15. 15
fifteen
Orion
The throne room stretches before us, vast enough to humble even the most seasoned of leaders.
A path of polished pearlstone cuts through its center, beginning at the entrance and leading to a broad set of steps that ascend to the royal dais.
At its summit rests the throne, carved from gleaming white stone and accented with gold veined coral, while a smaller seat waits just to its left for my future queen.
High above, marilume weaves throughout the vaulted ceiling, glowing in muted shades of teal and sapphire.
The light gathers around the dais until the thrones are bathed in a warm, golden radiance.
The council is already mid-frenzy with raised voices and overlapping accusations. Their words twist through the chamber like tangled seaweed.
“—reckless to withhold this any longer—”
“—we have yet to verify if the scroll is even genuine—”
I coil forward like a ribbon filled with power, letting intimidation speak for me. Sarah follows closely behind, but my gaze stays forward as I pass each noble floating in front of their carved coral chairs.
Nyx waits at the base of the dais' steps, shoulders squared and posture unwavering. Her eyes find mine, and a quiet nod is given, reminding me to breathe.
You are in charge, not them. Breathe in. Breathe out. Whooo.
Words continue to fall from each of their mouths, but one voice cuts through the rest.
Duke Seren leans forward from his seat near the center. “And what is she doing here?” His words are heartless. Spoken with true disdain, “A land-dweller with stolen power has no place in this hall, let alone beside a throne. I see no honor in a king for welcoming a thief to council matters.”
Typical. Seren Malquor, Duke of Virellius Deep. He is cunning, politically shrewd, and, as always, his ego is too big to fit into his tail.
Virellius Deep predates the kingdom itself—a fact Seren clings to with desperate pride.
He wears his ancient bloodline like armor, even though its power has long since faded, wielding its history as if it still inspires fear.
My least favorite noble. And unfortunately, always the loudest in the room.
The hall quiets just enough for his words to land.
I freeze at the base of the dais as I turn my head, looking downward, to meet his eyes.
I don’t speak—yet. Instead, I ascend the steps, cutting through the water with silent strength—one even Mother Ocean herself cannot deny.
I reach the throne and sit, the carved stone molding to me as though it remembers who I am.
Only then do I meet Sarah's gaze and give a single nod toward the throne on my right. it is neither an invitation nor a request. It is a demand.
She hesitates. Just for a breath. A flicker of uncertainty crosses her features like a shadow in the current. But she doesn't linger for long. Her chin lifts, spine straightens, and she crosses the space between us with quiet resolve.
She takes a seat beside me, head high, refusing to shrink beneath their scrutiny.
“Your majesty?” Nyx’s eyebrow raises at my actions.
“Are you sure this is appropriate?” Her voice barely rises above a whisper.
Nyx never questions me. Not without reason.
The seat beside the throne is reserved for Virellan's future queen.
No one else has occupied it since my mother's passing.
By directing a human toward it—a human whose place in my kingdom remains partially unclear—I am making a statement I cannot take back.
Let them see where she stands now. I don't know what future Mother Ocean has chosen for Sarah, only that it is entwined with Virellan's.
Now settled into the throne, its weight no heavier than the eyes fixed on me, my gaze finds Duke Seren, still puffed with indignation. Of course, he would be the first to bark.
“She remains beside me,” I announce, voice calm but edged in steel, “because without her, we would not be here in this meeting at all.” A ripple of unease moves through the hall, but I don't let it stall me. “She is the only one who could read the scroll—words penned in magic meant for a single soul. My father’s magic chose her. That alone demands respect.”
I glance at Sarah. Her composure holds, but I saw the flicker earlier. The way she steadied herself before swimming forward. Bravery is not loud. It is quiet in the moments most would retreat.
I continue, returning my features to the council. “And it was her courage that revealed truths that have been buried for too long. Truths we now must face. So before any of you speak of thievery again, remember—without her, we would have nothing but silence and shadows helping us.”
The silence after my words is taut, like a body holding its breath too long. The council waits, some visibly fuming, others merely watching, calculating.
I turn to Sarah and incline my head, offering her the floor. She hesitates again, this time longer. Her fingers twist lightly in the fabric of her dress as she rises, and though her shoulders are square, I can see the tremble just beneath.
“I, um . . .” she murmurs, the words fragile in the vast hall, as she glides forward from the seat she just sat in.
“I don’t . . . I don’t know what any of this means.
Not really.” Her voice is apprehensive, but she does not falter.
She draws a breath and continues, eyes sweeping the room, then briefly flicking toward me before finding the floor.
“I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t even believe any of it was real when it started.
Some of it, I still don’t think is real.
And . . . I still don’t know why the scroll, or your former king’s magic, chose me.
But I read what it said.” She lifts her chin slightly, though her voice remains quiet, threadbare with honesty.
“I’m just a marine biologist. I’m not supposed to be here.
But . . . the magic chose me. And it’s time I chose it, too. ”
The words settle, and the silence that follows is deep and charged.
Then, as if summoned by her resolve, a soft pulse ripples outward from where she floats. A faint glow, barely visible at first, suddenly bursts like a wave through the chamber—a shimmer of pale light laced with gold and teal-green brushes against every being in the room.
Gasps echo from the council. One of the marilume lights from above flickers, the enchanted mineral reacting to the sudden surge of power. The glow lingers around Sarah for a breath before fading.
That is when the balance breaks.
The current tightens, pulsing with a unfamiliar rhythm. The glow, once fading, flares back to life. Only this time, it centers entirely on her. Sarah staggers slightly, her eyes widening as light swirls around her, cocooning her form in ribbons of magic that ripple like the sea itself.
Her skin takes on a soft iridescence, kissed by blues and silvers that shimmer with every breath.
Her hair fans around her in a halo of deep burgundy and coral-red hues, threaded now with delicate strands that mirror kelp.
Faint scales bloom along her arms and collarbones fine as lace, catching the light like crystal.
Where once she wore a simple dress, now the fabric flows like water, reformed into something regal and elemental—woven by the ocean’s own hand.
The transformation is not monstrous. It is majestic. She looks like she belongs to the sea.
The silence in the hall is total, even the currents seem to hold their breath. And at the farthest end from Sarah, Velmira, silent until now, leans forward, as her voice floats like a whispered prophecy. “Only when belief takes root will the magic rise in full.”
The truth of it reverberates like an ancient chord struck deep beneath the waves. The rest of the council does not move or speak. All eyes remain fixed on Sarah, no longer an outsider. No longer just a land-dweller.
She's the sea’s chosen now.
Rising from the throne, I inch closer to Sarah, now only a few feet apart. Something in her has shifted; not just in appearance, but in presence. The fear, the disbelief, the fragile thread of apprehensiveness I had felt in her moments ago, is gone. Or maybe not gone, but tempered.
I don't know everything about her. Not yet. But at this moment, she carries herself differently. Steadier. As though something deep inside her has stopped running away.
She hasn't hardened. If anything, she seems herself just with an added anchor. As if accepting the magic didn't change her, but cleared the noise around her long enough for her to embrace who she already is.
“When I read the scroll,” she says, her voice clearer now but not loud, “I thought it would explain why this happened to me. I wanted it to say something certain. Something that made sense.”
She glances down, the glow on her skin catching in the movement, then lifts her gaze again, even as emotion threads her voice.
“But that . . .” she points toward the scroll in Velmira’s grasp, “isn’t speaking of a prophecy.
It’s about regret. I don’t know your former king, but I can say this much: he made a choice he couldn’t take back.
And now he’s trying to warn us of what might come because of it.
” She exhales, just once, sharp and controlled.
“It said the magic would choose someone with courage and worth. I still don’t know if that person is me.
But a lot has been thrown my way these past few days, and I’m still here.
The sea has always called to me, and maybe that’s why it chose me.
” Her fingers curl slightly at her sides, not in anger, but to ground herself.
“You don’t have to trust me. The magic inside me already does.
I promise to do my part by learning, adapting, and perfecting my skills to face whatever is to come.
Not because I have to, but because I want to. ”
A beat of silence spreads from everyone in the room, and shock is written across every face, including mine.
How have I not seen this side of her? She's strong and powerful—magic aside. Delivering the message of what she saw on the scroll was effortless.
“So what's our next move, your majesty?” Lord Zevrin’s voice cuts cleanly through the silence, steady and sure. As leader of the Neravyn Guard, he rarely speaks without purpose. “If she is who your father’s magic chose, what do we do?”
Zevrin trained alongside my father and later helped shape my own training in my youth.
He was appointed as Tidewarden the same day my father was crowned king—an unspoken symbol of loyalty that has persisted even after his death.
Wearing the standard-issued uniform of our kingdom’s force, he is unmistakable.
His deep blue sash bears a golden shell crest, and his mantle is etched with a ceremonial trident.
He holds all things in confidence. The most unshakable warrior I have ever met.
That is how he carries himself, and that is how we all see him.
Our forces respect him. General Nyxalene respects him. I respect him.
He is the one who maps out our strategies and who sees the battlefield before the first blow is struck.
So when he turns to me and asks what comes next .
. . I falter. Because I don't know. And I'm not sure why he expects me to.
I place myself back down onto the throne, slowly running my hand down my face.
This is the part where being a king becomes hard. To give answers for things you do not actually know the answer to.
“We will do what we always do. Hold our forces. Nothing has surfaced at this time, until then—”
My words are interrupted, and the doors to the Trident Hall burst open, and one of the Deepwatch Captains comes barreling in, shouting, “Your majesty, the Redlock Chamber has been breached!”