22. 22 #2
The moment I swim inside, the mineral-laced ceiling responds. One crystal flickers to life with a soft hum, then another, until they all glow in quiet unison, mimicking my movement. It’s the only welcome I get.
I take advantage of the solitude and warm up.
No daggers, of course, just muscle memory and breath.
I gave up on sleep hours ago. Restless dreams clung to me like the humidity of a hot rainy day, and when I surfaced from the haze, it still hadn’t been long enough for the Pearlguards to change shifts.
Which means it’s the middle of the night.
Nyxalene let me use daggers for yesterday’s evaluation, but I was told I still haven't earned the one's that will belong to me. I assume today’s fight is how I earn them. The one she says I’m ready for.
After yesterday’s sparring session, I actually felt good about how quickly I picked things up, but confidence and dread can live side by side. Since she told me I was ready, the dread has only grown. Something about her final comment from yesterday lingers.
Suspicions of her king, who should be brutal in battle . . . What does that mean?
“You're training hard.” Orion’s voice cuts through the stillness, pulling me sharply out of my thoughts.
“Trying to,” I reply, keeping my movements fluid—repetition burning into my limbs now. “Harder when distracted.”
I don’t glance in his direction. I know better by now. His presence is already enough of a disruption. Looking at him would only make it worse. But he doesn’t stop talking.
“How long have you been in here?” His tone shifts, edged with curiosity. “I wasn’t expecting you until after the shift change.”
I keep moving, afraid it’ll sever my rhythm. Unwilling to break the focus I’ve managed to cling to. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get a head start before everyone shows up.”
Outside the coral archway windows, the muffled sounds of the Pearlguards exchanging shifts echo through the water.
Orion swims toward the archway, his attention pulled by the change. He reaches up, pressing his hand to the coral structure, fingers curling halfway around the edge like he’s anchoring himself.
I watch him now, because that’s become a habit I haven’t figured out how to break.
It’s always him. No matter how far I swim or how hard I try to focus on anything else, my thoughts and eyes drift back to Orion.
His height. His build. The way his presence fills a room whether he means to or not. His personality—equal parts frustrating and magnetic. And his smile . . .
Damn, that smile.
I hate how it lingers in my mind long after he’s gone. I still can't comprehend why it affects me the way it does.
He stays quiet until the shift change finishes, eyes distant, like he’s somewhere else entirely. But before I can ask if anything is on his mind, he speaks again. “Lord Zevrin, along with your opponent, will arrive shortly. Nyx will join us later; she’s handling a prior obligation.”
I nod and resume my warm-up, letting the repetition calm my nerves while we wait, but a question burning in my mind slips free. “What did Nyxalene mean yesterday? About her suspicions with our spar?”
Orion remains near the archway, eyes still trained on the kingdom unfolding beneath him.
“Her suspicions are irrelevant. Nyxalene is a great warrior, and she is who I will always call for if I need help with the kingdom.
But humans, and how your kind operates, has never been her strong suit.
Her suspicions weren't accurate and I handled her comment smoothly. That is all you need to know.”
Lord Zevrin arrives immediately after that, gliding into the chamber with the quiet authority he always seems to carry.
A Pearlguard trails just behind him, his lower rank marked clearly across his armor, armed and attentive.
I recall from Orion’s lessons that Pearlguards sometimes assist with smaller duties during training, so I assume he’s here for something related to the challenge.
Another Neravyn follows closely behind them, one who looks strikingly similar to him, though the differences are just as clear.
Zevrin’s coloring is darker, his presence sharper, every movement is disciplined and exact. The finling behind him is paler, with soft blue scales streaked in silver instead of Zevrin’s deep grays. He wears minimal armor, only a simple chain-link vest, and carries no weapon.
Despite the resemblance, they lack the wisdom Zevrin wears so easily. There is no weight behind their gaze, no quiet respect in how they move through the space. They keep a steady distance behind Zevrin, like they know they haven’t earned the right to swim beside him.
I haven’t had many interactions with the Neravyn since arriving in Virellan, but from what I’ve observed, they don’t strike me as particularly curious. They seem to keep to themselves, follow orders without question, and maintain peace within the kingdom with an unwavering sense of duty.
However, I get the feeling that doesn’t mean they aren’t capable fighters or have unique personalities. From the lessons on the Neravyn guard, I remember not just their movements but their history, how they came to be a people of their own.
Before the Great Sea War—a lesson Orion says will come later—the Neravyn didn’t exist. They were born from the union of two entirely different species, a love that created an entirely new line of descendants.
But their origin was not met with celebration.
They were shunned by their respective communities, cast out for being different.
So they left.
They traveled thousands of miles through the deepest parts of the ocean, seeking a place to belong, until they came across Virellan.
At the time, the kingdom was still recovering, still rebuilding after its own conflict.
The couple offered loyalty and guidance to King Thaldrin, Orion’s father, and in return, they were given a home.
The Neravyn have served the crown ever since. And I imagine that kind of history leaves behind a quiet anger, one that comes from being exiled, from watching your ancestors being turned away by the very people who created them.
I never did ask how long Zevrin has served, or how long Orion’s father ruled.
But it sounds like a long time. Which makes me question, how long do people live down here?
It’s not something I’ve paid much attention to.
I’ve been too focused on staying alive and adapting to this new life to ask about things like lifespan, but I make a mental note to ask Orion later, though depending on how this fight goes, that information might not matter much.
I remain in the center of the sparring circle, rooted to the spot from the moment Zevrin entered the chamber. The three of them swim closer. The finling stops directly beside me and faces the dais. I follow suit, matching the formality without thinking much of it.
Zevrin positions himself in front of us.
“This duel will end one way and one way only,” he announces, his voice commanding.
“One of you must yield. The first to yield loses.” He looks between us with that steady gaze I’ve come to associate with him, one that sees more than he lets on.
“You both have something to gain from this duel.
I chose you, Defymin, for your strength, your determination, and your past. Land-dweller Sarah, you are here for the king, for the kingdom, and, from what I have gathered, for yourself.
You both have a future with Virellan. Now, it's your turn to show us what you have to offer.”
From the archway, Orion turns and swims to the dais, settling into place on the throne as Zevrin recites the rules.
“Before we begin, listen well. These rules are carved into every warrior who has ever trained within the Virellan kingdom,” he says, his tone carrying the weight of someone who’s delivered them more times than I’ve been alive.
“First and foremost, no kill blows. This is not war.
You are here to yield, not to maim or end lives.
Avoid strikes to the back of the head or any vital organs.
We need every warrior we have, and the goal is to sharpen each other, not destroy.