13. 13 #2
I want to tell Orion who I think the voice belongs to.
Tell him about the dream I had right before he broke into my home when we first met.
But what would I even say? That the voice I'm hearing isn't the magic itself—that I think it's his father?
Like some part of his essence has been woven into the magic somehow?
No, I can't. I refuse to subject myself to the craziness already taking over my life.
Orion’s eyes linger on me, searching, as if he’s trying to understand what I’m not saying. Then he shifts the conversation. “Do you think the scroll’s message can help us?”
He wants answers as badly as I do. I can hear it in his voice. Each word is clipped. There’s a certainty in the way he talks, like he’s already decided the scroll holds something crucial. Like he needs it to.
I hesitate, shifting under the weight of what I’ve read. “It speaks of someone’s past—their youth. But it doesn’t reveal exactly what happened. I’m sorry.”
Why did I say that? Dammit, Sarah. Are you seriously feeling sorry for him now?
“What else did it reveal?” he asks, his voice sharper now. The worry he shows is undeniable.
He swims past me and grabs the scroll, lifting it like the words might somehow show themselves for him as he paces the room in frantic strokes with his tail, leaving little room for Velmira and me.
“He wrote about crossing a boundary,” I say, watching him carefully. “Between sea and shore. And that he left something behind there.”
Orion pulls back, the scroll now clenched tightly in his grip. His jaw tightens as he turns toward Velmira.
“We need to hold a council meeting. Immediately.”
“Yes, your majesty. I will notify the General at once and we will meet you in the Trident Hall at sea’s light.” Velmira dips her head and glides out of the chamber, leaving only silence in her wake.
Orion doesn’t speak right away. He just remains there, frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Velmira had been, the scroll clutched tightly in his hand—tight enough that the brittle edges crack and flake away.
His jaw clenches and the calm in his expression fractures.
Something darker simmers beneath his skin.
“My father went above, to the surface world?” His voice is quiet as he speaks out loud, but the words are only meant for him.
There’s disbelief in it, yes, but something sharper too.
Betrayal. “He told me never to go there. That land-dwellers were selfish. That they only take what they do not understand. That they would never see us as anything more than myths to exploit.” He stops, trying to calm his breaths.
“He warned me again and again—” He exhales harshly through his nose, turning toward me now.
His voice cracks with the weight of the revelation.
“And the whole time, he had already gone? Crossed the boundary himself and left something behind? He built the entire kingdom on lies and secrets.”
Orion drags a hand through his hair, the motion choppy.
I drift closer, something in me tightening at the look on his face. This rawness in his voice pulls my thoughts forward, unraveling whatever composure I had left. Words start falling out of me before I can think.
“I get it,” I whisper, my hands fidgeting at my sides. “I never really felt like I belonged up there. Not on land. But whenever I go diving . . . whenever I am surrounded by the ocean’s gifts, the weightlessness, the silence . . . it feels like coming home.”
His gaze flicks to me, surprised. Listening.
“I know what it’s like to have the truth kept from you. To find out someone you trusted wasn’t who you thought they were. It shakes everything you stand on.”
I don’t go into detail. I refuse to explain the reasons that I know the feeling.
To find out those who raised you, those who shaped who you are today, and inspired you to chase your dreams, weren’t the ones you came from.
To learn that your real parents were drug addicts and died when you were only a baby.
Lost in the foster care system for two and a half years before getting adopted.
I learned that when I was sixteen. I have since forgiven my parents, all of them. But it doesn’t change that feeling of knowing that I was deceived for thirteen years. And that feeling can swallow a person whole if they aren’t careful.
Orion’s expression shifts, just a little. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t vanish, but it softens. Something in his eyes, blue and bruised with emotion, latches onto mine like he’s hearing more than my words.
Maybe he is. And maybe I’m not as alone in all of this as I thought.
I hold his gaze longer than I mean to. Not because I know what to say next, but because .
. . I don’t know. There’s something about him.
Not just the way he looks—though, sure, that’s distracting as hell—but the way he listens.
The way he's starting to see me. And maybe that’s what catches me off guard.
I’m used to being the one observing, recording, and analyzing. But here, in this impossible place, I feel like the test subject. Seen in ways I don’t expect. But that doesn’t mean I trust it. Or him. Not yet.
“I don't understand why,” Orion mutters, “but your honesty surprised me.”
My breath catches slightly, his words causing a small flutter in my stomach, as I cross my arms and rub at them. “It surprised me too.”
His lips twitch. A beat passes between us, holding an inexplicable quiet, thick with something I can’t name.
Then his demeanor shifts. His voice becomes grounded again. “We need to return to the palace. There is much to prepare before the council gathers.”
Right. The council. The kingdom. Magic.
Still, he doesn’t move—not right away. And neither do I. Something passes between us again, weightless but heavy all at once.
“What about relinquishing what has found its way inside me?” I probe, still wanting to release myself from this nightmare.
“As much as I wish it were that simple, I don't think that is an option anymore.” His words are laced with regret, like he hates being the one to declare it.
Finally, he holds out a hand, more out of necessity than sentiment.
“Stay close to me, Snapdragon. The currents can be unpredictable around this chasm at this time of day.”
There’s something steady in his presence, and I reach for his hand before I can talk myself out of it. We swim side by side into the depths, hands entangled together tightly, toward answers I’m no longer sure I want, but need all the same.