Chapter 10
Brighter than the Sun
Vaelis
Elder Soryn intercepts me before I can follow the drafted soldiers into the armory. His ancient, gnarled hand grips my shoulder, the touch suffocating.
"You understand your role in this glorious campaign, Vaelis," Soryn says. His amplified voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, dripping with false reverence. "We do not send a Royal to the front lines to thrust a common spear. We send you to be a beacon."
He gestures dismissively toward my crimson fins, the very color Kael had called a signal in the dark.
"The deep trench is pitch black," Soryn continues, his ancient eyes sweeping over my blazing color with predatory approval.
"The Vanguard requires a rallying point.
Your vibrant color will cut through the gloom.
You will be the shining star our brave soldiers look toward in the dark.
It is the ultimate honor for your bloodline.
You are finally fulfilling the prophecy of your name. "
I stare at his polite, smiling face, a mask of ancient stone and calculated cruelty.
The horrific truth settles heavy in my stomach, a cold stone sinking into my guts.
He is sending me to die. My brilliant, dangerous red is not a signal of strength; it is a target painted on my chest. A lure to draw the teeth of the deep away from the more valuable soldiers.
I pull away from his suffocating grip, my muscles rigid with the effort of not striking him. I turn and descend into the armory, the weight of my supposed honor crushing me.
The armory churns like a frantic school of bait-fish, the water filled with the metallic scent of fear and sharpened steel.
Conscripts are fitted with heavy, reinforced plates of cured crab-chitin that click and groan as they move.
Chainmail woven from treated iron-kelp rustles against the current.
The heavy-lifters, the stonemasons, even Taren receive their gear.
They look like impenetrable, swimming fortresses.
They look like soldiers meant to survive a brutal impact.
They don’t give me armor.
I remain in the exact center of the chaos. My bare skin prickles in the cold as the quartermaster systematically strips away the heavy breastplate Mira tried to secure for me.
"Too much coverage," the quartermaster grunts, his voice a low vibration against the armory's clamor. He carelessly tosses the expensive chitin plate onto a growing discard pile in the corner. The sound is a dull, wet thud. "It hides his color."
"He needs physical protection!" Mira argues loudly. Her voice is shrill and frantic over the din of clashing weapons.
She hovers close to me, her own standard-issue armor looking ill-fitting and absurdly bulky on her sharp frame. "You can’t send him out to the shelf in a mesh tunic. He’ll be shredded in seconds."
"These are direct orders from the Commander," the quartermaster says, not bothering to look up at her.
His blunt fingers continue their work, methodically removing each piece of protection. He turns around and hands me a vest made of thin, transparent mesh. It offers exactly as much physical protection as a drifting spiderweb.
"The primary target needs to be highly visible in the dark. If we cover him with armor, we lose our entire tactical advantage."
Mira opens her mouth to scream at him, her body trembling with rage and a terror that almost feels genuine. I reach out and put a steady hand on her trembling arm. My touch is not gentle. It’s a warning.
"Stop it, Mira," I say quietly. My voice sounds entirely dead to my own ears. “I don’t want to hear any more from you—”
"I will not stop!" she snaps, turning her fierce, tear-filled eyes on me. "Vaelis, tell them the truth! Tell the captain you refuse to do this!"
"I can’t," I say, keeping my eyes locked on the stone floor. "You know I can’t. I’m conscripted by the High Elders. Treason carries the exact same death penalty as the Vanguard."
I take the mesh vest from the quartermaster's calloused hand. The material is as transparent as a jellyfish, clinging to my skin like a second. It offers no protection against the crushing pressure, no defense against sharpened bone and serrated teeth.
I turn slowly, my gaze falling on a polished bronze shield hanging on the armory wall. The distorted reflection staring back is a stranger.
The crimson of my hair burns against the dark stone. Without the pearl dust to soften the glare, without armor to break my silhouette, I am exactly what the Elders want.
Kael's voice rumbles in my memory, a phantom vibration against my broken ribs. Color is never for hiding. It is always for warning.
I am not warning today. I am inviting.
"Vaelis," Mira whispers, her knuckles turning bone-white around her spear shaft. "Stay behind me. In my shadow. I'll block their line of sight."
Her face is pale, her eyes wide pools of terror. She is trying to save me, trying to atone for the poison she fed him with my own hands.
"I'll never forgive you," I say, the words a hollow rasp. "And you can't block this, Mira." I turn away, my crimson fins flaring wide with intent. "I'm too bright for the dark."
The war horns blow.
A low, mournful vibration shudders through the water, rattling the stone floor beneath us. The sound is a death sentence, a promise of violence.
"Move out!" Taren shouts, his voice cracking with fear. He's a squad leader now because he memorized the rulebook, but his eyes are as wide and terrified as the rest of us.
We swim out of the armory, falling into formation. A river of bright, expendable flesh flowing toward the abyss.
To anyone who truly believes in the shallow pageantry of the upper city, the Reef Guard is an impressive sight.
Endless rows of glittering iron pikes catch the filtered light.
Brightly colored woven banners stream proudly.
The synchronized movement of five hundred armored mers creates a thunderous, impressive sound.
But this is not a glorious army marching to secure a border. This is a glittering funeral procession.
We swim slowly past the towering residential spires. Frightened civilians watch our departure from their high windows and coral balconies. They wave their hands in solemn farewell. They throw handfuls of crushed flower petals into the water, letting the bright colors rain down over our heads.
I don’t look up at them. I keep my deadened eyes locked firmly on the armored back of the mer swimming directly in front of me.
We pass the central plaza. We pass the beautiful, manicured gardens I used to tend with meticulous care.
And then, we finally pass the boundary wall.
The exact moment we cross the outer kelp line, the entire mood of the marching army shifts. The muffled cheering of the citizens fades away behind us. It’s instantly replaced by the heavy, oppressive, and terrifying silence of the open ocean.
The shift is a physical blow. The filtered warmth of the Reef vanishes, replaced by a freezing water that slams into my chest like a stone fist. The artificial light that painted the city in soft pinks and golds dies, swallowed by the absolute gloom of the open ocean.
Every thrust of my tail feels sluggish, a fight against the crushing pressure that seeks to flatten my bones.
The Vanguard soldiers around me fall silent. The polished arrogance of the upper city dissolves, replaced by a raw, unspoken panic.
I shiver violently, the transparent mesh vest clinging to my skin like a film of cold oil, offering no insulation against the abyss's chill.
"Hold formation!" Taren barks, his voice a nervous, high-pitched crack in the crushing silence. Not a single soldier threatens to break ranks, but the command hangs in the water anyway.
We descend further into the gloom.
We are not plunging into the true trench.
We are heading directly for the Gray Wastes—the vast, rocky continental shelf that brutally separates the safety of the reef from the endless abyss.
It is a terrifying no-man's-land of jagged basalt ridges and strong, unpredictable thermal currents. A designated killing field.
I swim mechanically, my body operating on pure instinct. Stroke. Glide. Stroke. Glide. My mind is a blank slate, wiped clean by the cold and the crushing weight of this reality.
Mira stays permanently glued to my right side, her armored body a useless shield against the darkness.
She checks on me every few minutes, her fingers brushing my bare arm, adjusting the thin strap of my worthless vest. She whispers breathless reassurances that I ignore, her words dissolving into the heavy, silent water around us.
"Find a defensible position in the rocks," she says, her eyes darting into the dark water ahead like startled fish. "We'll dig the squad in tight. You won't have to fight anything, Vaelis. I'll take first watch. I'll keep them away from you."
Her words are useless to me.
We swim steadily for what feels like an eternity.
The last faint glimmer of the Reef’s lights vanishes behind us, swallowed by the gloom, a distant mocking memory of safety.
The ocean water grows darker, heavier with each downward stroke.
The crushing pressure builds behind my eyes, a familiar dull ache.
Then, the Vanguard Commander's order cuts through the water. A sudden halt.
We have reached the Ridge. It is a towering spine of jagged rock that perfectly overlooks the steep descent into the Gray Wastes.
"Form up the lines!" the heavy orders echo down the chain of command, the vibrations a painful tremor against my temples. "Pikes to the front guard! Archers take the high ridge! All Reds report immediately to the Vanguard!"
My stomach drops.
Mira's fingers close around my wrist, her grip bruising. "No," she screams, the word a frantic bubble in the dead water.