47. Zayan

47

Zayan

T he first thing that hits me is blue. Deep, endless blue .

It’s everywhere, bleeding into the walls, lurking in the shadows, hanging thick in the air. It takes a second to realize what I’m looking at—a thousand tiny carvings, all bleeding this eerie blue glow, like the place is lit from the inside out.

I straighten, letting it all sink in.

Spirals, waves, and sea creatures are carved in the walls—octopi with twisting tentacles, slithering eels, fish with teeth that seem to grin back at me. Every last one of them has the Lady’s mark seared somewhere on their scales or skin, like she’s branded each one herself.

The four of us stand in a cave, though calling it that feels wrong. It’s something more profound than that. This is her place. It’s her shrine. Only… not the kind humans tend to. No candles, no incense, no faded scriptures. Nothing that makes you think some poor fool comes in here to worship every morning.

No, this place hums with something raw, something wild—like it’s one heartbeat away from coming alive. It’s power in its purest form, woven into every corner, every carving, as natural as the sea itself.

I don’t need any ringing in my skull to tell me it’s real. I can see it, feel it, smell it.

High above, a narrow opening cuts through the ceiling, letting a thin shaft of light pierce the dark. It catches on a pool in the far corner, the water glimmering with an impossible shade of blue, like someone’s trapped liquid sapphire inside. Particles in the air seem to shimmer, scattering iridescent colors across the walls.

To the right, three thick stone pillars rise from the ground, each one bound in heavy, rusted chains, the metal streaked with age and time. Around their bases lie piles of cannonballs, stacked in careful rings, as if kept ready for something.

The carvings on the walls pick up the light’s blue hue, casting shadows that stretch across the stone.

“Well, fuck me,” Gypsy mutters, straightening up, running her hands through her curls before twisting them into a knot. Water splashes down onto the puddled stone. “You ever seen anything like this, Rancour?”

Fabien cocks an eyebrow, licks off a droplet of sea water that stayed on his lips and shakes his head.

Fabien just raises an eyebrow, licking the saltwater off his lips before shaking his head. “Not once—not in all my fucking years of hunting for the Lady’s artifacts.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Vinicola cuts in, his face twisted in something between awe and disgust. “This doesn’t look like a place anyone comes out of alive.”

My eyes follow his to the spot where he’s staring, mouth half-open like he’s seen death itself. And hell, maybe he has, because when I catch sight of it, even I feel the damn chill.

Above those pillars? Three cages. Bone cages, hanging like trophies waiting for their next prisoner.

“Are those… human bones?“ Vinicola stammers, taking a cautious step forward.

“Aye,” I reply, eyeing the cages, their ribs twisted and fused, holding the unmistakable curve of femurs and vertebrae. “All that’s missing is some poor bastard inside.”

“Look at the top of each cage,” Gypsy murmurs, her voice barely above a breath. “See that metal bar binding them to the walls along the whole length of the cave? Some kind of mechanism…”

Like fate’s a cruel joke, Vinicola steps forward, his boot landing on a hidden stone slab. A low rumble rolls through the cave, echoing as his face twists in panic, trying to pull his foot back. But it’s already done.

The sound of grinding stone fills the air, a faint tremor rising beneath our feet. I shoot Gypsy a look, but before I can say a word, thin streams of water start seeping up through cracks in the stone, winding across the ground. Then it surges, pooling faster and faster, lapping up to our ankles.

Damn it. Not this again…

“Well, shit,” Fabien mutters, casting a wary glance at the looming pillars. “Whatever you set off, I’d bet it’s rigged to send us to the same fate as these poor fuckers.”

Vinicola’s frozen, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, staring down at his foot like it’s turned traitor. “I didn’t… I mean… this wasn’t supposed to happen, right? Surely… surely this is just a mistake.”

Gypsy snorts, though her face is taut with focus. “You wish.” She darts to the three cages, running her fingers over them with quick, sharp movements. “There’s something here…”

She crouches, tracing faint grooves at the bases of the pillars, grooves almost invisible beneath the rising water. Each pillar has a small, round hollow, as if meant to hold something important.

“Here,” she says, nodding toward the indentations. “We need something to place in these hollows. Whatever it is, it controls these cages…”

Vinicola looks at the water rising around his calves, his nervous grin fading fast. “Any clue what we’re supposed to put in them? Because unless it’s my endless regret, I’m a bit low on options.”

Fabien shakes his head, lips twisting into a dark smile. “Look closer—there’s a pattern here. The height of each pillar… it’s intentional.”

He points to the bases, and I finally catch on. Each one’s a little different in height.

“Three of us will need to tie ourselves to these pillars,” he continues, the words rolling out like he’s giving orders for our last rites. “Then, I’d say those cages will come down to trap us. One last play at survival.”

“Uh-uh,” Gypsy mutters. “The water’s going to rise up to above us. These pillars—they control how much air we’ll get, depending on how high or low each of us is trapped. The lower the cage, the less time the person inside has to breathe.”

A chill settles over me as the realizations dawns. Yet another damned race against time. Figures.

“And the third person?” I ask, not letting any hint of nerves slip.

“They have to place something into the hollows,” Rancour replies, as if it’s obvious.

I turn, scanning the cave. Fine. So we just need to find something to shove in those holes before any of us end up gasping for air. Maybe, if we move fast enough, we’ll beat the whole drowning bit.

I start searching, eyes darting over every inch of stone, every shadow. But there’s nothing—no stones, no tokens, not even a cursed coin lying around.

My gaze lands on the pool, the one shimmering right next to us, and then another, darker one just a few paces off. Gypsy steps forward, studying it with me. She crouches, dipping a hand into the water.

“That’s where the current is,” she murmurs, her hand pulled down like it’s caught in something. “Feels like there’s a whirr down there. Strong enough to drag a person under.”

I meet her eyes, and in that second, I know we’re thinking the same thing. One of us has to swim down, fight the pull, and fish out whatever it is we need.

“I’ll go.” I say it without a second thought.

Whoever goes will have to hold their breath longer than the ones tied to those cursed pillars—and they’ll need strength to handle the current. But my lungs? They’re built for this. Honed by years of diving wrecks. This is my element.

“No chance,” Gypsy snaps, folding her arms, her mouth set in that stubborn line. “Not after the last dive. You’re not doing this.”

I blink, caught off guard, just for a heartbeat. The water’s already licking at our knees—we don’t have time for an argument, but damn it, if anyone’s diving into that cage, it’s going to be me.

“Think it through, love,” I growl, stepping closer. My heart’s pounding, and if that little flicker in her eyes is anything to go by, hers is too. “Who else can do this better than me?”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares, her nostrils flaring, eyes glistening with something too raw to hide. Is she… about to cry?

Damn it all. My chest tightens, the grip of it fierce and unwelcome. Without thinking, I pull her close, my arms locking around her cold frame, and for a moment, she’s melting into me, her face pressed against my neck. She breathes deep, holding on, like she’s stealing something—maybe the scent of me, or maybe just the courage to keep steady. Either way, I’m not letting go. I’d rather dive into hell than lose her. And that’s why it’s got to be me in that pool, not her. Because I’d split my own veins open before I fail.

“I won’t fail this,” I murmur, low against her curls. “Believe in me.”

She mutters, “It’s not that I don’t believe in you,” voice so soft I almost miss it. “And you damn well know it.”

Aye. I do know it. She’s worried about me—about me, of all people. It’s a wild notion, something out of a dream, but I’m not fool enough to doubt it. Not anymore.

“It’s gonna be fine,” I say, pressing a final kiss to her head. The water’s up to our knees already; there’s no room for hesitation now.

She steps back, her gaze holding mine for one last second, and then she’s all business, Captain Flint again, like she doesn’t have a shred of doubt. She turns to Vinicola and Fabien, who are busy poking at the cage mechanism, their faces a mix of focus and dread.

“Alright,” she calls. “Let’s figure out who’s taking which cage.” She glances at me, a hint of something unreadable in her eyes. “Zayan, you’ll go under again—you’re fast, you’re accurate. We need that down there.”

Vinicola opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, then lets out a shaky sigh. “Alright,” he mutters, clearly out of his depth. “Godspeed, Mr. Zayan. And… the rest of us?”

Gypsy strides over to the pillars, and her expression hardens. “I’ll be in the lowest cage,” she says. Just like that. Like it’s the simplest choice in the world. “I’m the captain. That’s where I belong.” She looks to Fabien. “You’ll be in the middle. Vinicola—since you can barely swim and can’t hold your breath worth a damn—you’ll be highest.”

She’s put herself in the most dangerous position, taken the biggest risk without a second thought. I feel the urge to protest rising, but one look from her shuts me down.

She’s made her choice, and it’s final.

Vinicola stands there like he’s fighting back every instinct to bolt. But then his jaw tightens, and damn if he doesn’t actually step toward the highest pillar, hands clamping around it like he’s making peace with his own doom. Fabien’s right behind him, already resting a hand on the middle post, dead calm as water laps at his legs.

“Then tie us to these fuckers, Cagney,” he growls. The water’s up to his thighs, but he doesn’t so much as twitch.

Gritting my teeth, I wade over, grabbing the chains.

I secure Gypsy first. Her hands are steady, but I catch the slight tremor when she wraps her fingers around the pillar, locking her gaze somewhere far away. I wind the chain and cannonball around her ankles, anchoring her in place. The water will claw at her, pull her up, but the iron will keep her right where she is.

Locked. Held under. Waiting for the water to rise.

Next, I tie up Fabien and Vinicola. Just as I loop the last link, there’s a click, and the cages above slam down around them, sealing the three of them in.

A low hum vibrates through the air—my signal. This is it.

I barely throw a glance over my shoulder before plunging into a dive. The current yanks at me, claws down my chest as if it’s trying to drag me into the dark for good. But that’s not happening. I use my muscles to resist it, to keep steady.

The light vanishes fast, swallowed up in this dark-blue depth, all silence and shadows. My fingers scrape along rough rock as I go, searching, feeling for anything that could fit the sockets up top. It’s all cold, unyielding stone at first. Another dark stretch, no end in sight.

I press deeper, lungs starting to burn, until I catch a faint shift to my left—a narrow fissure, barely visible. My fingers reach inside, and there it is. Cool, smooth, unmistakable: a small, round object. It looks like… like a sea turtle carved into this black, shiny stone.

It must be one of the pieces.

My chest screaming for air, I kick upward, the water gripping me like lead, dragging at my legs. Hell itself couldn’t have made a harder task. Feels like I’m not moving at all, like I’m just treading in place. A trick, a lie, made to shatter my resolve. But I keep going.

Finally, I break the surface, gasping, feeling the weight fall from me as I suck in air.

Gypsy, Rancour, and Vinicola are all submerged by now. The water’s risen fast, flooding up past the cages, nearly to the top.

I swim straight for Vini, diving just enough to reach the hollow of his pillar. Hands shaking, I place the turtle stone into the slot. It clicks into place with a smooth snap, and a soft blue light pulses, rippling up the pillar like a beacon.

The chamber hums, and the water level dips just enough for Vini’s face to emerge. He gasps, eyes wide and desperate, sucking in air. “Oh… oh, fuck, bless you, Mr. Zayan,” he stammers.

I don’t answer. No time for this. My eyes are already on the next cages, on Gypsy and Fabien, still buried beneath the water.

I turn, and there she is, barely visible, her eyes locked on mine through the murky blue. Cheeks puffed out, holding her breath, but her stare—fierce, steady, defiant. Not a trace of fear, not a plea for rescue. Just that look, daring me to finish this.

Wouldn’t fucking dream of leaving her.

I dive back in, ignoring the ache in my lungs, fighting the chill as I push deeper, seeking that narrow fissure I’d found before. I thrust my hand in, fingers scrambling over stone and sand, hoping there’s something useful here. But there’s nothing. Just empty rock.

Damn it. I force myself down even further, ignoring the panic pricking at the edges of my mind. The current tugs harder here, like it’s trying to swallow me whole. But I keep going, pushing until my fingers scrape against something jagged—a shell maybe, or a chunk of coral shaped like a seahorse. Whatever it is, I tear it free and kick back toward the surface, lungs screaming.

It’s even harder this time around. I need to kick harder, utilize my entire body better. But I make it. I manage to swim back up.

When I break the surface, there’s no hesitation. Fabien’s face is barely visible, eyes squeezed shut beneath the water. Lips moving—probably muttering curses at every god he’s ever heard of. I slam the seahorse into the socket on his pillar. Another click, another pulse of light, brighter this time, spilling through the chamber.

The water level drops, and Fabien’s mouth opens, gulping air like he’s been reborn. He locks eyes with me, gratitude flashing across his face for a split second before he nods—like he knew I’d come through.

Two down. One to go. The one.

Gypsy’s cage is still submerged, and I don’t waste a damn breath I have. I dive again, plunging down into the darkness. The pressure’s building in my ears, squeezing on my skull, but I push deeper, knowing I’m not leaving without her.

The thudding in my chest drowns out everything else, each beat racing me toward empty lungs, but then my fingers find it—a tiny sculpture, smooth as a pebble yet unmistakable in shape: a conch shell, carved with swirling lines that match the symbols on the cave walls.

I clamp my fist around it, pivot, and kick with everything I’ve got left. My lungs are a fire I can’t put out, and for one terrible second, I think I might not make it.

But I break the surface with one last gasp and slam the shell into Gypsy’s cage. I shove it into place, pressing until the final click echoes through the cave, pulsing brighter than ever, turning everything white.

The water drops fast, leaving us scrambling for footing Gypsy’s face appears, water pouring off her as she coughs and sputters. Her eyes snap open, glazed but fierce, and she clutches her heart, chest heaving.

All three cages rise up. Like it’s over. Like it’s done.

“Fuck,” I mutter, finally catching my own breath as I reach for her. I wrap an arm around her and ease her to the floor. She’s trembling, her face pale, hair slicked to her skin, but that glint in her eyes is as sharp as ever as she manages a weak smirk.

“You did it,” she croaks, voice scratchy. “Didn’t doubt you for a second.”

“Liar,” I say, half-grinning as I brush her hair back, my fingers lingering a moment longer than they should. My chest is still tight, the salt biting at my lips. “But I’ll let it slide.”

I hear clanking next to us as the others wrestle with their chains. Vinicola stumbles over, legs shaking, a wide, half-mad grin splitting his face. “Saints above, this just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”

Fabien, still sucking air, spits out a mouthful of water and swipes his face. “I sweat to everything, shut up, Vinicola. Or I’ll kill you myself.”

Gypsy’s already pushing herself up, fire back in her eyes as she scans the cave: the dark carvings, the drained pool, the empty sockets in the pillars. “Huh.” She points to something new—a narrow crevice, freshly revealed now that the water’s receded. A tight little tunnel leads out to the open island beyond. But right next to it…

“Well, would you look at that,” I manage to say, nodding toward the exit, where something sleek and slender catches the light. It’s a spyglass—or at least it looks like one, but there’s something off about it. The way it shimmers is almost too… perfect.

I pull Gypsy to her feet, brushing off her shoulder as she steadies herself. We edge closer, cautious, like we’re expecting the damn thing to spring to life. Gypsy reaches out and traces her fingers over the smooth surface, squinting as she makes out the faint line etched into the side.

“Congratulations on completing the Trial of Breath, little champions,” she reads. Then, she raises a brow, letting the words hang in the air. “Trial of Breath, huh?”

Without a second thought, she lifts it to her eye and peers through, and I catch the slight twitch in her jaw, the way her shoulders tense, like she’s just caught a glimpse of something she’d rather not. She lets out a sharp breath, muttering, “Well, fuck.”

“What is it?” I ask, stepping in a bit closer.

“It’s not a spyglass,” she replies. “It’s… I don’t know what it is. Looks like complete bullshit inside.”

Vinicola leans in, squinting as if he can see through it by proximity alone. “Bullshit inside? What does that even mean?”

Gypsy huffs, passing the thing to him. “Take a look for yourself. Tell me if that doesn’t look like nonsense wrapped up in metal.”

Vinicola raises it, squints through, and immediately pulls back, eyes wide. “I… have never seen anything like this before.”

Fabien arches a brow and holds out a hand “Let me see.”

Gypsy hesitates, casting him a sharp look, but finally hands over the strange object. Fabien lifts it, his eyes narrowing as he peers through, lips curling into a knowing smile that has me narrowing my own eyes.

“I know what this is,” he purrs.

The three of us exchange glances, each as guarded as the next. We’ve just clawed our way out of one hellhole, and the last thing I need is some fresh pit of misery to crawl into. We’re barely holding onto the ground we’ve got.

“Well?” Gypsy prods, folding her arms. “Care to enlighten us?”

“It’s a kaleidoscope,” he says.

A… what? Kaleidoscope ? I glance at Gypsy and then at Vinicola, hoping maybe one of them understands. Nope. I’ve never heard of the damn thing, and I’m not about to start caring now. All I know is it sounds like trouble.

“Sounds like a real riot,” I mutter. “But whatever this ‘kaleidoscope’ is, it can go hang itself for all I care. We need to get out of here.”

The corner of Gypsy’s mouth twitches, but she’s trying hard not to show it. Vinicola just looks pale, still catching his breath, and I can’t blame him. The poor bastard’s been holding on by a thread since the beginning.

I push out a sigh, savoring the feeling of finally standing here in one piece. Who cares if there are three more Trials waiting to bite at our heels? That’s a problem for future Zayan to handle. This right here? This is a victory. A moment to relish.

We’re alive .

For now, at least.

One thing’s for sure—we’re not done yet. Not by a long shot.