The ocean shivered.
Not from fear. Not from awe. Not yet. But from the raw force that had erupted from Aerin, radiating outward in every direction, brushing against the Wardens, the palace, and even the alien entity itself. The light wasn't just illumination—it was presence, a heartbeat that pulsed with the rhythm of everything that had ever lived beneath the waves.
The entity faltered, its form fragmenting mid-strike, edges folding in on themselves as though the very definition of its shape was questioned. Every pulse of Aerin's power nudged it, prying at its cohesion. Yet it remained—alive, sentient, and undeniably dangerous. Its voice came now, not through sound, but through vibration, echoing in her chest, in her mind, in the water around her:
"You are not meant to wield me."
Aerin's eyes narrowed, the glow in her chest flaring brighter. The voice was wrong. This was no command—it was a challenge. A test. And she had long ceased to be one who cowered before challenges.
