Orenda didn't hesitate.
She grabbed my sleeve—small fingers, urgent—and pulled.
Hard.
Not panicked.
Not wild.
Focused.
I followed instantly.
My feet moving before my mind caught up.
Raiden was already moving behind us before I even looked back.
Always watching.
Always ready.
Always there.
We moved deeper into the cave, past the warmth of the fire, past the cluster of sleeping children, into a darker stretch where the light didn't reach as easily.
The air felt different here.
Thicker.
Heavier.
Wrong.
I felt it before I saw it.
My chest tightened.
And then—
I saw them.
Four girls.
Huddled together.
Too still.
Too quiet.
One was curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her middle, her breathing shallow—too shallow.
Another leaned against the stone wall, head tipped back, lips slightly parted, a faint tremor running through her body.
The third lay half-slumped forward, barely conscious.
The fourth—
smallest of them all—
was burning.
I felt the heat before I even touched her.
My stomach dropped.
"No…" I whispered.
Not like this.
Not after everything.
I dropped to my knees beside them, hands already reaching.
Too fast.
Too desperate.
But I didn't stop.
Didn't think.
I placed my hand against the smallest girl's forehead.
Heat.
Too much.
Too sharp.
Her body trembled under my touch.
My pulse spiked.
"Infection," I breathed.
Or worse.
Something from the cages.
From the filth.
From the cold.
From everything they had been forced to endure.
They weren't just tired.
They were breaking.
Njord stirred instantly.
A cool presence flooding through my chest, pressing against the rising panic.
You feel it.
"I can fix this," I said quickly.
Too quickly.
More to myself than to him.
You can try, he replied.
There was no warmth in it.
No reassurance.
Just truth.
I ignored it.
I couldn't waste a second on doubt.
I closed my eyes and reached.
Water answered immediately.
It rushed forward, cool and endless, wrapping around my arms, my hands, my breath.
I pulled it into the girl.
Carefully.
Slowly.
The blue light flickered to life.
Faint at first.
Then stronger.
Her breathing stuttered.
Caught.
Then eased—
just slightly.
Relief surged through me.
"Yes," I whispered.
I could do this.
I just needed—
More.
I shifted.
Reached toward the next girl.
Then the next.
Splitting the current.
Dividing it.
Trying to stretch it across all of them.
The water resisted.
Not refusing.
But thinning.
Weakening.
Like trying to spread too little across too much.
My breath hitched.
No.
I pushed harder.
Pulled more from the air.
From the damp stone beneath us.
From the very air in my lungs.
The light flared—
then flickered.
Unsteady.
Lyra.
Njord again.
Sharper this time.
I ignored him.
"I can do this," I insisted, forcing more power through.
Pain lanced up my arms.
Burning.
Sharp.
Like something inside me was tearing.
I gritted my teeth.
Forced more.
The smallest girl's breathing steadied.
But beside her—
another gasped.
Weakened.
Fading.
No.
"No, no—stay with me," I whispered, shifting again, trying to redirect the current.
But it slipped.
Faltered.
Too thin.
Too stretched.
You will lose them all.
The words hit like ice.
My hands trembled.
"I won't," I snapped.
"I can't—"
But even as I said it—
I knew.
I felt it.
I couldn't hold it.
Not like this.
Not across all of them.
I was running out.
Not water.
Not power.
Control.
My chest tightened.
My breathing broke.
How was I supposed to choose?
How was I supposed to decide who lived and who—
No.
I couldn't.
I wouldn't.
"I won't choose," I whispered, my voice cracking.
"I won't—"
A hand touched my shoulder.
Small.
Light.
But steady.
I stilled.
My eyes opened.
Orenda stood beside me.
Close.
Too close to all of this.
But her expression—
wasn't afraid.
Wasn't broken.
It was—
certain.
Her other hand lifted.
Rested on my other shoulder.
Grounding me.
Her eyes locked onto mine.
And then—
she nodded.
Once.
Firm.
Not asking.
Not questioning.
Telling me.
You have to.
My breath caught.
"No…" I whispered.
But it came out weaker this time.
Not defiant.
Not certain.
Just—
broken.
Raiden stepped forward.
Close enough now that I could feel his warmth.
Solid.
Steady.
Unshaken.
His gaze moved over the girls.
Quick.
Assessing.
Then settled.
"This one," he said quietly.
The girl beneath my hands.
"The strongest chance."
My head snapped toward him.
"I can save them all—"
"No. You can't."
The words weren't harsh.
Weren't raised.
But they were final.
His gaze didn't waver.
"Sometimes," he said, voice lower now, "even children die."
The words hit harder than anything else.
Because they weren't cruel.
They weren't cold.
They were—
truth.
And I hated them.
I hated him for saying them.
I hated myself for knowing he was right.
My vision blurred.
Tears spilled before I could stop them.
I shook my head.
Once.
Twice.
"I can't…" I whispered.
But my hands—
they didn't move.
They stayed where they were.
Over the girl.
The one still holding on.
The one still fighting.
The others—
their breathing was already fading.
Falling quieter.
Slower.
I felt it.
Through the water.
Through the air.
Through everything.
And something inside me—
broke.
I closed my eyes.
Took a breath that didn't steady anything.
And focused.
Just on her.
Just one.
The current shifted.
No longer divided.
No longer stretched.
It surged.
Stronger.
Brighter.
Controlled.
The blue light flared around my arms, my hands, pouring into her like a river finally given direction.
Her breathing hitched.
Then steadied.
Her pulse strengthened beneath my touch.
Behind me—
the others went still.
I didn't look.
I couldn't.
I didn't stop.
Not until I felt it settle.
Not until I knew—
she would live.
Only then did I let the water fall away.
The light faded.
My hands dropped.
Weak.
Shaking.
"Move her closer to the fire," I said hoarsely.
Raiden didn't argue.
Didn't question.
He lifted her carefully, carrying her toward the warmth.
I stayed where I was.
For a moment.
Just breathing.
Just trying to—
exist.
Then I stood.
Slowly.
And looked.
The others—
were still.
Eyes closed.
Peaceful.
Like they had simply fallen asleep.
Not like they had died.
Not like I had chosen—
I swallowed hard.
My chest tightened painfully.
This was the cost.
This was what it meant—
to not be enough.
Raiden returned.
He didn't speak.
Just stopped beside me.
Close.
Present.
His version of comfort.
I guess.
I didn't push him away.
Didn't lean into it either.
We just stood there.
In the silence.
In the aftermath.
After a moment, he spoke.
"It's not snowing anymore."
I blinked.
Turned toward the cave entrance.
The storm had passed.
The world outside—
still.
Quiet.
Like nothing had happened.
My jaw tightened.
And something inside me—
settled.
This didn't happen by chance.
This wasn't just cruelty.
This was a system.
A choice.
A chain of decisions made by men who would never see the consequences.
Who would never kneel in a cave and choose which child lived and which—
My hands curled at my sides.
The grief didn't leave.
The anger didn't explode.
They—
merged.
Became something else.
Something colder.
Something clearer.
The Water King would die.
Not someday.
Not eventually.
Soon.
And every man who built this—
who supported it—
who profited from it—
would fall with him.
I would make sure of it.
I didn't speak the words.
I didn't need to.
The thread pulsed.
Strong.
Sharp.
And this time—
it wasn't confusion.
It wasn't resistance.
It was—
pride.
From him.
From the thing behind him.
From the darkness I had barely touched before.
And beneath it—
something else.
The gods stirred.
Njord.
Quiet.
Not approving.
Not condemning.
Accepting.
And
then—
another voice.
Soft.
Distant.
Familiar.
One I hadn't heard in too long.
Even in the brightest light…
The moon goddess.
There will always be a shadow.
I exhaled slowly.
And for the first time—
I understood.
Balance wasn't about choosing light.
Or rejecting darkness.
It was about knowing—
when to become both.
And not breaking under the weight of it.