For Mira

Six months later.

Zonaar wasn't the same anymore.

The boy who once dug trenches and ran from fights now moved with the stillness of a blade before it strikes. His arms were thicker, his balance sharper, and his breath never shook.

Orravia had watched every step of it. Every dawn in the tide. Every cut and bruise he refused to flinch at. She never revealed herself. Never spoke. But she stayed close. Always close.

Today, she hovered just beyond the ridge, veiled from sight, her presence was as light as mist above the sea.

Because today was the day he trained for.

The one he had carved into his bones with every lap, every swing, every breath held underwater.

The day Zonaar would finally face the bastard who hurt his sister.

The same village cultivator who'd been pressuring Mira for months. Who wouldn't take no for an answer. Who followed her from markets to alley corners. And one night, he forced himself on her.

She came home with bruises.

Told Zonaar not to fight. Said the man was stronger. Third stage of foundation realm.

Back then, maybe she was right.

But not anymore.

She wasn't the same either.

Mira had once been the loud one.

Storm grey eyes, quick wit, and a laugh that echoed down alleys like wind chimes. She used to knot her silver-brown hair messily and race Zonaar to the docks, just to say she won.

Now, she barely spoke.

Her shoulders curled inwards, like she was trying to vanish. That fire in her glare was gone.

Only the bruises stayed.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

Orravia narrowed her eyes as she watched him walk across the training grounds, his shirt wrapped around his knuckles, arms loose and spine was straight.

She could feel it now. Not sea energy, not even the fire.

But will.

The kind of will that breaks stones, commands mountains.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

The bastard's name was Dareth. Third stage second realm. Cultivator's son. Always thought it made him untouchable.

He stood near the west edge of the village training field, with his arms crossed, laughing at something his friend had whispered. Two other guys stood nearby while one was armed, the other one was just watching.

Zonaar walked in alone.

He didn't carry any weapons or gear. Just wrapped fists and steady breath.

Not because he was showing off but because he didn't own any.

Dareth spotted him. Smirked. "What's this? Gate boy wants to play hero now?"

Zonaar didn't reply.

He just stepped onto the training sand and raised one hand. "You. Me. Now."

Dareth scoffed. "That's bold. Mira sent you to cry for her again?"

That was the last thing Zonaar let him say.

He moved before Dareth could laugh again. Closed the gap…, pivoted, and drove a fist into his gut so hard it lifted him off the ground.

The breath shot out of Dareth's lungs in one wheeze. He stumbled back, coughing, with his eyes wide.

"Don't think," Zonaar muttered, stepping forward again. "Just fight."

Dareth drew a short, curved blade. He tried to swing it, but Zonaar dropped low, ducked under, and swept his leg.

The man hit the ground very hard.

Gasps rose from the onlookers. A few guards nearby started walking over, uncertain whether this was a match or a murder.

Dareth scrambled up, who was now fuming with anger. His aura flared slightly with his raw foundation energy snapping around his arms.

"You really want to die?" he growled.

Zonaar tilted his head. "You don't scare me."

They clashed again.

Dareth struck fast. Real technique. But Zonaar's training in the tide had drilled something deeper than skill into him which was timing. Pressure. Control.

He grabbed the man's arm mid-swing, twisted and elbowed him in the throat, and then drove his knee into Dareth's ribs.

A crack.

Dareth screamed.

"You hurt my sister," Zonaar said, low. "And thought you'd walk away."

"She wanted it—!"

Zonaar punched him in the mouth so hard teeth flew out into the sand.

"No. She didn't."

Dareth dropped the blade. Tried to crawl away but couldn't.

Zonaar grabbed his collar and yanked him back. Pinned him on his back, straddled his chest, and started hitting him.

One.

Two.

Three.

His fists didn't stop until Dareth's face was a ruined mess of blood and bone. The field was dead quiet, he had even broken his ribs. No one moved. Even the guards didn't interfere.

Zonaar stood up slowly, chest heaving, knuckles dripping.

He turned to see Mira standing at the far edge of the crowd. She didn't speak. She didn't even cry. She just nodded once. Zonaar nodded back. And walked away

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

The blood hadn't even dried when word reached Dareth's father.

Lord Hanir.

A man who wore his cultivation realm like a crown, flaunting it with every breath. Peak Ashvein Realm. No one in the outer village dared speak over him, let alone strike his blood.

When he saw what remained of his son, he didn't weep.

He stared. Silent. Cold.

Then raised one hand and said, "Bring me the boy and his entire cursed family. I'll burn them together."

The guards moved faster than they ever had under his service.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

Zonaar had just finished washing the blood from his knuckles in the stream behind their shack when Mira burst out the back door.

"Run," she whispered. "They're coming."

Too late.

They could already hear the sound of boots on dirt. Half a dozen guards, all Cultivators. One of them already had a scroll in hand, glowing with binding light.

Zonaar turned, shielding Mira with one arm. "It was justice."

One guard hesitated. Another didn't. He struck first, fast, blunt end of his staff to Zonaar's ribs. The boy didn't fall, but Mira screamed.

Two more grabbed her. Tied her wrists in a shimmer of spirit thread. She fought while kicking and swearing. Her nose was still bruised from before.

Zonaar growled and lunged but the scroll activated first.

Chains of binding light shot out from the parchment, coiling around his chest and arms like vines of water.

He dropped to his knees.

"I'll kill all of you," he spat, but they were already dragging them toward the Lord's estate.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

From the cliffs, high above, Orravia watched the scene unfold. Wind pulling strands of her hair loose, eyes narrowed.

She didn't move. Didn't speak.

But deep below the waves… the whale stirred.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

They were thrown into separate cells with rusted bars. The kind of place where screams got swallowed and silence bled through the cracks.

Zonaar sat with his back to the wall, wrists still bound in soul-thread cuffs. His breathing was steady but his thoughts weren't.

Across from him, Mira sat hunched on a bench. Her braid was torn loose, and there was a new bruise darkening her cheekbone. 

"You shouldn't have fought him," she whispered.

"He touched you."

"I know," she said. "But now we're both going to die."

Zonaar didn't answer. He closed his eyes.

Something echoed in his skull, like waves crashing far below the surface. A voice not his own.

> "So weak… so pathetic… why do I share space with this failure…"

His eyes snapped open.

"What?" Mira asked.

"Nothing," he lied.

But something was shifting in his body.

Inside his chest, something stirred, like coals under ash, like old chains rattling awake. His breath caught, and for a second, the cold stone felt warm.

> "Let me out," the voice hissed again. "Let me burn them all."

Zonaar gritted his teeth and pressed his head to the bars. "Shut up," he muttered.

Mira blinked. "Who are you talking to?"

He didn't know himself yet.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧