Far beneath the ocean's surface, where sunlight had long since surrendered to darkness, Yen sat quietly in a carved marble chair.
Behind her sat Excellus and Master Mercedius. Neither spoke.
The silence stretched for several moments inside the chamber.
Then the doors opened.
A woman swam inside.
Her tail cut gracefully through the water, sending small currents rippling across the room. She carried a tablet beneath one arm. Upon reaching the center of the chamber, she set it upon the table before turning her attention toward Yen. "You are the Chieftess of Reefville, correct?"
"I am," Yen answered.
The woman nodded once. "What brings you to my settlement?"
Yen rose from her chair and swam forward. "We've come to warn you."
Immediately, the woman's expression shifted.
"Harborville and Reefville have already fallen," Yen continued. "Our barriers did not stand a chance."
The woman folded her arms. "Is the rumor regarding Reefville's massacre true?"
For a brief moment, Yen's composure faltered. "Yes." Her voice shook despite her efforts. "Believe me... the creature responsible is not something to be taken lightly."
The woman studied her carefully. "Really?" There was skepticism in her voice. "I heard a different story. Word says a civil conflict broke out within Reefville. That your absence caused unrest among your residents."
Yen's eyes widened. "That is not true." Her voice rose sharply. "That is an abomination to my name."
"Calm yourself."
Yen forced herself to breathe. "We've already tried warning the others. None of them listened." She pointed toward the city beyond the chamber walls. "You are the Chieftess of Azurea City. You must prepare your people. Even when we were prepared—it still slaughtered us."
The Chieftess of Azurea leaned back slightly. "That seems unlikely."
Yen felt her stomach sink.
The woman continued. "I'm not evacuating an entire city because of stories."
"You're not listening." Yen swam closer. "Even with you here, your people will not stand a chance. Harborville's Chief fought with everything he had and still lost." Her voice hardened. "Do not let arrogance blind you."
The Chieftess frowned. "We are not some isolated village." She gestured toward the city. "This is Azurea City. We possess more advanced technology than any settlement in the region. More Velarics. More Haelars. More defenders." Her expression remained unwavering. "I fail to see how a single creature could annihilate us."
Yen stared at her. For a moment she saw herself. The same certainty, the same confidence, the same belief that nothing could touch her people. The realization hurt more than the refusal. "Don't say I didn't try to warn you."
The Chieftess's eyes narrowed. "I resent your tone, Chieftess of Reefville." A heavy silence settled between them. "It would be best if you left my city."
Yen's hands curled into fists. "What would it take for you to believe me?"
The Chieftess glanced toward the tablet. "Evidence."
"We showed you evidence."
"You showed me photographs."
The woman tapped the images. "From what I see, this resembles internal conflict. Your people killing each other." She shrugged. "Our race is no stranger to such violence."
Yen felt frustration boiling inside her. "What about the autopsy report from the first victim?"
"I do not trust the credibility of that report."
Yen stared at her in disbelief. "Then conduct your own." The room fell quiet. "We buried the fallen," Yen continued. "But we can exhume them. Perform another examination."
The Chieftess immediately shook her head "Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"Because disturbing the honored dead is a crime against the very Laws of the Universe." Her tone sharpened. "It is a crime that would attract attention from the higher authorities, and I refuse to risk investigation over what may very well be a rumor."
Yen's mouth opened. Then closed. There was nothing left to say. No argument, no evidence, no warning she hadn't already given. Slowly, she turned away. "Let's go."
Excellus and Mercedius immediately rose from their seats.
"We've done everything we can." Yen didn't look back. "The rest is up to you, Chieftess."
Behind her, the ruler of Azurea City remained seated. "Good luck in your endeavors, Chieftess of Reefville."
Yen said nothing.
The three of them swam toward the doors. As they left the chamber, the massive city beyond continued its daily life uninterrupted.
~~~
Yve set the fresh bowl of lukewarm water beside the bed.
For a moment, she simply stood there, looking at Dylan.
The fever had already begun painting his skin with an unhealthy sheen. Sweat gathered along his forehead despite the cool air drifting through the open windows. His breathing remained shallow, uneven.
Yve dipped the cloth into the water and wrung it out. Then she began. Starting at his face.
The cloth moved gently across his skin, she carefully cleaned around the wound on his cheek, her expression tightening as fresh pus seeped from the infected cut.
"You really don't do things halfway, do you?" she muttered quietly.
Dylan didn't answer.
The cloth returned to the bowl. Water rippled softly. She moved lower. Across his neck. His shoulders. His chest.
The dark bruising stood out even more clearly now that the dirt was gone. Angry patches of purple and black stretched across his ribs and side where the Skindrifter had battered him.
Yve slowed there.
Her fingers hovered briefly over the bandages wrapped around his chest before continuing. She cleaned what she could without disturbing Jenkins's work.
Then lower still. His abdomen. His waist.
Each time the cloth became dirty she rinsed it again, watching the water gradually cloud with blood and grime.
The room remained quiet except for Dylan's uneven breathing. Eventually she reached his lower body. For the first time since she'd started, Yve hesitated. Not because of the injuries.
Just...
Because it felt different. More personal. She stared at the cloth in her hand for a second before exhaling softly through her nose.
"Eh…you're unconscious anyway," she reminded herself. The statement somehow made it both easier and worse. Shaking her head, she continued anyway.
The cloth slid carefully along his thigh, cleaning away mud, dried blood, and scratches. She worked methodically, focusing on the task rather than her thoughts.
By the time she was finished, the water in the bowl was murky and stained.
Yve sat back in the chair beside the bed, exhauste, drifting off in a shallow sleep.
The exhaustion finally caught up to her. Between the fight, carrying Dylan back to Havenwall, and hours spent tending to his wounds, her body had simply shut down.
A soft knock pulled her awake.
Her eyes opened slowly.
For a second she didn't know where she was. Then she saw Dylan lying on the bed beside her, pale and motionless.
Another knock.
Yve pushed herself upright and crossed the room. When she opened the door, Joan was standing outside. "Hey..." Yve said quietly.
Joan glanced past her toward the bed. "How is he?"
Yve looked back at Dylan. "Still unconscious."
Joan stepped inside. She walked over to the bed and rested the back of her hand against Dylan's forehead. Her expression immediately tightened. "He's burning up."
"Yeah," Yve said. "It's the infection."
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Joan studied Dylan's face, then looked back at Yve. "Is there anything I can do?"
Yve shook her head. "No. You checking up on us is more than enough."
Joan's gaze softened. Without saying anything, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Yve.
The hug caught her off guard.
Joan gently patted her back. "We'll get through this."
Yve's shoulders sagged.
The strength she'd been holding together all day seemed to leak out of her at once. She rested her forehead against Joan's shoulder and let out a heavy sigh. "I hope so."
"He will," Joan said firmly. "Dylan's stubborn. He won't die this easily."
Yve gave a weak laugh that sounded dangerously close to breaking. "I just wish I'd known sooner..."
Joan pulled back slightly. "It's not your fault."
Yve looked away.
"None of us knew," Joan continued. "Not you. Not Lucas. Not even the other sirens. Not anyone."
Yve swallowed hard and nodded. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.
Joan reached up and wiped it away with her thumb. "Don't blame yourself."
For a moment, Yve couldn't find the words. Then she managed a quiet, "Thank you."
Joan smiled faintly. "I'll get you something to eat, alright?"
Yve hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
Joan gave her shoulder one last squeeze before turning toward the door. "Try to rest while you can." Then she stepped out into the hallway.
The door closed softly behind her. Silence settled over the room once more.
Yve stood there for a few seconds before looking back at Dylan. Slowly, she returned to the chair beside his bed and took his hand in both of hers. "Come on, Dylan," she whispered. "Don't make me do this alone."
A few hours passed in uneasy silence.
The medical room became something between a waiting space and a vigil. People came and went in fragments—checking in, offering help, leaving supplies, then disappearing again into their duties.
Joan returned first, carrying a small bundle of food on a tray.
Yve didn't even look at it.
"Eat something," Joan insisted softly.
Yve shook her head once. "I can't."
Joan didn't push further.
Ethan came later with a fresh bowl of lukewarm water. He set it down carefully near the bed and lingered for a moment like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.
"He'll survive this." he said instead.
Yve didn't answer and just nodded.
That was enough for him.
Taylor arrived after that with folded clothes, clean replacements for both Dylan and Yve. She placed them neatly on a chair, nodded once, and left without a word.
Then Lucas and Tyler. Elena and Lily. Victor and Sheila. Derek. One after another, they came through the room like passing weather—concerned, quiet, restrained. The kind of worry that had no useful shape yet.
By mid-afternoon, the room had settled into a fragile stillness again.
Yve had drifted into something close to sleep in the chair beside Dylan's bed.
That was when Dylan moved. A twitch first.
Yve's eyes snapped open immediately. Her head lifted before her body fully caught up. She stared at him.
` Another flinch.
"Dylan…" she whispered, already standing.
Her hand pressed to his forehead. Her brows tightened. "Dylan, hey—wake up."
Another jerk. Then again. Harder.
Yve's breath caught. "No, no, no—"
Dylan's body suddenly seized. A violent convulsion tore through him, his back arching off the bed as if something inside him was trying to force its way out.
"DYLAN!" Yve grabbed his shoulders instinctively. "Hey—wake up!"
But he didn't wake. The shaking worsened instead. His breathing turned ragged, broken, collapsing into itself.
Then Yve saw it. A sharp shift in his chest.
Dylan choked. Blood spilled from his mouth. At first just a trickle. Then more. Bubbling with every strained breath.
Yve froze for half a second—long enough for fear to turn into something sharper. "Help!" she shouted toward the doorway. "HELP!"
No answer.
Dylan convulsed again, harder than before.
Yve didn't wait. She scooped him up, nearly dropping him as his body spasmed violently in her arms. "Stay with me," she said, voice breaking. "Stay with me—please."
Then she broke into a sprint. Out of the medical building, into daylight.
Residents turned as she burst outside, confusion flashing into alarm as they saw Dylan's condition.
Ava appeared instantly, breaking into a sprint beside her. "What happened?!"
Yve didn't slow, she didn't even answer Ava, she just cut through the streets at full speed.
Finally, she reached Jenkins' house and she kicked the door open again.
Jenkins looked up immediately from the table, from the skindrifter's opened body—scalpels mid-hand, frozen in place. His eyes snapped to Dylan. Then to Yve. "…What happened?" he asked, voice already shifting into clinical urgency.
He cleared the other table with his arms, scattering papers and notes across the floor. He pulled it clean in one motion.
Ava ran in, finally catching up to Yve. She stopped beside Dylan without hesitation, helping steady his body as they laid him down more carefully.
The convulsions had eased, but not stopped. His body still twitched in short, involuntary spasms—muscles tightening like something inside him refused to settle. Each breath came uneven. Wet. Wrong. Blood clung to his lips in thin streaks.
"We gotta keep his airway clear," she said quickly. "Give me a cloth."
Jenkins pulled a folded linen from inside his coat and handed it over.
Ava took it, already moving. "Help me turn him slightly," she instructed.
Together, they shifted Dylan just enough onto his side, keeping his torso supported so he wouldn't roll back or compress his chest.
Ava tilted his head, angling his mouth downward so fluid could drain instead of pooling.
Blood had gathered at his lips again—thin, dark, mixed with saliva.
She wrapped the linen tightly around her fingers and gently opened his mouth, clearing the airway with careful, controlled sweeps. Each motion was deliberate, removing what was blocking without forcing anything deeper.
"It's not stopping," she said, her voice tight with focus. "I'll have to keep clearing it. Just be ready."
Jenkins leaned in, pressing two fingers to Dylan's chest, then lowering his ear. He stayed there longer than comfort allowed. "I think his lung's punctured," he said finally.
Yve's eyes didn't move from Dylan. "That's not good."
Jenkins exhaled through his nose. "I'm not a doctor—doctor, but common sense dictates a punctured lung is… yes. Not good."
Yve's jaw tightened. "Do you have tubes?"
He straightened. "Let me check."
"And a knife," she added immediately.
Jenkins paused mid-step. "I already used the last scalpel for the skindrifter. I don't have another."
Silence.
Yve's gaze shifted around the room once—fast, calculating—then dropped to her own hands. Her fingers slowly curled into fists. A controlled breath in. A sharper exhale out. "Tubеs. Now."
Jenkins moved. "I don't have tubes," he muttered, already tearing through a cart of supplies. "I have—damn it, I have nothi—" He stopped. "Wait. Hang on." He turned and left the room.
He went to the bathroom, his eyes landing on the sink still mounted to the cracked wall.
Jenkins paused at the basin. No rush this time—just focus.
He pressed his knuckles lightly against the plaster beside the faucet, then tapped along the surface in short, controlled strikes.
Tap… tap… tap.
The sound shifted—solid at first, then subtly duller near the corner of the sink line.
"Hollow," he muttered. He tested it again, moving his hand in a tight grid until he found the weakest point.
That's where he hit. A sharp strike drove his fist into the wall.
Plaster cracked.
He followed through with another blow, harder this time.
The surface gave way with a dry burst, dust and fragments spilling out as the wall collapsed inward.
Behind it, old plumbing was exposed—tangled wiring, rust-stained fittings, and a narrow PVC feed line running cleanly into the faucet assembly. Exactly what he needed.
"Found you," he said under his breath. He grabbed the PVC pipe at the joint. He didn't yank immediately, tested it first, twisted slightly, checked the connection.
Then he snapped it free with a forceful pull.
The pipe came loose with a rough break at the connector. It came off uneven. He swore under his breath and ran outside.
He dropped to a crouch on the pavement and dragged one end of the pipe against the concrete.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
Fast, violent friction. The edge slowly dulled, shaving down the worst of the jagged plastic. Not perfect. Just usable. Good enough.
He stood, already moving.
Back inside, Yve and Ava had Dylan pinned in place. Yve's hand pressed over his chest, feeling the rise and fall, tracking the exact point where something wasn't right. Her focus was absolute, almost unnatural.
Dylan's breath hitched again.
Jenkins rushed in.
He set the pipe down and pulled a small container from the supplies—ethyl alcohol. He didn't hesitate this time. He poured it over the pipe, rotating it in his hands, letting it run across the surface and drip to the floor.
He wiped it once against cloth. Then he handed it to Yve. "Whatever your plan is, good luck." he said.
Yve took it, her grip tightening. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and exhaled slowly. When she opened them again, something in her focus had changed—sharper, quieter, almost detached. A claw extended from her pointy finger. "Hold him still," she said.
Jenkins hesitated only a fraction before stepping in. He braced Dylan's legs and lower body, locking him in place with controlled force. While Ava held his shoulders and head.
Dylan twitched beneath them—weak, uneven spasms.
Yve leaned closer. "Shhh…" she whispered, not to Dylan, but to everything around him.
At first, there was only chaos. A strained heartbeat—fast, uneven, overworked.
Then she refined her senses. The rhythm sharpened in her perception. Not louder, but clearer, like peeling layers off noise.
Dylan's heart. Then the secondary patterns beneath it: the pulsing pressure of blood moving through strained vessels.
Yve's expression tightened slightly. She placed two fingers against Dylan's chest, moving slowly, mapping. She followed the rise and fall of his breathing, the uneven rhythm beneath skin and bone.
Her head tilted slightly.
There. Wrong. A point where the expansion didn't match the rest of his chest. A subtle resistance beneath her fingertips.
She pressed again.
A faint, wet crackle answered from inside, different from everything else.
Her eyes opened. "The pressure is building. I have to vent it. Ready?" she asked.
Jenkins and Ava gave a single nod, tightening their grip.
Yve didn't hesitate. Her claw moved in. A precise incision between the ribs—just enough to reach the space where air was trapped
Dylan jerked hard beneath them, a sharp, broken gasp tearing out of him. Jenkins snapped, forcing him down as his body tried to recoil.
Yve adjusted immediately, steadying her hand, widening the entry just slightly with careful pressure.
Then—A sound.
Yve didn't react outwardly, but her focus locked onto it instantly. "Now," she said.
Jenkins slid the PVC pipe into her hand.
She guided it to the opening—aligning it with the space she had just created. The moment it seated properly, the trapped pressure inside Dylan's chest shifted, a harsh release of air and fluid escaping through the tube.
The hiss was loud, a sickening sound of relief, but Dylan's breathing was still ragged, wet edge remained. The tube bought him time. Nothing more.
Yve held the pipe in place for a second longer, making sure it stayed.
Jenkins broke the silence first. "What now, Yve? His lung is still punctured."
Yve didn't answer immediately. Her eyes stayed on Dylan for a beat longer than necessary, then shifted. "Is my sister not back yet?" she asked.
Ava shook her head once. "No."
Yve exhaled through her nose. "Hold the pipe steady," she said.
Jenkins adjusted his grip without question, keeping Dylan stable as best as he could. Ava stayed at Dylan's head, maintaining the tilt, wiping and clearing as needed whenever the airway began to flood again.
Yve turned away. "You have water here?" she asked.
"From the pot over there," Jenkins replied, nodding toward the kitchen.
She moved without another word.
In the kitchen, Yve opened the lid of the pot. She stared at it for a moment. Then she placed her hand inside.
The surface shifted. The water in the pot swirled and rose, coalescing in her grasp until the bow solidified.
Jenkins blinked. "Well… not gonna drink that anymore," he muttered under his breath. "What are you gonna do?" he asked louder.
Yve didn't look back. "A signal."
Ava and Jenkins exchanged a glance—neither fully understanding, neither stopping her.
Yve stepped outside. The air hit differently out there. Open. Exposed. She hesitated. Just for a second. Then she breathed in and closed her eyes. Her fingers found the string of the bow.
She exhaled.
And pulled.
A faint light sparked at first, small, unstable, then it began to grow as the string tightened. The energy condensed, pulling from her like something being torn loose from deep inside her.
She drew further. The arrow expanded. Brightening. Intensifying. Her legs began to tremble, but she didn't stop.
The light sharpened into a blazing shape, growing with each fraction of tension in the string. Her arms shook now, strain building across her shoulders. Her breath broke unevenly through clenched teeth.
People in the area began to notice. Movement stopped. Eyes turned.
Lucas stepped forward from the crowd. "Yve?" he called out. "What are you doing?"
No answer.
The bow continued to pull from her. The arrow grew larger, brighter, until it no longer looked like a weapon, but a compressed force of light held barely in place.
Her body started to fail under it, her lips turned pale as her entire body began to tremble, but she held on. The earlier image of Dylan pushed her will to go farther.
A strained sound broke from her throat, half breath, half pain, before her fingers finally lost control.
The string snapped forward and the arrow released. A piercing whistle tore through the sky as it launched upward like a burning serpent.
Yve staggered back the moment it left her hand. Then collapsed. Her back hit the ground hard.
Lucas reached her first. "Yve!" he shouted, dropping beside her.
A faint tremor ran through her limbs, a deep exhaustion that went far beyond physical fatigue.
Others rushed in, voices overlapping, hands checking her condition.
Above her, the arrow climbed, cutting through cloud and air, until it detonated high in the sky in a silent bloom of light that spread like a volcanic flare across the horizon.
A faint smile crossed her lips, and a single tear slipped free. Then her eyes closed.
Then the shockwave arrived. A deep, rolling impact followed the light—pressure rippling through the air and ground. The earth trembled beneath them, forcing people to brace or stumble.
Meanwhile, at a distance, Lysander narrowed his eyes. "Is that…?"
Ysa was already staring ahead, posture rigid as the horizon sharpened into focus.
From this distance it was just a faint mark—barely more than a burning point against the sky. A red fracture in the clouds.
"Fire?" she murmured at first, uncertain. Then her expression changed. Recognition hit like a snapped wire. "A signal." She turned her head slightly toward Lysander. "Yve…"
Lysander didn't ask anything else. "Go."
Ysa didn't hesitate.
She tightened her grip and urged her Pegacampus forward. The creature reacted instantly, wings snapping open as it surged into faster flight.
The convoy behind them blurred as they broke formation, wind ripping past them as they cut away from the group. Ysa leaned forward into the motion, eyes locked on the distant burning mark in the sky.