The river had grown wider.
The marsh reeds fell away behind them, replaced by towering willow trees with branches like dripping silver curtains. The air shifted too—colder, heavier, tinged with something metallic that clung to the back of the throat.
Elara felt it first.
Not a sound.
Not a shape.
But a presence.
Something watching.
Mara noticed the tension in her posture. "Your mark is reacting?"
Elara pressed a hand to her chest. The warmth from before was replaced by a slow, crawling chill—like icy fingers tracing her ribs from the inside.
"Yes," Elara whispered. "It's… colder."
Lucien, seated opposite her, straightened at once. Though his body was still recovering, his senses sharpened instantly, pupils narrowing like a predator recognizing a rival in the dark.
"Where?" he asked.
Elara shook her head helplessly. "I don't know."
But she felt it—deep in the bond that stretched between her and Lucien. A faint ripple, a warning. The universe whispering danger.
Lucien placed his hand on the rim of the boat and rose unsteadily to his feet.
"Sit," Mara snapped. "You're weakened."
"I won't let anything reach her while I'm sitting," Lucien said.
His voice had regained its edge—quiet steel, deadly calm.
The ripple in the water grew stronger.
Elara's breath hitched. "Lucien…"
He moved to stand in front of her, shielding her instinctively.
"Something is following the current," he murmured.
Mara turned sharply. "No. No—it cannot be so soon."
Elara clutched the book to her chest. "What do you mean?"
Mara's voice trembled.
"The Seraph can travel through water."
A sudden splash broke the quiet.
Then another.
And another.
Lucien's shadows bristled at his ankles, reacting to something unseen beneath the surface.
"Elara," he whispered without looking back, "stay still."
She obeyed.
But the water around the boat began to swirl—softly at first, then faster.
The river was deep.
Dark.
And alive.
A shape moved beneath them—too large to be a fish, too smooth to be a log.
The water glowed faintly red.
Elara's heart slammed against her ribs. "Lucien—Lucien it's right under us—"
"I know," he said.
The boat listed violently to the side.
Mara grabbed the edge. "Hold on!"
Elara nearly dropped the book as the world tilted. Lucien steadied her with one hand, the other raised as shadows surged around his arm like coiling smoke.
Then—
Silence.
The water stilled abruptly.
Lucien didn't relax.
"Something's wrong," he muttered.
Elara's mark pulsed again—sharper this time.
Cold rushed through her, a pressure behind her eyes, a whisper threading itself into her thoughts.
Elara…
Her head snapped up.
The voice wasn't Mara's.
Or Lucien's.
It didn't come from the air.
It came from inside her mind.
Elara grabbed the side of the boat, wide-eyed. "Did you hear—?"
Lucien turned sharply. "What did it say?"
"How do you know it spoke?" Elara gasped.
"Because your mark flared," he said, "and your fear hit the bond like a hammer."
Elara swallowed hard. "It… it said my name."
Lucien's face darkened dangerously.
Another whisper slid through her skull—liquid, cold, curious.
Light bearer. Heart of First Dawn. Child who should have died.
Elara pressed shaking fingers to her temples. "Stop it—stop speaking—get out of my head—"
Lucien gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Elara, stay with me. Fight it."
Mara moved closer, chanting under her breath as she reached for a charm woven of river reeds. "The Seraph cannot take you through thought unless you invite it—do not answer, do not question—"
But the voice only grew clearer.
Your blood wakes me.
Your fear feeds me.
You shine too brightly to hide.
Elara forced herself to breathe. "Lucien… it's trying to get inside me."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "Then it dies."
He turned toward the river again.
"Show yourself," he growled.
The water answered with a loud crack—a fissure of red light that snaked across the surface. Air hummed violently, vibrating the boat.
Elara screamed as a long, spiked shape sliced upward from the depths, barely missing the hull.
Lucien shoved her backward. "Down!"
The shape pierced the air like a blade before slamming back into the water.
A warning strike.
The Seraph wasn't attacking fully yet.
It was testing her.
The river returned to stillness, though the red glow remained faint beneath the surface, circling them like a predator deciding when to pounce.
Mara lifted a shaking hand to her mouth. "If it emerges fully, we will not survive the encounter."
Elara clutched the book tighter. "Then what do we do?"
Lucien lowered himself beside her, breathing hard. Using what strength he had left was taking its toll.
"We make it fear us," he said.
Elara blinked. "Fear us? How?"
Lucien touched the book in her hands.
"It fears your light," he said. "It recoiled from the Vessel because of you."
"But I don't know how to use it!"
"You used it when you saved me," Lucien said quietly.
Her cheeks burned. "I didn't mean to. I didn't know how."
"Instinct," Mara said. "You simply called to him."
Elara shook her head frantically. "This is different. The Seraph wants me dead."
"Yes," Lucien said. "So you must want to live."
He took her trembling hand.
Not to comfort.
Not in affection.
But as grounding.
"Focus," he whispered. "On your breath. On your heartbeat. On the bond."
Elara closed her eyes.
Her mark pulsed.
The river trembled.
The Seraph's voice faded in and out, distorted and angry.
You resist.
How… inconvenient.
Elara forced her breath steady.
Lucien squeezed her hand once. "Good."
Mara whispered a chant from behind them, a protection charm flowing through the air like soft wind.
Elara opened her eyes.
"Lucien."
"Yes."
"What if I can't do this?"
"You can."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've seen you face death without running."
Elara swallowed.
Her fear shifted—just slightly—into something steadier.
She lifted her free hand.
Light rose from the mark on her chest—soft at first, then brighter, warm like the first touch of sunrise.
The Seraph hissed beneath the water, the red glow dimming.
Elara gasped. "It's working!"
Lucien's voice sharpened. "Keep going."
She stood—shakily—holding the book to her chest. She let the fear work with her instead of against her. She thought of her mother. Of Mara. Of Lucien collapsing in her arms. Of the villagers tied to stakes. Of the god who wanted her blood.
She spoke, voice trembling but strong enough to carry.
"Leave us."
The river went silent.
The red glow faded.
For a moment, it seemed the Seraph had vanished.
Lucien's shoulders lowered—barely.
Mara exhaled shakily. "It retreats. Enough for now."
Elara sank to her knees, trembling. She felt drained—lightheaded—as though forcing her light outward had pulled energy straight from her bones.
Lucien caught her before she collapsed fully.
"You did well," he murmured.
"I don't feel like I did anything," she whispered.
"You made a creature older than kingdoms retreat," Mara said. "That is no small feat."
Elara took a shaky breath. "But it didn't leave completely."
"No," Lucien agreed. "It didn't."
He looked toward the dark river, expression unreadable.
"It'll be back."
Elara nodded, clutching the book tighter.
"And next time," Lucien said, "we need to be ready."