The first strike did not come toward the city.
That was how Rhen knew it was real.
He felt it as a sudden lurch in the currents far beyond the fjords—a violent divergence where there should have been careful balance. Not hunger. Not pressure.
Conflict.
Nymera staggered mid-step, gripping the stone railing as the tidefire flickered weakly along her wrists. "They moved," she whispered. "One faction acted without the others."
Skelda was already issuing orders. "Where?"
Nymera closed her eyes, listening without reaching. "Deep trench south of the ice shelf. They turned on each other."
Rhen's chest tightened. "A civil war."
"Yes," Nymera said. "And they chose distance from us so we wouldn't absorb the shock."
The city fell quiet—not relieved, not afraid.
Watching.
The consequences arrived within the hour.
Refugees.
Not ships. Not bodies.
Currents.
Fractured flows surged toward the fjords—disorganized, erratic, stripped of coordination. Not attacking. Fleeing.
Engineers stared at the readouts in disbelief. "They're destabilizing their own pressure zones. If this keeps up—"
"—it'll ripple into the surface," Rhen finished. "Hard."
Nymera straightened slowly. "They're going to tear the deep apart."
Skelda looked between them. "And if that happens, the coast goes with it."
The city had never planned for this.
Not invasion.
Not manipulation.
Collapse.
The message came unfiltered, raw with urgency.
We are breached, the restrained faction conveyed—fragmented, strained. Dominant nodes escalating. Collapse imminent.
Rhen felt the judgment inside him sharpen to a single edge.
"You want us to intervene," he said.
We want the fighting contained, the current replied. We will not survive unified escalation.
Skelda's voice was cold. "And if we don't?"
The surface will absorb the loss.
Nymera's breath hitched. She felt the truth of it ripple through the bond—this wasn't leverage.
It was consequence.
Rhen looked at the city gathering around the basin, eyes wide with the understanding that neutrality had limits.
"We cannot take sides," someone whispered.
Nymera answered softly, "Neutrality doesn't mean indifference."
Rhen nodded. "It means boundaries."
The proposal formed quickly—dangerously so.
"We declare the city neutral ground," Rhen said. "Not sanctuary. Not ally. A buffer."
Skelda's eyes narrowed. "You're talking about hosting a ceasefire."
"No," Rhen replied. "I'm talking about enforcing separation."
Nymera felt the shape of it immediately—and the cost. "That would require me."
Rhen met her gaze. "As advisor. Not override."
She swallowed. "I'm not ready."
"I know," he said gently. "Neither is the city."
Silence fell.
Then a human steward spoke. "If we don't act, we choose a side by default—the side with more force."
A Moonbound elder nodded grimly. "And force never stops at the border."
The city voted.
Faster than ever before.
Yes.
The declaration went out under open sky, logged and broadcast.
The Bridge City declares itself Neutral Ground.
No faction may escalate within designated buffer zones.
Violations will trigger collective containment, not retaliation.
Nymera stood at the basin, pale but unbowed. She did not sing.
She outlined.
Boundaries traced themselves in light across the fjords—visible, shared, enforced by the city's collective systems rather than her will. Rhen stood at her side, calling confirmations, refusing any action that centered on him alone.
The Deep Ones reacted immediately.
The restrained faction withdrew into the buffer—fractured, bleeding pressure but compliant.
The dominant faction surged—
—and slammed into the boundary.
The water screamed.
Not in pain.
In resistance.
The buffer held—not because it was strong, but because it was distributed. Pressure met pressure and dispersed.
Nymera dropped to one knee, gasping.
Rhen caught her. "That's enough."
"No," she whispered. "Just… a little longer."
The dominant faction pressed again.
And again.
Then—hesitated.
This costs too much, the current conveyed, angry and sharp.
"Yes," Rhen replied evenly. "That's the point."
Hours passed.
The fighting in the deep slowed—not resolved, but redirected. Escalation found resistance everywhere it turned.
The city shook, but did not break.
Nymera finally collapsed against Rhen's shoulder, consciousness flickering. The buffer stabilized as the systems took over, holding without her constant input.
Skelda wiped blood from a split lip, laughing weakly. "Congratulations. We just put ourselves between gods."
Rhen exhaled shakily. "We didn't choose sides."
Nymera murmured, barely audible, "We chose… responsibility."
By dawn, the fjords were quiet again.
Not peaceful.
Paused.
The restrained faction remained within the buffer, regrouping. The dominant faction withdrew to depths beyond immediate reach, its pressure coils tight with anger and recalculation.
The city stood—cracked, exhausted, alive.
Rhen carried Nymera back to the infirmary, feeling the bond settle into something altered but unbroken.
"You're not neutral anymore," she whispered as he laid her down.
He brushed her hair back gently. "Neither are you."
She smiled faintly. "Then maybe neutrality was never the goal."
Outside, the basin reflected a sky streaked with pale gold.
The city had become something new—not a refuge, not a fortress.
A line drawn through the world.
And on both sides of that line, forces far older than fear were learning what it meant to be told—
No.