1 1/2 MONTHS LATER…
THE SEA STRETCHED ENDLESSLY, blue upon blue, broken only by the white crest of waves and the distant calls of gulls. Below deck, Artizea sat curled near the small round window of her cabin, chin resting on her folded arms, watching silver fish dart beneath the surface. It was quiet here—good quiet— the stillness helped her breathe.
Arthur knocked once, then let himself in without waiting.
Artizea did not turn; her gaze was focused, but her mind was not. Most of the time, she just stared at her hands, shaking. But she kept trying, and Little by little, to command it. Control did not return gracefully. It came slowly. Terrifyingly slowly. But Arthur had time to spare. Sometimes she woke with her hands curled like talons, scratching the sheets from nightmares. Sometimes her eyes flashed when she woke. Sometimes she could not breathe through the heat rising in her chest. But Arthur stayed with her every night, just like their mother once stayed with him during his worst. He held her until the shaking stopped, until everything stopped, and they worked. She did not notice the exact moment it changed, but one morning, when she woke, her hands were hands, and her breath was steady.
But she remembered when it began.
She woke with a gasp. Her heart was thundering. Her throat burned. Something pulsed beneath her skin—too hot, too wild. She pushed herself upright, and the blankets tore beneath her nails. Her nails. They were not nails anymore. They were claws. Shaking, she stumbled toward the mirror in the corner of her room. Moonlight sliced across her reflection. Her eyes were blown wide, pupils stretched into dragon-slit black, swallowing all the color she knew.
"No… no, no," she whispered, backing away
In her panic, she did the only thing her instincts knew. She ran. The only person would would not run away. Arthur threw open the door, to Artizea collapsed into his chest, shaking.
"Help me," she whispered, voice cracking. "Please… help me." She cried, not loudly, but in small, broken gulps she tried to muffle.
"Hey… hey, come here." His voice cracked. Without hesitation, He pulled her inside, held her against him, and shut the door. Then he truly saw her. She did not speak. could not. She just showed him her hands. Arthur's face fell, covering her claws with his palms, holding her until the tremors stopped. "You're okay," he whispered.
Eventually, her breathing slowed, and exhaustion washed over her. In his arms, she finally drifted to sleep. It happened the next night. And the night after. And the night after that. Each time, Arthur woke to her shaking. Each time, he wrapped his arms around her. Each time, he stayed awake long after she fell asleep— watching her eyes shift back to normal, worrying more than she knew. On the fifth night, after she jolted awake, clawed again, he tightened his hold on her and exhaled shakily.
"This is not stopping," he murmured.
"It is just stress…" she lied.
"No, it is not." He pulled back and held her shoulders. "We have to ask Father for help."
"No—" The word shot out sharp and terrified. "If he sees me like this—if Mother sees—" She froze as Arthur stood.
"Fine," he said. "Then I will." He grabbed her wrist and tugged, ignoring her protests.
"Arthur—" her claws retracting just enough not to cut him.
He dragged her down the hall, barefoot and trembling, until they stood before the door of their parents. He lifted his fist.
"Arthur, don't—"
He knocked Hard.
Arthur watched her as he pushed off the doorway. "They're peaceful," he murmured. "The Fish."
She eased a glance toward him. "Yeah."
"Do you want to go swimming?"
Artizea blinked, caught off guard. "Swimming?" She blinked as she stood on the main deck with her arms crossed, staring at a wooden plank hanging off the side of the ship."You're insane," she said flatly. "This is your idea of swimming?"
Arthur shrugged like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "We're at sea. There's only two ways to do this: jump, or… jump."
"You go first."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you scared of water?"
"No," she immediately said. "Are you still scared of water?"
"I was never scared of water…" he scoffed as if offended, "Of course not—"
"Then jump."
"You jump—"
"This is your stupid idea! Not mine!" she exclaimed.
Arthur dramatically inhaled, "You're right." Then he marched up the plank. "I am…"
"Arthur, wait—"
"Stupid." He finished with a put, then flopped off the end with grace, with a SPLASH, but there was no Arthur in sight.
"ARTHUR!"
After a few seconds, Arthur surfaced, wheezing and spitting seawater. "It's—so cold," he choked. "Holy—mother of fuck—"
Artizea covered her mouth, snorting, then burst into laughter—actual laughter.
Arthur's eyes softened. "Oh? This? You find this funny, this?" he taunted. "Get in here already!"
"Absolutely not."
"Coward!" Arthur traded water below calmly, "Come on! I promise not to drag you under."
"That's exactly what you would do!"
"That is true."
"What if there are sharks! Or worse, an under city dweller!"
He raised a brow.
"No." She huffed, walking away. Then froze at the sound heard chicken noises, then stretched across the ship like. chain reaction. That did it. "Alright!" She grunted, then stepped onto the plank. But the second her toes curled over the edge, she paused. This wasn't land. There was no safety net. Just ocean. She inhaled, shut her eyes, and jumped. The sea swallowed her in a cold, bright rush. When she surfaced, hair plastered to her face, Arthur threw both arms up like she had performed a miracle.
"She lives!"
She splashed him in the face. He splashed her back—harder. Within seconds, it became war. They kicked, thrashed, screamed, and sent waves flying toward each other as if trying to drown every frustration they'd both carried for months. Their voices echoed over the water—raw, loud, free. Artizea screamed until her lungs burned. Screamed until her throat cracked. Screamed everything she could not say in the palace or the throne room, or anywhere else. Arthur screamed with her. Not asking, not judging—just matching her breath for breath, volume for volume. When they finally stopped, floating side by side, the sun warm on their faces, Artizea let out a shaky exhale.
"I forgot what it feels like—to be… a normal kid…" she said
"You're not normal, we are not normal," Arthur said softly. "And we are not kids anymore, that doesn't mean we have to be adults every day."
"I hate this," she whispered.
"I know,"
"I hate that I feel like this."
"I know."
Her voice trembled. "What if I don't get better?"
He nudged her shoulder with his. "Then I'll keep dragging you off planks until you do."
A small smile tugged at her lips. "You're ridiculous."
Arthur smirked. "And you love me."
She did—not that she'd ever say it out loud.
"Let's do it again," she said suddenly.
Arthur groaned. "Why did I teach you joy?"
She grabbed his arm and dunked him.
"ARTIZEA—!"
Her laughter echoed across the waves.
For the first time in a long time—
She sounded alive.
"AH, WHAT THE HELL! EVERYONE WALKS THE PLANK!" Alexander shouted.
— and suddenly the whole crew is flying overboard.
At first, Artizea avoided her uncle. Avoided the deck as a whole. She stayed below deck most nights, curled up in the dim lantern glow, staring at the patterns fish made as they drifted under the hull. Their slow, peaceful shapes calmed her—until her reflection in the glass startled her every time. The faint shimmer at the corners of her pupils. The way her nails sharpened when her breath hitched. She did not wish for anyone to see her like this. Least of all her uncle. But he found her anyway.
One night, as the ship rocked gently in the tide, she felt someone standing behind her, just looking out at the dark waters. She stiffened.
"Your father did not tell me anything," he said at last.
Artizea's head snapped up.
Alexander chuckled dryly. "Your father is a cryptic man—painfully so. Your brother's not much different." He flicked her a sideways glance. "But you… You hide what you feel without ever letting it go."
She looked away, jaw tight.
"You know what I always told you about anger," he continued.
She muttered it before he could finish. "Letting it out does well for one's psyche."
He smiled faintly. "Exactly. Now tell me what's going on, sweetheart."
She hesitated—then, with a shaky breath, lifted her hand. Her claws unfurled with a soft, sickening shring. Not fully dragon. Not human either. She waited in fear. Or pity. Or disgust. Instead.
"God Damn…" Alexander blinked. "Ever used them on something?"
"No." Her voice cracked. "I hate them. I wish I never— I— don't want to be a dragon, uncle."
There it was. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, finally spoken out loud in the wild.
Alexander stepped closer and gently took her trembling hand, placing it on the ship's wheel. "You know," he said casually, "I tried to teach Arthur earlier. The boy nearly ran us into another ship." He sighed, "Let us see what you can do."
"But I don't know how to—"
But he was already walking away.
"Wait—UNCLE—!"
The ship veered, just a hair, and she yelped, tightening her grip. Then something in her shifted. The wheel steadied beneath her palms. The current felt the ship, as if it whispered instructions straight into her bones. The wind curled around her shoulders like an old friend. She wasn't thinking. She was sensing. Feeling.
"Aha," Alexander said behind her, grinning.
"But—I don't understand—"
"Something your old man says, Some answers need no defense, nor may they even have one, Instincts rarely need understanding."
"but—"
"You know…" Alexander cut in, "When your father and I first met…he was just like you, Lost of what to do with himself, Devoid of any positive emotion, still… he had hope… that there was a better purpose out there for him, and by he looks of it," He tilted his head, "He found it…"
Artizea listened as they stood there for a while, and they listened to the waves slap against the hull, steady as breath. "My father…" she whispered. "What was he like? Before."
Alexander let out a long, low whistle. "Cruel," he said. "Bloodthirsty, Angry. Broken. And worst of all… alone."
Her claws dug into the wheel, trembling uncontrollably. She met his eyes, softening.
"You are not alone," Arthur said, appearing at her side.
"SOMEONE HAS A BIRTHDAY COMING UP!" Alexander roared, throwing an arm over Arthur and Artizea.
Artizea snorted. "I don't suppose you have all of our presents onboard for missing the last, I don't know, five, six?"
"I do actually," Alexander's chest puffed with theatrical pride. "I realized something, "We're on schedule to deliver these two back to their loving, not terrifying parents in a few days—"
A few sailors winced. Everyone knew exactly how terrifying their parents were.
"—but," he bellowed, lifting his cup skyward, "This is the first birthday I've had the chance to celebrate with my favorite niece and nephew in years—'
"Good thing Elaine is not here to hear that one," Arthur mumbled.
Twitch Twitch
"—So why the hell wait till Babaloniyah? Next port—WE CELEBRATE!" Alexander slammed his mug together with another sailor's. "DRINKS ON ME!"
The deck exploded into chaos—cheers, clashing mugs, someone tripping over a coil of rope, another nearly falling overboard before a crew-mate caught his ankle.
Artizea leaned into Arthur's shoulder, laughing. "How much you wanna bet he leaves a mark nine months later?"
Arthur sighed, "Nothing. That's a guarantee."
They both cackled as Alexander shot them a proud thumbs-up.
EMBER SHORE's port was a blaze of color—lanterns hanging from wooden beams, drums thundering through the streets, dancers spinning in circles of firelight. Vendors shouted out food, jewelry, and rum. Children ran barefoot through the sand. Most of the crew scattered immediately.
For women.
Drink.
Or both.
The music was infectious, wild, pulsing. Artizea felt something inside her loosen—just a little—as she joined the dancers of the tribe. Their steps were different from hers: fluid, grounded, joyous. They welcomed her into the circle without question. She laughed. She spun. She let herself breathe for the first time in months.
Alexander grabbed Arthur by the shirt and yanked him close. "Hey, kid," he whispered conspiratorially. "Your uncle here is long overdue for some—"
Arthur gagged, "HA—Just go." He shoved him away with a grimace.
"Good man!" Alexander slapped his back so hard Arthur nearly vomited for real.
"MEN! TONIGHT WE FEAST!"
A roar answered him.
Arthur groaned. "Dear gods,"
He later found himself dragged into drinking contests he did not ask for, and after the fourth cup, his head started to pound.
The villagers circled the bonfire in loose, joyous steps, laughter spilling like wine. One of the villager's sons—tall, sun-bronzed, a little too confident in that way boys get when they think they're charming—caught her eye again. He held out his hand like he'd been waiting for her.
She hesitated only a heartbeat, then took it.
They danced. Closer than strangers should. His hand guided her waist; hers drifted to his shoulder. When the music swelled, she leaned in. He kissed her back, eager but careful, like he did not want to spook her. But when they pulled apart, breath warm against each other's lips.
They kept dancing, not talking, just orbiting each other. The world blurred: the fire, the shouts, the children running past, the elders singing. His fingers brushed hers again. A question. She answered by not pulling away.
Then the musicians switched songs—slower, softer, couples drifting off toward the shadows. One by one, people slipped away to refill drinks, to fetch water, to talk in quieter corners. The crowd thinned, and for the first time she felt the night air cool against her neck.
He leaned close. "You want to…walk?" he murmured, voice low enough that no one else could hear.
Artizea swallowed. "Walk?"
He jerked his chin subtly toward the far edge of the camp, where the torches dimmed, and the tents cast long, soft shapes. "Just away from all this. No one will notice."
She should've said no. She should've stayed with the fire and the noise and the safety of the crowd. But it was her birthday. So she nodded.
They did not leave together. He slipped away first, pretending to head toward the water barrels. Artizea waited a minute, pretending to watch the dancers. Then she drifted after him, head down, moving between tents as she belonged. No one paid attention. There was too much music, too much laughter, too much celebrating. He waited in the shadow of a large canvas tent, out of sight, but within the bonfire. When she approached, he did not touch her at first. He let her choose. Artizea stepped into the shade with him. The night, the distance from the fire, the privacy—it all hit at once. Her heart thudded.
He reached out, gently brushing her cheek.
"If this is too fast," he whispered, "Say so."
Artizea did not say anything. She just stood there, suddenly hyper aware of everything—her breath, his breath, how close they were. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He stepped closer first. "If you don't mind," she whispered, "I'd rather you not know who I am."
He smiled as if amused. "Do you know who I am?"
"Not exactly."
"Then the trade is fair."
His fingers brushed her jaw, testing, giving her plenty of room to refuse. But she still did not, why she asked herself. When he cupped her cheek fully and leaned in, kissing her slowly but hungrily. His other hand slid to her waist, pulling her just close enough that she felt the heat of him through her clothes. Her pulse jumped. She kissed him back with a kind of urgency, yet she still could not understand why she wanted to drown out the memories, the guilt of still loving someone you should hate, and the loneliness that came from the distance she had not come to terms with. He deepened the kiss, his lips warm, his hands firm as they traveled up her back. He pressed her gently against a support beam of the tent, his thumb grazing the edge of her lower lip, as Rhyssand would do… the simple thoughts sent a small shiver down her spine.
He kissed along her jaw, down the side of her neck. He pressed closer, lips trailing along her jaw, then lower to her throat, the place Rhyssand always paused at, as if it were sacred. The moment his lips brushed that same spot, heat shot through her—then pain. Not physical pain. But a Memory.
Rhyssand's mouth.
Rhyssand's hands.
Rhyssand's voice
Artizea jolted, her breath hitched, letting out the faintest sound. The man's hands roamed her waist, hesitant but hopeful.His hands slid lower, over her hips, her thighs…. Her hands subconsciously stopped him from going any further.
"What is the matter?" he asked, catching her wrist.
What was the matter…that was not a question. Rhyssand's face flashed in her mind, mostly his eyes…that can never be competed with, no one would hold a flame to the way he held her, touched her, said her name. None of it. The sick realization flashed threw her mind. He could never be replaced. Her stomach twisted. Her breath caught. The man kissed her harder, misreading the jolt that ran through her.
"I I-I'm sorry," she blurted, pushing lightly at his chest. "This—this— is indeed too fast. I—I must go—" She turned, stumbling toward the tent flap.
He blinked, confused but trying not to show it. "It is okay to be nervous," he murmured, smiling as if this were adorable.
"I am not nervous," she said, breathless for the wrong reasons. "I just…" There is someone else. "This was a mistake."
He blinked. "You are betrothed?"
"No! Gods, no—I mean yes, I mean—"
He huffed a small laugh. "I do not mind if you are promised. I am too."
"You WHAT?" Artizea exclaimed in a whisper, "Dear gods in hell.." She reached the flap this time, one foot outside, when he caught her again, this time by the waist.
"Wait—" he said, spinning her back toward him. "At least let me say goodbye properly."
Before she could protest, he pulled her flush against him and kissed her again, harder, claiming, like he thought passion could outweigh reason. But in that moment, the fire beneath her skin flared as if rejecting him completely. Her pulse spiked, and her eyes dilated. The man froze as did she.
"I'm sorry—" she stammered, stepping back.
His face twisted with fear. A fear she knew too well.
"No—no, it's…" She swallowed hard. "It is fine, I can control it, see?" she chuckled lightly.
But he was staring. Not at her face. At her hands. At the faint glimmer of claws trying to push through her skin. He backed away slowly. Then faster. His gaze locked on a half-spear leaning against a tent.
"I'm not a monster…" Artizea warned, panic shaking her voice.
"Try looking in a mirror—" he grunted, reaching for the spear.
Her instincts reacted before her mind. A blur of motion. A flash of claws. A wet, horrifying impact. And silence. Artizeablinked, Blood. On her hands. On her arms. On the sand. Her breath hitched, sharp and painful. The man lay crumpled at her feet.
"No…" she whispered. "No, no—" She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth.
"Shhh." Alexander's voice, steady and low. "You were defending yourself. Things happen," he murmured, pulling her against his chest. "He attacked you. You reacted. That's all."
Her muffled sobs tore through her, shaking her whole body. Tears spilled down her cheeks, splattering onto the blood in her hands. Alexander loosened his grip. She collapsed to her knees, hands trembling, staring at the crimson on her skin that did not belong to her.
Alexander rose. His expression was stone. "BASIN!" he barked toward the tents. "Clean this up. Now. Hide the body."
Artizea flinched at the words. Hide the body. As if this were normal. Routine. Expected. She had no recollection of walking or returning to the main festival square until a voice rang out.
"Party's over! Return to the ship. Half stay behind and gather provisions, the others prep the long boats!"
Arthur approached cautiously, still holding his head from the migraine, until his eyes scanned her bloodied hands and clothes. "What… happened?" he asked quietly,
Artizea shook her head.
"What… happened? Did Someone Attack you?!" He repeated in building fury.
Alexander's hand shot out, pressing firmly on Arthur's shoulder. "Arthur."
Arthur froze, then nodded, understanding the unspoken warning. "I won't ask again," he said at last, "Just… tell me you're okay."
Artizea nodded faintly.
Arthur exhaled and motioned toward the river that cut through the city's outskirts. "Come on. I'll just… be nearby. Call if you need me."
Artizea did not answer. Instead, she slipped toward the water, letting it swallow her in a cool embrace. Clothes clung to her body, but she did not care.
The river mirrored the memory of the night before, the night Rhyssand had submerged with her, pulling her into that tangled red thread of fate. The man she had kissed—it meant nothing to her. Nothing compared to the quiet pull of that moment in the water, the tether she felt to Rhyssand, to the man who had shown up when he was not needed most. She let herself sink beneath the surface, holding her breath, letting the lake's cold fingers wrap around her. For the first time in hours, maybe days, she felt nothing but water, and the memory of what had been theirs alone. When Time had slowed because he simply told it to. She let the coolness cradle her, let the world above fade. And for a fleeting heartbeat, she allowed herself to simply be—still.