CHAPTER TWO
Kaine stood in the shadowed corner of the infirmary, arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into the worn fabric of his sleeve.
Before him, Luna directed the storm-callers with hushed, urgent commands, their hands weaving patterns in the air above Thalia's still form.
Electrical currents sparked between their fingertips, leaving ghost-trails of blue-white light that illuminated the hollows of their concentrated faces.
Kaine watched as Roran, positioned closest to the bed, closed his eyes and pulled a thin ribbon of crackling energy from the air itself, guiding it toward Thalia's temple with agonizing precision.
The air tightened, pressure building until Kaine's ears popped—then nothing.
Like every attempt before it, the magic dissipated without effect, leaving only the scent of ozone and the weight of collective disappointment.
"The connection's there," Naj insisted, his voice rough from hours of instruction.
The Isle Warden stood behind Roran, his tattooed hands hovering just above the younger man's shoulders.
"You're reaching for her, but not deeply enough.
You must imagine the current flowing not just around her, but through her. "
Roran's jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck standing out like cords. "I'm trying." The words were barely audible, ground out through gritted teeth. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, a testament to the three days he'd spent at Thalia's bedside, refusing both food and rest.
Luna exchanged a glance with Naj, something unspoken passing between them. "Perhaps we should rest," she suggested, her usually scattered demeanor replaced by a focused calm that still surprised Kaine. "The human mind can only sustain concentration for so long before it frays."
"We don't have time," Roran snapped, reaching again for the invisible currents that Kaine could not see. "Every hour she stays like this..."
He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to. They all knew what happened to coma patients who remained unresponsive for too long. The body withered. The mind, if it returned at all, came back changed, fragmented.
Kaine shifted his weight, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. The sound drew Luna's attention, and she offered him a small, tired smile.
"Any change?" he asked, though he could see the answer plainly.
Luna shook her head. "Small reactions. Her pulse quickens sometimes, and there have been moments when the air around her seems to... respond to our efforts. But she remains beyond reach."
Kaine nodded, his face carefully arranged into what he hoped was an expression of professional concern rather than the churning fear that actually filled his chest. He'd become adept at masking his emotions during his years in Northern prison, a skill that had served him well at Frostforge.
It served him now as he watched the woman he loved lying as still as death, her skin pale as winter, her breath so shallow it barely stirred the blanket drawn to her chin.
Naj was speaking again, his accent thick with exhaustion. "The technique requires balance. Too much force and you risk burning pathways in her mind. Too little, and you cannot reach her at all."
Roran leaned forward, his fingers splayed inches above Thalia's forehead. "Show me again."
Naj positioned himself on the opposite side of the bed and extended his hands, mirroring Roran's stance.
The air between them began to shimmer, heat-haze distortions that twisted the light from the oil lamps.
Tiny arcs of electricity—not as wild as lightning, but controlled, deliberate—formed a net of glowing filaments above Thalia's unconscious form.
"You must become the conduit," Naj said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Feel the current flowing through you, not from you. Let it find its natural path, like water seeking the sea."
The net of energy pulsed once, twice, drawing closer to Thalia's skin with each contraction. For a moment, Kaine thought he saw her eyelids flutter—but no, it was just the play of light and shadow as the electrical web shifted.
He couldn't watch this anymore. Each failed attempt drove the knife deeper, each moment of false hope followed by crushing disappointment. There was work to be done elsewhere—work that might actually make a difference, that might protect what remained of their fragile refuge.
"I should check on the progress at the east wall," he said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. Nobody looked up as he moved toward the door; they were too focused on their impossible task.
Only Luna glanced in his direction as he reached for the handle. "She would understand," she said softly. "The academy needs you."
Kaine gave a curt nod and pulled the heavy door open, escaping into the relative quiet of the corridor beyond.
He stood there for a moment, letting his head fall back against the cold stone wall, eyes closed as he drew a deep, steadying breath.
The scent of scorched stone and seawater lingered throughout the fortress, reminders of the devastation wrought by the Deep Ones' attack.
Three days since Thalia had collapsed in the Founders' Price chamber.
Three days since whatever ancient mechanism she'd activated had driven back the Deep Tide, buying them precious time but at terrible cost. The academy's outer defenses lay in ruins, with entire sections of wall simply.
.. gone, as though it had never existed at all.
The black tendrils of the massive Deep One had left their mark everywhere—gouges in the cliff face, holes punched through rooftops, and worst of all, the places where people had stood one moment and been reduced to nothing the next.
Daniel's face flashed unbidden in Kaine's mind—the moment of horror as the tendril struck, the awful silence that followed. Just one of many they'd lost. Not the first, and certainly not the last.
He pushed himself away from the wall, forcing his feet to carry him toward the east battlements where he'd arranged to meet Rissa.
The Isle Warden woman had proved to be a capable metallurgist, with knowledge of alloys that complemented his own expertise.
Together, they'd been working on a new type of barrier—one that combined traditional forging techniques with the storm-callers' ability to maintain a constant electrical charge.
The theory was sound, at least on paper: the Deep Ones seemed to recoil from concentrated electrical energy, just as they withdrew from the ancient power that Thalia had somehow channeled.
If they could create a network of charged metal panels along the most vulnerable sections of wall, they might be able to slow the next attack, giving them time to strategize their defense.
Kaine found Rissa already at work, her sleeves rolled up to reveal arms covered in elaborate blue-black tattoos—storm patterns, he'd learned, marking her status among the Isle Wardens and designed to channel electric energy.
She was heating a sheet of metal over a makeshift forge, her movements economical and precise.
"You're late," she said without looking up, her accent softening the edges of the words.
"Had to check on something," he replied, picking up a hammer from the array of tools laid out beside the forge. The familiar weight of it in his hand brought a measure of calm; metal was predictable, malleable, responsive to skill and patience in ways that magic—and people—often weren't.
Rissa glanced at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "How is she?"
Kaine brought the hammer down with more force than necessary, the sound ringing out across the open space. "The same."
"And how are you?"
The question caught him off guard. He paused, hammer raised for another strike, and fixed Rissa with a look that had sent many Frostforge recruits scrambling for cover. "I'm working. That's how I am."
Rissa held his gaze, unimpressed. "The same, then."
Kaine returned to his task, shaping the heated metal with methodical blows. They worked in silence for a time, the rhythm of hammer on metal punctuated by the hiss of steam when Rissa quenched finished pieces in a nearby barrel of water.
"Your Southern friend," Rissa said eventually, "the one who will not leave her side. He is quite determined."
"Roran is many things," Kaine said, inspecting the edge of the panel he was working on. "Mostly, he’s irritating."
Rissa made a sound that might have been amusement. "You mainlanders and your jealousy. So much energy wasted on pride and possession."
Kaine's knuckles whitened around the hammer's handle. "This has nothing to do with—"
"Of course not," Rissa cut him off. "Just as your absence from the infirmary has nothing to do with fear."
"I'm not afraid," Kaine said, the lie tasting like ash on his tongue. "I'm being practical. Someone needs to rebuild our defenses, and I can't do that sitting by a bedside, watching failed attempt after failed attempt to wake her."
"Ah, so it is practicality that keeps you here," Rissa nodded, turning the metal sheet to work on its opposite side. "Nothing to do with the fact that you cannot bear to see her like that, or that you blame yourself for not stopping her from entering the chamber alone."
Kaine set down his hammer with deliberate care. "Are all Isle Wardens this intrusive, or is it a special talent of yours?"
"We live on ships and in fortress-whales," Rissa shrugged. "Privacy is a luxury we cannot afford. We learn to read each other, to speak plainly about what mainlanders leave unsaid."
"Well, we're not on a ship," Kaine said, picking up a measuring tool and checking the dimensions of the panel. "And I didn't ask for your observations."
"No," Rissa agreed. "But perhaps you need them all the same."