Chapter 6

  The night was quiet, but not in a comforting way. More like the kind of quiet that is listening, waiting for something. Crickets provided a restless scratch in the grass. The tide came in and out, whispering secrets to the shore, like it knew something we hadn’t. Smoke from the fire curled up in lazy, twisting patterns. Erik sat on a flat rock beside the fire, looking small compared to the flames.

  In his hands, he was flipping a piece of dried seaweed, a brittle strip that he was crushing a little bit more with each flip, without even noticing. The firelight caught at his eyes, making him look older than he ever did.

  “Long ago,” he began, his voice low and even, “I mean, a long, long time ago… there was a place called Enotia.” He didn’t look at us, either of us.

  “It was a beautiful place. Not a fairy tale kind of beautiful—real, painful beautiful. Land that just rolled on forever. Rivers so clean you could see the bottom, like someone had melted glass and poured it in. Mountains sharp enough to rip the sky apart.”

  He tightened his grip on the seaweed.

  “The air was fresh—like rain, or bread baking in the oven somewhere close. Like nothing bad had ever happened.” He took a small breath.

  “Everyone lived there. People, Beastfolk, Dragons, Fae, things older than you can imagine. We didn’t have to sing about being together or dance in the fields. We just lived. No one went hungry. No one hunted. No one was afraid to go to sleep.” He threw the seaweed into the fire. It blackened, curled, and disappeared.

  “But nothing stays perfect.” His jaw clenched. “Mortals began to push for a power they weren’t supposed to have. To steal Rei instead of earning it.”

  “They learned how to take it from living things. Drain it, bottle it, use it.” The fire spat loudly. “At first, it worked, mortals were becoming ridiculously powerful without the need for a magic sponser.” He swallowed hard.

  “Then people began to fall ill, and the illness spread like a plague. But it wasn’t just their bodies. It was their Rei tearing apart.”

  Mane furrowed his brow, “Rei… Sponsers” he said. “You talk about these things like I’m supposed to understand what you’re talking about.”

  Erik side-eyed Mane.

  “Rei is the living spiritual energy that permeates all things. The source from which all magic is derived. Rei is the essential essence of a being. It defines how much magic a person can handle, harness, and survive. Rei is what enables us to perform magic.” he said. “Magic cannot be conjured out of thin air. It must be tapped from a source. Using your own Rei will slowly kill you, as it is your life essence. Many magic users tap into their magic through gods. Gods enable them to tap into the god’s own endless Rei, enabling them to wield more powerful magic and reducing the risk of burnout.”

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  A faint twitch at Erik’s mouth. “How about this,” He pointed at Mane’s chest, “Rei is the well. Magic is the bucket.” He paused. “And if you drain the well dry,” he said, “it doesn’t refill by itself. But if you have someone refilling the well every day, it will never be empty again.”

  Erik looked back at the flames.

  The fire moved, shadows crossing his face. “Rei doesn’t like being ripped out. When it’s forced, it frays. Leaks into everything…” Eriks voice dropped lower. “And if it flows through someone who isn’t made for it… it tears them up.”

  He blew out a breath, sharp and thick.

  “The rei they stole never sat right. It twisted inside them. Went foul. Turned rotten. Ate them up from the inside, and anyone who got too close caught it too.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “That was the plague.” Finally, he looked up. His eyes seemed darker, harder.

  “When mortals started dying from their own mistake, they blamed us. Said we’d poisoned them. Said our deeper wells were cursed. And we blamed them right back. Told them this is what happens when you steal what isn’t yours.”

  “No one cared about curing anything after that. Sanctuaries burned. Whole families wiped out. The land itself cracked under the weight of it.”

  He let out a small, bitter laugh. “No one was looking for a real answer. They just wanted a scapegoat.”

  Erik’s voice dropped, barely above the sound of the fire, as if he was almost afraid of a response from the darkness.

  His wings fluttered, agitated lumps against his back. “The gods were watching. Most of them didn’t care. Sat on their thrones high in the clouds, laughing at us. Called us insects. We were just entertainment. But one... one didn’t laugh.”

  He flicked a look at Someone, then back down at the flames. “Her name was Hypasia. Goddess of mercy and healing. She felt it all—every cry, every shattered bone. She wept real tears. It hurt her like it was her own pain.”

  Erik turned a piece of charred seaweed between his fingers, slow. “She’d just had a baby. Because of that she was still weak from childbirth. But she still came down to us, and brought her husband too. Agier. God of water and storms. A bit Quiet, eyes like thunder, but not mean. Not cruel. Even brought the baby with them. I thought that was stupid at the time... but now I understand. They didn’t want to leave each other behind.”

  He sighed, looked at Someone for a few seconds and then continued.

  “They tried. Healed as many as they could. Spoke to leaders. Slept in the dirt like regular humans. Gave it their all.” He let the sentence fade away. “For a time, it almost seemed like it was going to work. Maybe things could have stayed good.”

  His hands clenched on his knees. His voice turned hard, darker. “But trust? That was always the problem. Some folks said she betrayed the gods. Called her weak. Even me—I doubted her, when I should’ve known better.“

  A quick, crooked smile flashed across his face—then was gone. “And then one night, while everyone slept…” The fire crackled. Erik didn’t blink. “A unknown person slipped close. They had a knife.”

  He shifted, his wings brushing the sand once more. “Hypasia… she was stabbed. I don’t even know if she managed to call for help. Agier woke, of course. Tried to heal her. Begged the other gods to help her. They turned their backs. And on top of this…” He swallowed, his voice dropping, almost too calm. “…The baby was stolen.”

  He swallowed again, harsh. “…And then the storm hit.”

  “Agier didn’t yell, didn’t threaten. He just… broke. And when a god of storms breaks, the weight of his sorrows are felt by all. He drowned them all. Every last one—the killers, the soldiers, the ones in hiding. Didn’t matter. The whole world went under.”

  His wings drooped, just brushing the sand. “But Hypasia… even dying, she kept thinking of everyone else. Used what little she had left to push land up out of the water. Tried to save what she could. And one island… she made it special.”

  Erik's eyes darted between Mane and Someone, softer now. “It was for her baby.”

  “She died in Agier's arms. They say her soul still sleeps in the ocean, dreaming of something better. Something she never got.”

  “See, there was this fairy. Tiny thing. Got caught in the flood, tossed around like a leaf in a storm. Washed up on that island, coughing and confused.” Erik jabbed a tiny finger at his chest. “That... that fairy was me.”

  His eyes flicked over to Someone, curled up a little farther from the fire, fast asleep. They hadn't heard most of it—not the stabbing, not the storm, not the worst of it—and Erik didn't bother waking them. Better that way.

  He turned back to Mane, wings twitching nervously. “And that kid—the one the island was made for? The one Hypasia died protectin'?” His voice softened, heavy with something he didn't bother naming.

  “That would be Someone.”

  The firelight danced across the sand and their faces, the waves murmuring in the dark around them. For a moment, nothing else existed but the story, the small fire, and the weight of what had come before.