The sphere's energy spread through her, etching marks along her arms, her back — swirling, wave-like patterns of pale blue light.
The Sovereign's voice spoke one final time.
"Remember this: to bear water is to bear both mercy and ruin. Rise, Tidebearer."
Kedes kept to the lead, his spear caked in dried ichor. Raerin limped, a wound poorly tended beneath his tunic.
Jonan moved like one hollowed out, each step a demand answered by sheer will. Ahead, scattered lights flickered—not stars, but fire-wrought lanterns clinging to clusters of crude shelters.
The colonies. Or what passed for them here. They came in cautious approach, mindful of eyes behind every cracked stone.
The First Layer bred a particular kind of survivor. Not hostile, but too long ungoverned to trust easily. A figure emerged first—a tall woman swathed in old leathers, a scarf of frayed crimson at her throat.
