Chapter 3: The Sea of Whispers

The air beyond the gaol was thick with the scent of salt and iron, a briny tang that clung to Kaelen's throat as he stumbled after Lady Yverin. The streets of Nareth twisted beneath the fractured moons, their light spilling across the cobblestones in jagged pools of silver and red. The eclipse was close now—he could feel it, a pressure behind his eyes, a hum in his bones that matched the faint glow of the silver veins threading his wrists. His cloak hung in tatters, the hood barely shielding his face from the wind that whipped through the scholar-city, carrying whispers of the sea.Lady Yverin moved with purpose, her indigo robe billowing like a storm cloud, the silver threads in her mask glinting as she led him away from the gaol's black silhouette. She hadn't spoken since they'd left, her silence a weight Kaelen felt pressing against his chest. He kept pace, though his legs ached from the fight and the irons, his boots scuffing the stone with every step. Questions burned in his mind—What is a Moonbinder? Why me? Where are we going?—but he held them back. Survival had taught him to watch, to wait, to listen before speaking. In Nareth, words could be as dangerous as blades.The city shifted around them, the scholar's district giving way to narrower lanes where the buildings leaned inward, their eaves dripping with moss and shadow. Lanterns flickered in windows, but the streets were empty, the usual clamor of scribes and hawkers swallowed by the eclipse's eerie hush. Kaelen's gaze darted to the rooftops, half-expecting more cloaked figures to drop from the dark, but there was only the wind and the moons, their edges blurring into a single, wounded glow.They reached the edge of Nareth's harbor, where the Sea of Whispers stretched out like a sheet of black glass, its surface unbroken save for the faint ripples that caught the moonlight. The docks were a tangle of ropes and crates, fishing boats bobbing against their moorings, their crews long since fled to taverns or homes. Kaelen slowed, his breath catching as Lady Yverin stepped onto a pier that jutted into the water, its planks weathered and slick with salt."Where—" he started, but she raised a hand, silencing him."Patience," she said, her voice low, carrying that same lilting edge he'd heard in the gaol. She reached into her robe and withdrew a small object—a disc of obsidian, no larger than a coin, etched with a crescent moon. She pressed it between her palms, and the air shivered, a faint hum rising from the water. Kaelen's skin prickled, the silver veins on his arms flaring briefly, as if answering a call.The sea churned, slow at first, then violent, waves crashing against the pier with a sound like breaking bones. Kaelen stumbled back, boots slipping on the wet wood, as something emerged from the depths—a platform of stone, smooth and ancient, its edges carved with runes that glowed faintly blue. It rose until it hovered just above the water, steady despite the waves, and Lady Yverin stepped onto it without hesitation."Come," she said, glancing back at him. Her green eye gleamed through the mask, sharp and expectant.Kaelen hesitated, the wind tugging at his cloak. The platform looked solid, but the sea beneath it roiled, dark and endless, whispering secrets he couldn't decipher. He'd never trusted water—Nareth's rivers were shallow and tame, but the Sea of Whispers was something else, a living thing with a voice that echoed in his dreams. Still, the alternative was the gaol, the pyre, the Magisterium's cold justice. He clenched his jaw and stepped forward, the stone cool and unyielding beneath his boots.The platform shuddered, then began to move, gliding across the water with a grace that belied its weight. Kaelen gripped the edge of his cloak, steadying himself as the wind sharpened, salt stinging his eyes. Lady Yverin stood at the front, her robe snapping in the breeze, the obsidian disc now tucked away. The moons loomed larger overhead, their fractured light painting the sea in streaks of color—violet, silver, red—like blood and starlight mingled."Where are we going?" Kaelen asked at last, raising his voice over the wind. "You said an academy. What's that mean?"Lady Yverin didn't turn, but her voice carried back to him, clear and steady. "The Academy of Threads is a place of learning, of power. It floats above the Sea of Whispers, hidden from those without the mark or the will to find it. You'll see it soon enough—when the moons align.""Floats?" Kaelen frowned, peering into the darkness ahead. The horizon was empty, the sea stretching on forever. "How does a school float?""With magic," she said simply, as if that explained everything. "The Threads bind it to the moons, to the tides. It appears only when the lunar cycle permits—tonight, during the eclipse."Kaelen's stomach twisted. Magic. He'd felt it in the street, that wild surge of silver light that had saved him and damned him in the same breath. He rubbed his wrists, the veins still faintly aglow, and tried to imagine a school built on spells instead of stone. It sounded like something from the old tales Master Torvyn used to mutter over his wine—legends of Moonbinders and shattered kingdoms, stories Kaelen had stitched into books but never believed.The platform slowed, the waves calming as a mist rose from the sea, thick and silver, curling around them like smoke. Kaelen's breath caught as shapes emerged from the haze—towers first, sharp and jagged, then walls of pale stone that shimmered with a faint luminescence. The Academy of Threads loomed into view, a sprawling fortress suspended above the water, its base wreathed in mist, its spires piercing the sky. Bridges of woven light connected its towers, pulsing faintly, and the air thrummed with a power Kaelen could feel in his teeth."Welcome," Lady Yverin said, stepping off the platform as it docked against a stone stair that descended from the academy's edge. "Your new home."Kaelen followed, his boots echoing on the steps, each one heavier than the last. The mist clung to his skin, cold and damp, and the moons' light filtered through it, casting the academy in an otherworldly glow. The stairs led to a courtyard paved with tiles that shifted color—blue to violet to silver—as he walked, and at its center stood a statue of a figure cloaked in robes, one hand raised to the sky, the other clutching a broken chain. The face was featureless, worn smooth by time or intent, but Kaelen felt its gaze all the same.Voices drifted from the shadows—low murmurs, the clink of metal, the rustle of fabric. Three figures stepped into the courtyard, their silhouettes stark against the glowing tiles. Lady Yverin paused, gesturing for Kaelen to stop beside her."Your peers," she said, her tone neutral. "Initiates, like you. They'll guide you from here."The first was a girl, tall and sharp-edged, her auburn hair pulled into a tight braid that hung over one shoulder. She wore a tunic of deep green, belted with leather, and a dagger gleamed at her hip. Her eyes—hazel, flecked with gold—swept over Kaelen, assessing, lingering on his torn cloak and glowing veins. "Selis Varn," she said, her voice crisp, carrying the clipped accent of Nareth's noble quarter. "You're late.""Didn't know I was expected," Kaelen shot back, meeting her gaze. She smirked, just a flicker, before turning away.The second figure stepped forward, a young man with broad shoulders and a swagger that suggested he'd never doubted his place in the world. His hair was a wild tangle of black curls, his skin sun-darkened, and a sword hung at his side, its hilt worn from use. "Thorne Ardyn," he said, grinning, his voice rough with a northern lilt. "Heard you took down a brute in the streets. Not bad for a scribe."Kaelen shrugged, uneasy with the attention. "Didn't have much choice.""Choice is overrated," Thorne said, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "You're here now. That's what counts."The third figure hung back, smaller than the others, cloaked in gray with a hood pulled low. Kaelen caught a glimpse of delicate hands clutching a book, the fingers ink-stained, and a strand of pale hair slipping free. "Nyari," Lady Yverin said, nodding toward her. "She doesn't speak, but she hears everything. You'd do well to remember that."Nyari lifted her head slightly, and Kaelen saw her eyes—wide, silver-gray, unnervingly still. She didn't nod or smile, just watched him, the book pressed tight against her chest. A mute librarian, Lady Yverin had called her, but there was something in her gaze that felt louder than words."Enough introductions," Lady Yverin said, turning toward a set of double doors carved with crescent moons. "The eclipse is upon us. Your training begins tonight."Selis raised an eyebrow. "Tonight? He's barely standing.""He'll stand when he has to," Lady Yverin replied, her voice cold. "The moons wait for no one."The doors swung open, revealing a hall of pale stone lit by floating orbs of light that pulsed like heartbeats. Kaelen followed the others inside, his boots scuffing the floor, the ache in his bones deepening with every step. The air here was different—thicker, charged, as if the academy itself breathed. He glanced back at the courtyard, at the sea beyond, but the mist had swallowed it all, leaving only the moons' fractured glow.Selis fell into step beside him, her braid swinging. "You look like you've never seen magic before," she said, her tone dry."I haven't," Kaelen admitted, keeping his eyes on the hall ahead. Columns rose to a vaulted ceiling, their surfaces etched with threads of silver that moved like liquid."Then you're in for a shock," she said, and there was something in her voice—amusement, maybe, or pity—that made him bristle.Thorne laughed from behind them, a loud, reckless sound. "Shock's putting it mild. This place'll break you or make you. Sometimes both."Nyari said nothing, her footsteps silent, but Kaelen felt her presence at his back, steady and watchful. The hall stretched on, the orbs of light flaring brighter as the eclipse's hum grew louder, vibrating through the stone. Lady Yverin led them deeper, her masked face unreadable, and Kaelen's hands clenched at his sides, the silver veins pulsing in time with the moons.Whatever this place was, whatever he'd become, there was no turning back. The Academy of Threads had claimed him, and the night was just beginning.