Chapter 16 #2
The caws of unseen creatures sent her scurrying forward faster, unwilling to spend a second longer here than necessary. The pull toward the orb remained, but it was less insistent now.
Then she heard it—whimpers of despair and howls of agony threading through the trees.
Dawson clapped his hands over his ears; she followed suit, humming a long-forgotten lullaby. Anything to drown out the voices begging her to listen.
They reached the edge of a clearing. Alaire stopped, staring down into a circular abyss, unease blooming in her gut.
In front of her was a gaping hole in the earth, wide and black, like the ground’s heart had been broken and the wound never healed. A cenote. Carved into the crumbling rock was a spiral staircase wrapping around its edge.
“Well”—she nudged a loose rock with the toe of her boot—“this looks inviting.”
The stone tumbled forward and vanished. She silently counted: one… two… three. A faint splash echoed up from below.
She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “Perfect. Bottomless pit of doom. Just what I always longed for.”
The damp air clung to her skin, and the pull coiled tight in her chest.
Dawson eyed the sinkhole with the same trepidation she felt. The slick, crumbling staircase didn’t inspire confidence.
“Shall we?” he urged. “Ladies first.”
“How chivalrous.” She flashed him a brittle smile.
Beck pawed at the ground before chasing his tail in a circle and settling down.
“Can’t he fly us down?” she asked.
Somewhere in the depths, water dripped in slow, echoing intervals.
Dawson shook his head. “Not a risk I’m willing to take with him until we see exactly what brought us to the edge of Cielore.”
“Absolute insanity, apparently.”
With one last glance at the dense forest—thankfully free of ferocious beasts—she squared her shoulders and stepped forward.
The stairs spiraled downward, slick with moisture and veined with moss. One wrong move and she’d be plunging into whatever nightmare waited below.
Fantastic.
Mist curled around her halfway down. The cenote’s walls seemed to press closer, heavy with tangled vines that dangled like skeletal fingers toward the water’s surface.
When they reached solid ground, the orb’s light pulsed in steady intervals, as if flashing an arrow that screamed, We’re here .
“Yeah, thanks,” she muttered to it.
Directly across the cavern lay a body of dark water, a glassy expanse that reflected their shapes back like a black mirror.
The light that had beckoned them skittered across the water’s surface like a flare before diving deep below. She shielded her eyes against the brightness. Her boots sank into the soft earth near the water’s edge.
The pond’s surface shifted from an opaque mirror to a translucent veil, revealing an oval-shaped object nestled far below. Then the water stilled once more, leaving only her harrowed reflection staring back.
Hollowed eyes. Blown-out pupils. Frizzy hair.
A stiff jab in the middle of her spine almost made her trip, the pull insisting she move forward.
“What was that ?” Dawson stood at the edge of the water.
“I have no fucking idea.” She dug her heels into the sand as if to make a point to her obnoxious pull.
“Pretty sure that’s what we came all this way for. And I have to go swimming in the abyss—at night—to get it,” she hissed through her teeth.
“There has to be another way,” Dawson said, his warrior training kicking in as he assessed every option.
This is madness. There’s no way I’m going down to retrieve that object underwater. Her heartbeat quickened.
She tapped her foot against the ground, the repetitive sound doing nothing to calm the unease twisting inside her. She tried to be logical, to convince herself she could walk away and leave the dancing orb alone.
But logic had ceased to apply the moment she felt that pull.
Still… she didn’t move.
Dread clawed at her insides. Deep down, she knew she had to do this alone. At least Dawson would be here with his magic to help if she ever clawed her way back to the surface. She closed her eyes against the anxiety, which was quickly escalating into panic.
Powerlessness settled on Alaire’s shoulders like dead weight. Her knees buckled.
Her breathing turned shallow. She focused on her breathwork, willing it to calm the panic rising like a high tide.
She hated how her body always did this at the worst moments. For a while, it had seemed her affliction was only triggered by sickness. But in recent years, panic, anxiety, and fear had begun to provoke attacks too.
The sound of her labored breathing thrummed in her ears. She recognized the signs early—the wheezing wasn’t yet heavy and weighted, just a high-pitched whistle.
Alaire shoved a hand into her pocket and pulled out her breathbind reliquary. She removed the cap and pressed it to her lips, fingers fumbling. She held her breath for a few seconds to let the medicine work before tucking it away.
Slowly, the vice around her chest loosened. Her rasping subsided. Her ribs no longer caged her lungs like prisoners.
Although coated in a fine sheen of sweat, her heartbeat returned to normal.
Weariness washed over her. The realization that Dawson had once again seen her weaknesses made her feel exposed, as if her insides had been dumped out for the world to see.
No matter how strong or calculating she was, there was no guarantee she wouldn’t have another attack midway through a battle or trial—but that was a worry for another time.
Going into that lake would not break her. She was stronger than this—stronger than the panic and fear. She just needed to breathe, focus, and take it one step at a time.
Dawson’s feet squished as he walked toward her, glancing at the water before them. “Are you alright?”
Alaire didn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t want to see his pity—or worse, his concern. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.
“Fine.”
“I couldn’t see another way in or out. If that pull is still insisting you have to go into the water?—”
“Oh, it is.”
“I’ll come with you.” Dawson stepped forward, already tugging at the laces of his boots with sharp, jerky movements. One boot hit the ground, then the other, followed by the hurried peeling away of his socks.
“I don’t think—” Alaire reached out a hand to stop him, but before she could touch him, his toes skimmed the water.
An angry hiss split the air. The immaculately still surface churned into a violent boil.
Dawson cursed, jerking back as steam rose in thick tendrils.
The skin on his feet turned red and raw.
“What the—” He swore through clenched teeth, staggering back until he landed hard on his ass. He huffed, frustration crackling in the air. “Well, that’s just fucking great.”
The pull urged her forward again, coiling tight before yanking hard.
She dug her palms into her eyes, exhaling sharply.
“No way,” Dawson growled, trying to push himself up. “It’s too dangerous. You saw what just happened to me.”
Alaire swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t have any other choice. I need to find out what’s at the end of all this—why I was brought here.”
Without warning, she dipped a finger into the water. The boiling stopped instantly. The pool returned to its calm, reflective obsidian.
Her stomach dropped. Whatever this was, it was hers alone to face. The familiar weight of isolation settled over her shoulders.
“See?” she said without looking at him. “I have to do this on my own.”
Dawson’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. He looked like he wanted to punch something. “This is bullshit,” he muttered, aggravation bleeding through his controlled mask. “There has to be another way.”
“There isn’t.” She turned to face him.
For once, he didn’t argue, but the muscle ticking in his jaw and the way he dragged a hand through his hair revealed just how much he hated it.
His eyes tracked her every movement as she began stripping out of her leathers.
The sound of fabric against skin seemed louder in the silence.
She pulled off her jacket, then her boots, hyperaware of his gaze burning into her.
When she looked up, his eyes were dark, hungry, taking in every inch of exposed flesh.
“You’re staring.” She arched a brow.
“At every fucking inch,” he said without apology, voice like gravel.
For once, Alaire had no retort.
She peeled off her leather pants, leaving only the thin undergarments clinging to her curves. The cool air raised goosebumps along her arms and legs, pulling her back to reality.
She stowed her clothes far from the water’s edge so she’d have something warm when she returned, then stepped to the shore. Her toes sank into the wet soil, the water frigid.
Before she could hesitate, she drew a deep breath and dove in.
“Alaire!” Dawson shouted.
The cold hit her like a wall, biting deep. She opened her eyes; the sting was immediate, but she forced herself to blink through it.
The murky water blocked the view from above. The orb’s light barely penetrated the thick seaweed forest. She swam forward until the area opened into a larger inlet.
The deeper she went, the more that eerie feeling from the clearing returned. A flicker of movement caught her eye—she wasn’t alone. Scales flashed, glittering like gems.
Out of the darkness, a creature of the deep circled her. In its webbed hands, it brandished a jagged piece of rebar, spearpoint aimed at her chest. Its garbled sounds—clicks and scratches—echoed through the water. Hair like strings of sea anemones framed eyes too large for its face.
Its tail swished as it hurtled toward her. Alaire dodged, feeling the weapon skim her ribs, tearing a slit in her thin layer. Blood streamed into the water like a red ribbon. She held her hands up in surrender, trying to show she meant no harm.
It didn’t work.
The creature drove her toward a cluster of tall seaweed, relentless. She had no weapons—only time, and that was running out. Tingling spread through her lungs.
With no other choice, she snatched a decayed, broken branch. When the mer lunged again, she thrust it forward as a shield.
A grimace of pain crossed its face. She started to swim away, but a stream of bubbles drifted past her. Turning back, she saw more bubbles spilling from its mouth in what could only be a cry of pain.
A closer look revealed its tail dragging behind, one fin stiff and unmoving. Beyond the thrashing tail, a stone slab pinned the appendage down.
Alaire’s lungs burned. To her right, she had a clear path to the oval object over which the faint orb still hovered. This was her chance.
Near the object, a cluster of small shapes huddled in moss and smooth stones. Wide eyes and spaghetti-like strands of hair marked them as tiny versions of the merfolk—babies, pressed together in fear.
A mother protecting her young.
The burn in her lungs turned unbearable. She could grab the stone and flee—it’s what a good soldier would do when given an objective. But Alaire had never been good at bowing to orders.
Plan with your head. Lead with your heart .
She couldn’t leave them like this. But she wouldn’t last underwater much longer.
Alaire kicked hard for the surface, breaking through with a gasp. She treaded water, gulping air.
“What the hell is going on down there?” Dawson’s voice cut through her haze. “Get out of the water. Now .”
“Not happening,” she called back.
“Alaire—”
She took one more deep breath and dove.
Swimming straight to the injured creature, she examined the trap. Her fingers scraped the heavy rock pinning its tail, wedged deep into mud and algae, slick and unyielding. She braced herself, using the broken branch as a pry bar, straining against the water’s drag.
The stone shifted—just enough.
The merfolk thrashed once, twice, and with a sudden snap of its tail, it was free. Alaire released the branch, letting it sink to the lakebed. Her chest spasmed—being underwater was already taking a toll on her exhausted lungs.
Quickly, she swam for the oval object, careful to give the young mer space. Cradling it in one arm, she kicked off. Her legs burned. The surface seemed impossibly far. When her strokes began to falter, something surged beneath her—a force pressing against her lower back. The creature.
It propelled her upward in a rush of unparalleled speed.
Alaire broke the surface with a ragged gasp, sucking in air with a shuddering inhale.
She glanced back. The creature lingered below, watching her with something that might have been gratitude.
When she finally reached the shore, she collapsed onto her back, dragging in as much air as she could. The oval object rolled onto the ground beside her.
“You’re alright,” Dawson said, sagging with relief. His feet were covered; they must’ve already healed.
“Fine.” She coughed out the water still clinging to her lungs, too drained to say more.
“What is that?” Dawson leaned forward, trying to get a better look at what had summoned them all this way.
She shook her head, teeth chattering. The weight of the water still clung to her thin shirt, each movement dragging under the cold.
Rolling onto her side, she examined what the pull had pushed her to recover—a large oval stone spanning the length of her torso, faint veins of amber splicing outward. It had seemed almost weightless in the water, but here, it looked impossibly heavy.
Her fingers twitched toward it. A smear of red glistened across the smooth curve, blood from the cut on her ribs.
“Some fancy rock.” Pushing to her feet, she ignored the tremor in her legs. “Turn around,” she instructed Dawson.
He gave her a wary look, eyes lingering on her wound, but obeyed. She changed into her dry leathers.
When she turned back, the object was no longer still.
It rocked forward and back. A low, wet sound—like a membrane tearing—sent a chill down her spine. Scratching noises followed, then light cracking. A soft sizzle, like water hitting hot oil, grew louder.
A lattice of glowing fissures spread, molten gold spidering outward. The scent of smoke and burning earth thickened in the air.
Alaire stepped closer.
The stone exploded. Fire and ash erupted, heat rolling over her as embers cascaded through the air like tiny, dying stars.
She didn’t move. Didn’t dare blink.
It wasn’t a stone.
It was an egg.
From ashes to flames. The words curled inside her mind, wrapping around her thoughts like a warm cup of tea, soothing and familiar.
“ Hello , Alaire . I have been waiting a long time to meet you .”