The water spoke first.
Not as pressure.
Not as hunger.
As request.
Nymera felt it before the city did—a soft alignment in the currents, a careful approach that stopped well short of the basin's threshold. The tidefire along her wrists warmed, then steadied, waiting for permission that had never been asked before.
She froze.
Rhen noticed instantly. "What is it?"
Nymera swallowed. "They're not pushing."
The city's hum shifted, curious.
"They're asking," she said.
Silence spread like frost.
Skelda's hand hovered near her blade. "Asking for what?"
Nymera closed her eyes, letting the current form into meaning without becoming command. "Conversation. Not with the Bridge. With me."
Rhen's chest tightened. "That's new."
"Yes," Nymera replied. "And deliberate."
The water at the basin's edge shaped itself—not into a shadow, not into pressure—but into a narrow column of clear flow, thin as glass, trembling with restraint. Within it shimmered impressions rather than images: currents diverted, hunger redirected, loss remembered.
"They're showing consequence," Nymera whispered. "Not to threaten. To explain."
Rhen felt the weight stir—uneasy. "This is persuasion."
Skelda nodded grimly. "The hardest kind."
Nymera stepped closer to the basin, palms open. "State your ask."
The column rippled, reshaping slowly.
Guidance, it offered—not as word, but as structure.
Teach restraint where it did not grow.
Nymera's breath caught.
"They want me," she said quietly. "Not as leverage. As interpreter."
Rhen stiffened. "They want access to you without the city."
"They want distance," Nymera corrected. "So the learning isn't diluted."
Skelda swore softly. "That would split the Bridge."
Nymera nodded. "Not break it. Stretch it."
Rhen stepped in front of her. "Absolutely not."
Nymera touched his arm gently. "Listen."
She let the bond open—careful, controlled—and shared what she felt.
The Deep Ones were changing.
Not kinder.
Not safer.
Different.
They had learned that pressure invited resistance, that force taught boundaries. Now they were testing whether consent could teach restraint faster than conflict ever had.
"If I refuse outright," Nymera said softly, "they'll adapt another way. One that costs more."
Rhen's jaw tightened. "And if you accept, you carry it alone."
She met his eyes. "Not alone. Just… forward."
The city murmured, unease threading through it.
Skelda stepped forward. "If you go, it can't be secret."
Nymera nodded. "It won't be."
Rhen felt the decision forming before he was ready for it. "No isolation," he said. "Limited duration. Witnessed. Logged."
Nymera smiled faintly. "I was hoping you'd say that."
The framework was built by dusk.
Nymera would meet the Deep Ones at the edge of the fjords—not beneath them, not beyond reach. The bond would remain open, attenuated but present. Observers would record everything—not to interfere, but to remember.
The city voted.
Narrow.
Reluctant.
Honest.
It passed.
Rhen hated that part most.
The water parted at twilight.
Nymera stood at the boundary stone, cloak fluttering, tidefire dimmed to a quiet thread. Rhen stood a pace behind her—not guarding, not commanding. Witnessing.
She stepped forward.
The current shaped itself into a ring—clear, contained, patient. Within it, movement slowed, time thickened.
Nymera felt attention settle—not on her power, but on her limits.
We will fail, the current conveyed.
Teach us where.
Nymera's throat tightened.
"You will," she said aloud. "And so will we."
She explained restraint as lived experience: the cost of shortcuts, the ache of holding, the discipline of stopping before hunger convinced you it was owed. She did not sing. She did not command.
She translated.
The current shifted—learning in increments.
Minutes stretched.
Rhen felt the strain—not pain, but distance. Like speaking through fog. He stayed still, breathing, trusting.
Then—something unexpected.
The current recoiled slightly.
This hurts, it admitted—not complaint, not threat. But it preserves.
Nymera smiled through tears. "Yes."
The ring loosened.
The water withdrew.
Not retreating.
Considering.
When Nymera stepped back onto stone, her knees buckled.
Rhen caught her instantly, holding her as the bond rushed back into full warmth. The city exhaled in unison.
Skelda wiped her eyes angrily. "You just taught monsters ethics."
Nymera laughed weakly. "No. I taught systems boundaries."
Rhen pressed his forehead to hers. "Never do that without telling me again."
She smiled. "I told you."
He huffed. "Barely."
That night, the basin remained still.
No probes.
No pressure.
Just quiet.
Far beneath the fjords, hunger did not sleep—but it paused, running new models where coercion had once been.
And in the city, people argued long into the night—not about fear, but about trust.
Nymera slept for twelve hours straight.
Rhen stayed awake, watching the water, understanding at last:
Power did not always want to conquer.
Sometimes, it wanted permission to change.