"A dozen kids are missing! Buy the latest newspaper!" A boy swings the newspaper high above his head, his sweat trickling down his temple under the relentless sun at the peak of noon in the town square. "Breaking news! A dozen kids are missing!" he screams at the top of his lungs. It's so loud that I can hear him even inside the fabric store.
"The border is in turmoil again," I whisper.
"We used to live—OUCH!" Muiren starts to say but is cut off by Ondine's elbow. "What was that for?" Muiren asks, rubbing her side.
Ondine doesn't answer. She simply browses some silk fabrics with her usual grace and says, "Our best strategist is being pulled out and relocated to the human realm. I'm not going to say I'm shocked."
"What is the king thinking? It's not like Eldoria can handle the swarms of orcs alone," I say.
"He's gone senile, that's it," Muiren says with a scoff.
"I trust his judgment," Ondine responds coolly.
"You always say that."
"We don't know the whole picture, do we? Things might not be what we expect."
"As if there's a bigger threat in the human realm than what we're dealing with here."
Then it clicks for me. "Maybe the orcs crossed into the human world."
"Bingo! Why else would they pull Aegir in the middle of a siege?" Ondine says, her tone sharp.
"Gotcha! This is perfect in every way," Muiren says as she pulls a particular shade of green fabric from the rack. The color is strikingly close to the royal shade—perhaps not exact, but very close.
"This green looks… too close to the royal shade," Ondine says, tracing the fabric with a critical eye.
"Oh, come on, Ondine! This fabric is practically begging to be worn—it's screaming, 'I'm royal, and I know it!'" Muiren says, clearly pleased.
I nod. "Better than nothing."
"You realize this could get us jailed, right?" Ondine adds, her voice dry.
"But it's perfect for the job! Let's buy this one and head straight to the Fifth Solemn Stone," Muiren says decisively.
I stand there for a moment, a weight pressing on my chest. The tension in the air feels heavier than before. I don't need to ask myself if I'm ready for what's coming. Of course, I'm not.
"Are we going to help her train?" Ondine asks, pointing at me.
"Yes! What else?" Muiren replies.
"What kind of help do you think we could give her?"
"Well, for example, we could calm the sea and let her invoke its wrath!"
"She can handle it by herself; no need for us to interfere."
"Bla… bla… bla… Ondine, just admit you don't want to lend a hand," Muiren says, gesturing comically.
"If I were in her shoes, I wouldn't want any useless extra hands."
"We could be there as mental support, you know—making sure she doesn't jump into the ocean in total despair?"
"Hello? I'm right here," I say, exasperated.
"Huh, she might do that," Ondine says thoughtfully.
"No, no, I'm pretty convinced I'm not going to do that," I counter firmly.
"She says she's confident she won't," Ondine remarks.
"I can never tell if you're being serious or sarcastic," Muiren mutters.
"That's because your intellect is on par with a goldfish."
"What's wrong with goldfish?" Muiren asks, genuinely puzzled.
"Nothing, if you're comparing intelligence," Ondine shoots back.
"That's a bit much, don't you think?" I interject.
"Not really," Ondine says with a knowing glance. "She wouldn't even notice."
"I'm standing right here, you know!" Muiren protests.
"Then maybe you should start swimming in deeper waters," Ondine smirks. "Ignorance is bliss," she adds, clearly done with the conversation.
"You know what, smarty-pants? I'll go look it up myself." Muiren storms over to the owner, pays for the fabric, and heads out of the store.
"You should tone it down," I say.
"No. She lacks general knowledge, and this might motivate her to learn more," Ondine replies. She steps outside, opening her umbrella as I follow. "If she doesn't develop a sharper edge, the nobles will shred her to pieces."
"That might make her hate you."
"There's a price for everything, and that's not a bad trade-off. Even if she does, that won't deter me from always having her back."
Her words leave me speechless. I swear she and Aegir are two souls separated at birth. Their minds work in strange ways—logical, but who actually thinks like that?
"I'm pretty sure Muiren won't show up at the Fifth Solemn Stone," I say as we walk on the newly paved street, our knight not far behind.
"That's a sure bet," Ondine agrees.
"I'm heading off on my own," I announce.
"You sure you don't need any support?"
"Girl, do I look suicidal to you?" I quip, appreciating her concern but unwilling to be coddled.
"You look like you're on the fence."
"I might seem a little… overwhelmed," I admit.
"More like you're on the edge," Ondine counters.
"I'm not about to throw myself off a cliff," I say firmly, though my stomach churns.
"Still, I know what you mean. It's like being a griffin expected to dive like a kraken—completely impossible."
Ondine contemplates for a moment. She doesn't speak again until we reach an intersection. She stares at the clock atop a nearby building and then says, "Go to Creaky End. Aegir might be there."
"I actually plan to meditate or try to get the sea to speak."
"I'll tell Aegir to go to the Fifth Solemn Stone then."
Ondine is as immovable as a mountain. Defeated, I say, "Fine."
She still stands there as I march toward the Fifth Solemn Stone. It doesn't matter if I'm with or without company.
Standing at the cliff's edge, I stare at the five reefs that resemble silhouettes of people pleading to the sky. The cliff is as tall as a mahogany tree above the sea's surface.
This place... I remembered stories of it, where the chosen ones stood and were whispered to by the sea. But me? I didn't feel chosen. I didn't feel chosen. I felt like an outsider. The sea should have spoken to me, but all I could hear was the roar of the waves, drowning out everything else. Was I meant to hear something more? Even if the sea refused to speak, I would find a way to listen. I had to.
I sit at the cliff's edge and close my eyes, the winds cutting through me, the sea below churning with an energy I can almost feel in my bones. It's as though the air itself has grown heavy, the waves rising higher than I remember, a force pushing against me—an invisible weight, tugging me in every direction.
I can't quite place it, this unsettling sensation. One force, one pressure, one pull—familiar but off. But then, a voice cuts through, soft, like a whisper in a storm. "A Thalassin?"
The sound catches me off guard. My eyes widen as I see Aegir emerge from the spray of the waves, drenched but steady. He stands as if untouched by the storm raging around us, his gaze sharp as he watches me, waiting.
"Whoa… impressive," he comments, though I can't tell if he's speaking to me or the storm itself.