Rhen woke to the sound of water breathing.
Not waves. Not surf. Breathing—slow, measured, deliberate. It filled the cavern like a presence that did not need eyes to see.
Pain followed awareness.
It spread from his side in dull, pulsing waves, sinking deep into muscle and bone. He hissed quietly and tried to move. Strong hands stopped him immediately.
"Don't," Nymera said.
Her voice was close. Too close. Relief hit him so hard it almost hurt more than the wound.
He opened his eyes.
They were no longer on the cliffs.
The cavern was smaller, warmer, its walls veined with moonstone and bioluminescent algae. The air shimmered faintly with magic that felt… old but calm. A refuge. Temporary. Borrowed.
Nymera knelt beside him, her hands glowing softly as they hovered over the gash at his side. The rune-burn from Eldric's blade was ugly—darkened flesh etched with silver frost.
Rhen swallowed. "You stayed."
Nymera let out a breath that sounded dangerously close to a laugh. "Don't be stupid."
She pressed her palm down.
The pain flared white-hot—then eased, melting into something bearable. Rhen clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to cry out. He would not give the cavern that sound.
"You shouldn't be healing me," he said when he could breathe again. "Every time you pull that much power—"
"I know," she snapped, then softened immediately. "I know."
Her hands shook as she withdrew them. The tidefire dimmed along her arms, retreating like an exhausted flame.
Rhen pushed himself upright despite her glare. The bond protested—not pain, but pressure. A reminder.
Something had changed.
He felt it in the way the moon no longer tugged sharply, but waited. In the way the sea's presence pressed against his thoughts, not drowning them, but asking.
"What did Azkarel mean?" Rhen asked quietly. "When he said the world would demand payment."
Nymera didn't answer at first.
She sat back on her heels, staring at her hands like they belonged to someone else. When she finally spoke, her voice was thin.
"The Bridge doesn't just connect," she said. "It redistributes."
Rhen's chest tightened. "Redistributes what?"
"Power. Pain. Loss."
Understanding crept in slowly—then all at once.
"You mean when someone dies because of the Convergence…" Rhen began.
Nymera nodded. "We feel it."
Silence crashed down between them.
Rhen thought of the battlefield. The blood on his claws. The howl of mourning that had risen after the fighting stopped.
"How many?" he asked.
Nymera's throat worked. "Three. Two wolves. One human."
Rhen closed his eyes.
The bond pulsed—not accusing, not forgiving. Just present.
"That's why you collapsed," he said.
"Yes."
"And why I'm still alive."
Nymera met his gaze. "Yes."
The weight of it settled heavy and cold in his gut.
"So this is the cost," Rhen said hoarsely. "We stop the world from tearing itself apart—and it tears through us instead."
Nymera reached for him, fingers curling into his fur at his wrist. "Rhen, listen to me. We didn't cause those deaths. The lie did. The war did."
"But we carry them now," he replied.
She didn't argue.
Outside the cavern, voices murmured—low, cautious. Survivors gathering. Leaders arguing in hushed tones. Rhen recognized the sound of Azkarel's presence anchoring the sea nearby, holding the currents steady like a clenched fist.
Nymera leaned her forehead against his. "I'm afraid," she admitted.
Rhen's arms came around her without thinking, pulling her close. Through the bond, he felt her fear—not panicked, but deep and bone-set. The fear of becoming a vessel instead of a person. Of losing the right to choose.
"I won't let this turn you into a symbol," he said fiercely. "Not for them. Not for anyone."
Nymera laughed weakly. "You realize that applies to you too, right?"
He smiled despite himself. "Then we protect each other from it."
A presence filled the cavern.
Azkarel stepped through the veil of light at the entrance, his form more defined than before—but dimmer, as if each intervention cost him something now.
"You understand the price," the Warden said.
Rhen met his gaze. "We understand it exists. That doesn't mean we accept how it's paid."
Azkarel inclined his head slightly. "Spoken like the first Bridge."
Nymera stiffened. "You said no one had ever done this."
"No one has survived it," Azkarel replied.
The words hit like a blade.
Rhen growled low in his chest. "That's supposed to reassure us?"
Azkarel's gaze softened—just a fraction. "It is meant to prepare you."
Nymera stood, squaring her shoulders. "Then prepare us properly. What aren't you telling us?"
The Warden was silent for a long moment.
"The Bridge does not only feel death," he said at last. "It draws attention."
Rhen frowned. "From who?"
Azkarel looked past them—far past the Reach, far past land and sea.
"From what was sealed away when the first Convergence ended," he said.
Nymera's blood ran cold. "The Deep Ones."
Azkarel nodded once. "They were not destroyed. Only starved."
"And now?" Rhen asked.
"Now the bond feeds the world again," Azkarel said. "And hunger answers."
The cavern trembled faintly.
Far below, something vast shifted.
Nymera wrapped her arms around herself. "How long?"
"Before they test the Bridge?" Azkarel asked. "Soon."
Rhen exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay steady. Panic would help no one.
"Then we need allies," he said. "Real ones. Not Councils. Not Elders."
Nymera nodded. "The ones who felt the truth."
Azkarel's eyes gleamed. "Then you must leave the Reach."
Rhen stiffened. "You said this place was neutral."
"It was," Azkarel replied. "Now it is known."
Nymera looked toward the cavern mouth, where dawn light filtered in faintly. "Where do we go?"
Azkarel raised a hand. The air rippled, forming the faint outline of a place neither of them recognized—snow-dusted peaks meeting black water, ancient ruins carved into ice and stone.
"The Northwake Fjords," he said. "Where land and sea have learned restraint the hard way."
Rhen studied the image. "And the cost?"
Azkarel met his eyes. "Every step forward will take something from you."
Nymera reached for Rhen's hand, gripping it tightly. "Then we choose what it takes."
Rhen squeezed back. "Together."
The bond flared—soft, resolute.
Azkarel stepped back, his work done for now. "Rest while you can," he said. "The world will not give you another pause like this."
When he was gone, the cavern felt emptier—but quieter too.
Nymera sank back down beside Rhen, resting her head against his shoulder. "Promise me something."
"Anything," he said.
"When it gets too heavy," she whispered, "when the Bridge starts taking more than we can bear—don't carry it alone."
Rhen kissed the top of her head, breathing her in. "I promise."
Outside, the sea exhaled.
The moon shifted.
And somewhere in the dark between worlds, hunger stirred.