Zanya did not fall into the dream.
She arrived.
That difference alone made her tense.
The water around her was still, dimly lit by fractured moonlight that never quite reached the depths below. She floated upright, feet brushing nothing, spine tight with the awareness that this place—whatever it was—answered her now.
Too easily.
The Astral Bond pulsed in her chest, steady but watchful. She did not relax into it. She held herself apart, keeping the edges of her thoughts guarded.
"Saltborn…"
The voice came clearly—too clearly—and Zanya's fingers curled instinctively, as if bracing against a current.
"I'm here," she said carefully. "That's all."
Below her, the shape of him remained half-shadowed. She could sense the enormity of his presence, the way the water bent subtly around him even here, in a dream that obeyed rules she didn't fully trust.
"You listen.
That is not nothing."
"I listen," she agreed. "I don't promise."
A long pause followed. Not wounded. Not angry.
Accepting.
"You are wise to be wary."
That startled her more than anything else he could have said.
The moon's pull brushed the edges of the dream, and she felt his response through the bond—a tightening, restrained, controlled with effort. Not agony. Weariness.
"The moon reminds me of what I am bound to,
and what I cannot touch."
Her Song of Calm stirred reflexively, then she stopped herself, forcing it back to a low hum instead of letting it flood outward.
"I can't reach you," she said quietly. "Physically. The tunnels end. The markers refuse me."
"As they should," he replied without bitterness.
"You would not survive the crossing yet."
Yet.
The word settled uneasily in her chest.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
The answer came not as words, but as feeling: loneliness, yes—but tempered by restraint. Longing held on a short leash. Devotion that did not demand reciprocity.
"To be remembered,
not worshipped.
To be spoken to…
without fear."
Zanya swallowed.
"I don't know if I can help you," she said honestly. "And I won't break the sea to do it."
A faint ripple of approval moved through the bond.
"Good, I would not accept freedom bought with ruin."
She studied the dim outline of him, committing what little she could perceive to memory without letting herself drift closer.
"I'm concerned," she admitted. "The chains hurt you. The moon hurts you. I don't like that."
"Concern is not surrender," he said gently.
"You keep your distance.
That is… kind."
The dream began to thin, moonlight stretching into pale strands.
Before it faded completely, his voice brushed her awareness one last time—soft, controlled, unmistakably present.
"Mine,
not claimed…
but chosen."
Zanya woke slowly, alert rather than startled.
Her heart was steady.
Her breath even.
The System appeared in neutral tones.
[ASTRAL BOND STATUS UPDATE]
[Clarity: MAINTAINED]
[Emotional Overextension: AVOIDED]
[Physical Access: LOCKED]
She exhaled in relief.
"Good," she murmured.
Outside, the tide moved as it always had—ancient, patient, indifferent.
And far below Mako, a sea dragon rested in watchful stillness, no longer alone in the dark—but not yet close enough to be dangerous.
Not to him.
Not to her.