Survival was louder than celebration.
Rhen learned that within hours of the siege's end. The city did not erupt into joy; it unraveled into motion. Engineers patched fractures still warm from strain. Healers moved through shelters where exhaustion sat heavier than injury. Stewards argued quietly over logs, voices raw but precise, afraid of missing the detail that would matter next time.
The city had held.
Now it had to live with what that meant.
Nymera watched it all from the infirmary balcony, wrapped in layers against a chill that had nothing to do with weather. Her body was recovering slowly, but her eyes were sharp, following every movement, every hesitation.
"They're afraid of peace," she said softly when Rhen joined her.
Rhen nodded. "Peace feels like borrowed time."
Below them, a group of workers paused mid-repair, looking toward the basin as if expecting it to stir again. It did not.
Not yet.
The first crack appeared in the water itself.
Not pressure.
Not hunger.
Division.
Rhen felt it as a subtle dissonance—currents flowing past one another instead of aligning. Nymera stiffened, fingers tightening on the stone rail.
"They're arguing," she said.
"Who?" Rhen asked.
"The Deep Ones," Nymera replied. "Not with us. Among themselves."
The realization landed hard.
"They're not unified," Rhen said slowly.
Nymera shook her head. "They never were. But restraint exposed the fracture."
She closed her eyes, listening carefully, not reaching—just perceiving. What came back was unfamiliar and unsettling.
"Some of them believe today proved cooperation is viable," she said. "Others believe restraint is a temporary inefficiency that must be corrected."
Skelda joined them, having clearly overheard enough. "So… a split."
"Yes," Nymera said. "And we're the fault line."
The message arrived at dusk.
Not through the basin.
Through Nymera.
She stiffened suddenly, breath hitching—not in pain, but recognition.
"They're calling," she whispered.
Rhen stepped closer instantly. "All of them?"
"No," she said. "Just one… faction."
The words chilled him more than any surge.
We request dialogue, the current conveyed—softer than before, layered with something like urgency. Without the others.
Skelda swore under her breath. "They want a side deal."
Rhen felt the judgment inside him tighten. "Or asylum."
Nymera hesitated. "Or help."
The city gathered quickly, tension rippling outward. The Compassion Exception hovered in everyone's mind, unused but remembered.
Rhen spoke first. "We don't negotiate secretly."
The water answered immediately.
We expected this.
Nymera frowned. "They expected refusal?"
We expected terms.
Rhen crossed his arms. "Then state them."
The current hesitated—an unmistakable tell.
We cannot, it conveyed. Not where the others listen.
Skelda's voice was sharp. "Then the answer is no."
Nymera inhaled slowly. "Wait."
She turned to Rhen, eyes searching his. "If they're splitting… this might be the moment where silence costs more than risk."
Rhen felt the familiar pull—the choice between exposure and fracture.
"No secrecy," he said firmly. "But we can offer protection."
Nymera's brows knit. "Explain."
"We open a public channel," Rhen continued. "Logged. Observed. No private leverage. They speak knowing the others can hear—but not interrupt."
The water stirred—uncertain, calculating.
This exposes us, it replied.
"Yes," Rhen said. "That's the point."
A long pause followed.
Then—
Accepted.
The city exhaled.
The dialogue began under open sky.
Nymera stood at the basin—not as mediator, not as authority—but as listener. Rhen remained beside her, the framework alive around them.
The current divided visibly this time—layers of flow moving in counterpatterns, tension rippling through the fjords.
Restraint preserves, the speaking faction conveyed. But dominance argues otherwise.
Nymera spoke carefully. "And what do you believe?"
That dominance without consensus fractures systems, it replied. Including ours.
A murmur spread through the city.
Skelda whispered, "They're admitting vulnerability."
Rhen felt the weight shift. "What are you asking?"
The answer came slower than any before.
Time, the current said. And distance.
Nymera's breath caught. "You want to separate."
We want to withdraw from those who will escalate, it replied. But we cannot do so without provoking them.
Rhen understood instantly. "You want cover."
The current did not deny it.
Skelda shook her head. "If we help them split, we inherit their enemies."
Nymera looked at Rhen. "And if we don't, we inherit a unified threat."
Silence fell.
The city waited—not for a command, but for sense.
Rhen spoke slowly. "We will not shelter you. We will not arm you. And we will not hide you."
The current stilled.
"But," Rhen continued, "we will keep doing what we're doing. Open processes. Shared restraint. Visible consequences."
Nymera picked up the thread. "If you choose restraint, you'll find space here—not territory. Practice, not protection."
A long, tense pause followed.
Then—
This is… insufficient, the current conveyed.
Rhen nodded. "That's honesty."
The current shifted—pulling back slightly, as if weighing futures again.
We will consider.
The presence thinned.
Not gone.
Thinking.
That night, Nymera sat with Rhen on the bridge, the city quiet but restless beneath them.
"You didn't take the bait," she said softly.
Rhen shrugged. "Neither did you."
She smiled faintly. "They're changing."
"So are we," he replied.
Below them, the basin remained calm, reflecting stars for the first time in weeks.
But far beyond the fjords, something older than hunger and patience stirred—
a disagreement that could reshape the deep itself.
And the city, for all its exhaustion, had become the place where even monsters argued about the future.