The sky over St. Luthors academy cracked.
A thunderclap boomed through the halls, sending lockers rattling and students jumping in their seats. Ezra stiffened in his chair, his pen clattering from his hand. Outside, the rain fell in sideways sheets, unnatural and furious.
Lightning flashed again, and for the briefest second, Ezra saw shapes—tentacles writhing in the sky. Then they were gone.
In the silence that followed, a voice echoed in his mind:
"Kaelis... it is time."
He blinked, heart thundering. Morningstar glanced at him from two rows away, concern furrowing her brow. Morningstar sat beside the window, unmoved. His jaw clenched. He heard it too.
The door creaked open.
A substitute teacher walked in, tall and willowy, with sea-gray robes and skin etched with tide-mark tattoos. No umbrella. No wet footprints. His voice sounded like waves hitting stone.
"Your usual instructor has fallen ill. Open to page 119."
Morningstar's eyes sharpened. He rose slowly and met the man's gaze. The substitute paused for a beat, then nodded almost imperceptibly and handed him a folded parchment.
"The tide has turned, Morningstar. The seal weakens. He must choose before the moon bleeds thrice."
Ezra heard nothing—but he felt it. Like something had changed.
That night, Morningstar stood in the living room, dressed in black, a sword slung across his back. His wings itched beneath his skin.
Ezra stormed in. "What the hell's going on?"
Morningstar looked at him for a long moment.
" Your younger sis elsie told me you've been sleepwalking. Speaking in another tongue."
Ezra frowned. "It's just dreams. Water. Pressure. Screaming things."
"It's not dreams."
He handed Ezra the parchment. On it: an inked spiral of water and flame. The Seal of the Mandate.
"The message wasn't for me, Ezra. It was sent to Kaelis."
Black Cove, the Drowned Shore
The wind howled like a living beast as Morningstar and Ezra stepped onto the forgotten beach. The sand was black glass. Waves churned unnaturally, pushing too far inland.
Ezra stumbled. A cold pain bloomed in his chest.
The ocean pulled toward him.
His eyes flashed a silver-blue.
"Kaelis Tideborn..."
The whisper came not from the sea—but within.
Morningstar turned sharply.
Ezra fell to his knees, clutching his chest. Water pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.
Visions surged: a trident made of coral, scales and blood, leviathans coiled beneath drowned temples. Cities shattered by tidal force. Voices speaking his name in languages older than time.
Ezra gasped. "I remember... salt... storms... I wasn't always Ezra."
Morningstar stepped closer but didn't touch him. "Don't fight it. You're awakening."
From the ocean, something moved—a shimmer, like an eye blinking beneath the waves.
The storm swelled around them.
Morningstar lowered to one knee beside him. "You are Kaelis, the Leviathan's Fang. The sea remembers. The gods remember. Now—so must you."
Ezra trembled. "But I'm human."
Morningstar nodded. "Yes. But your soul was never meant to stay that way."
A final wave surged and crashed behind them, towering like a wall—then stopped. Held in place by some unseen will.
And from it, a voice thundered:
"Return to us, Godspawn. The Depth remembers."
Ezra opened his eyes. And this time, they were not his own.
They belonged to Kaelis.