couldn't tell. Her chest heaved, lungs pulling air like she'd been drowning.
"What happened to you?"
Kari's voice. Close. Concerned.
Violet jerked upright. The kelp stuck to her face where moisture had gathered.
She wiped at it frantically, trying to compose herself.
"I—" Her voice cracked. "I'm fine."
"You're covered in sweat." Kari sat nearby, yellow eyes reflecting the gem-light. "And you were crying in your sleep."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't lie to me, child." Kari's tone was gentle but firm. "I've seen enough trauma to recognize it. What did you dream?"
Violet's hands clenched in the kelp beneath her. "The weaves..." The words spilled out before she could stop them. "They're moving. Shifting. One thread over another."
"What?"
"The threads, the weaves.." Violet's breathing quickened. "What happened to Kael—I couldn't stop it. I tried. I planned. I warned everyone. But it still happened. He still died."
Her voice rose, panic bleeding through. "And now Papa—Garrett—what if I can't save him either? What if everything I'm doing is useless? What if the threads just... keep breaking no matter what I do?"
Kari moved closer. Her hand landed on Violet's shoulder—warm, solid, grounding.
"Listen to me." Kari's voice cut through the spiral. "Whatever future you're seeing, whatever you think you know—it's not written in stone. Threads can be rewoven. Fates can change."
"But—"
"Kael died, yes." Pain flickered across Kari's face. "But because of you, hundreds survived.
Children who would've been slaughtered are sleeping safely right now. That's not nothing."
Violet's throat tightened. "It's not enough."
"It never is." Kari's grip tightened. "But it's what we have. And sometimes..." She paused, choosing words carefully. "Sometimes saving everyone isn't possible. Sometimes you have to choose who lives. That's not failure. That's reality."
Violet stared at her hands. "What if I choose wrong?"
"Then you live with it." Kari released her shoulder. "Like the rest of us."
Silence settled between them. Around them, the chamber was quiet—most of the Beastkin asleep, exhaustion finally overtaking fear and grief.
Through the transparent walls, the ocean continued its eternal dance. Fish glowed. Coral swayed.
The darkness pressed close but never quite touched the whale's protective light.
"Get some rest," Kari said finally. "Real rest. We have two more days in this belly, and then..." She looked toward the walls. "Then we fight to keep your family safe. Together."
Violet nodded slowly.
But as she lay back down, pressing her cheek against cold moss.
She could feel her breath—shallow, uneven, refusing to steady.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed her again. But sleep brought no peace—only more dreams of faces she couldn't save and threads she couldn't hold.
***
Two days crawled by like wounded animals.
The Beastkin settled into the strange rhythm of life inside the whale.
Children played in the kelp, their laughter echoing off organic walls.
Mothers sang old songs to calm the restless.
Warriors maintained weapons and told stories of battles long past.
But beneath it all—a tension.
Vael spent hours sitting by the transparent wall, watching the ocean pass.
Sometimes he'd trace patterns in the condensation that gathered there—circles, spirals, shapes without meaning.
His father's fangs never left his neck.
He touched them constantly, unconsciously, like checking a wound that wouldn't heal.
Eivor had given up complaining after the first day. Now he just sat in corners, occasionally muttering about "never traveling by fish again" and "why did I agree to this." But he stayed. Didn't abandon them. That counted for something.
Bara moved through the chamber like a benevolent storm—checking on the wounded, settling disputes, making sure food was distributed fairly. His presence was grounding.
A reminder that leadership continued even in the belly of a beast.
Kari divided her time between organizing the warriors and sitting with the mothers.
She understood grief in ways Bara couldn't—the specific weight of losing mates, of raising children alone, of continuing when everything said to stop.
And Violet...
Violet watched them all. Memorized their faces. Counted heads obsessively, making sure everyone was still breathing, still present, still alive.
She barely slept.
When she did, the dreams came—Papa's hunched shoulders, Kael's final breath, threads snapping one by one until nothing remained but darkness.
On the second night, Bara found her sitting alone near the transparent wall, staring out at nothing.
He lowered himself down beside her with a grunt. For a long moment, neither spoke.
"You carry too much," he said finally.
Violet didn't turn. "Someone has to."
"No." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "That's the lie we tell ourselves.
That if we just carry enough, shoulder enough, plan enough—we can control everything." He paused. "But you can't. None of us can."
"Then what's the point?" Violet's voice cracked. "If I can't save everyone, if all my knowledge just leads to more death—"
"The point," Bara interrupted, "is that you try anyway. Not because it guarantees success. But because trying is what separates us from the beasts that only know survival."
He gestured at the sleeping Beastkin around them. "They're alive because you tried. That matters."
"Does it?" Violet finally looked at him. "Kael's still dead. The Princess is still out there. The capital is still planning to slaughter the dwarves next, and then who knows—"
"And you'll face that when it comes." Bara's massive hand landed on her head—not hard, just present. "But not alone. You understand? You're not fighting this war by yourself anymore."
Violet's throat tightened. She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Bara stood, joints popping. "Get some rest. Real rest. Tomorrow we reach the northern shore, and then the real work begins."
He walked away, leaving Violet alone with her thoughts and the endless ocean beyond the walls.
She pressed her palm against the transparent barrier. It was warm.
A reminder that even in the deepest darkness, life persisted.
The thought didn't comfort her.
But it helped.
A little.
***
Third Day
Violet sat with her cheek pressed against her arm, knees drawn to her chest.
The chamber had grown quieter as the journey neared its end.
Anticipation mixed with dread—the relief of solid ground warring against the uncertainty of what came next.
Through the transparent walls, the water had changed.
Lighter now.
Less pressure.
They were rising toward the surface.
"We'll be there in a few hours."
Vael's voice. He settled beside her, copying her posture—knees up, arms wrapped around them. His tail curled around his feet.
"Hmm." Violet glanced at him. Started to speak. Stopped. Started again. "Vael— I'm—"
"Don't say it." His smile was small but genuine. The first real smile she'd seen since his father died. "You have nothing to apologize for."
"But—"
"Whatever is troubling you..." He turned to face her fully, grey eyes serious. "I promise—I will solve it all!"
He extended his hand toward her—palm up, open, offering.
Violet stared at it. At the scars on his knuckles from training.
At the calluses forming from holding weapons too large for his age.
At the strength in fingers that still trembled sometimes when he thought no one was watching.
She took his hand.
It was warm.
"You don't have to solve everything," she said quietly.
"Maybe not." His grip tightened. "But I can try. That's what pack means, right? We face things together."
Something in Violet's chest loosened. Not completely. Not enough to breathe easy.
But enough.
"Together," she repeated.
"Together," Vael confirmed.
They sat like that—hands clasped, shoulders touching—as the whale carried them toward whatever came next.
Around them, the Beastkin began to stir. Packing what little they had.
Preparing for landfall. Mothers woke children.
Warriors checked weapons.
Elders gathered in small groups, discussing routes and settlements and futures that felt impossibly distant.
Bara's voice boomed across the chamber. "Listen up! We reach shore within the hour! Gather your belongings! Stay with your groups! No one wanders off alone!"
Kari moved through the crowd, touching shoulders, offering quiet reassurances.
Her presence steadied them—a reminder that leadership hadn't died with Kael.
Eivor stumbled over to where Violet and Vael sat, face pale but determined. "If we die on land after surviving inside a fish, I'm going to be probably turn into a maddened ghost."
Despite everything, Violet laughed. "We're not going to die."
"You don't know that."
"No," she admitted. "But I'm choosing to believe it anyway."
Eivor stared at her for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile crept across his face. "That's the most optimistic thing I've ever heard you say."
"Don't get used to it."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
The whale's movement changed. The steady forward motion that had been their constant companion for three days began to slow. The heartbeat—that massive, rhythmic pulse—quickened slightly.
They were arriving.
Violet stood, pulling Vael up with her. Eivor scrambled to his feet.
Through the transparent walls, the water brightened. Sunlight penetrated from above—pale.
The ocean floor rose beneath them. Rocky. Dotted with kelp forests and coral formations that caught the light like captured stars.
And beyond—
Land.
The shadow of it, at least.
Dark against lighter water. Mountains rising like teeth against the sky.
The Northern Shore.
Home territory.
Violet's heart hammered. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.
The whale shuddered. The entire chamber shifted as the creature began to surface.
"Everyone hold onto something!" Bara roared.
Violet grabbed a wooden support beam. Vael and Eivor flanked her, gripping the same beam with white-knuckled determination.
The chamber tilted. Kelp slid across the floor. Gems swayed on their ropes, casting wild shadows.
Then—
Stillness.
The whale had stopped.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The only sound was breathing—dozens of Beastkin holding their breath, waiting.
Then the otter guide appeared from the entrance passage, whiskers dripping with seawater.
"We've arrived!" he announced. "Northern Shore! Everyone out! And don't forget to tip your guides!"
"NOBODY IS TIPPING YOU!" Bara's voice echoed.
"Worth a shot," the otter muttered.
The Beastkin began to move.
Slowly at first, then faster as the reality sank in.
They were here.
Violet released the support beam. Her legs trembled but held.
Vael bumped her shoulder. "Ready?"
Was she? Could anyone ever truly be ready for what came next?
"No," she said honestly. "But let's go anyway."
They joined the stream of refugees moving toward the exit.
Up through organic passages. Through the whale's mouth.
Into blinding sunlight and salt air and the promise of solid ground.
Violet took a deep breath.
The Northern Shore waited.
And with it—everything.
Her family. Her future. The threads she'd been trying desperately to hold together.
Behind her, Vael's hand found hers again. Squeezed once.
She wasn't alone.
That had to be enough.
It had to be.
***
Far away a herd was moving not one but a herd...