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Esmyra

I mmense power surged through Esmyra. It was stronger than anything imaginable, roaring more violently than the tides, akin to lightning burning her from the inside out. A scream tore from her throat until the surge finally settled, the rush of magic skittering over her flesh.

She worked to catch her breath, and when she finally gathered the courage to open her eyes, they flared wide as she glanced down at her shaking hands.

The runes. They were gone .

Her heart raced to the point where she thought it would burst as she frantically took in her surroundings. No longer was she standing in the hidden crypt, but in the castle’s tower.

When her stare fell on the Veil of Visions, she ran toward it, stumbling over her own feet. Panting, she gripped the stone edge and peered into the water. Shock struck her like a dagger once she saw her reflection.

The woman gazing back at her possessed such raw beauty that it nearly brought her to her knees.

Her skin shimmered with a pearlescent sheen, as though kissed by moonlight on waves.

Her hair no longer matched the midnight sky, but was a hue of blue-rooted silver , adorned with glistening pearls and shells, hovering around her as if she were within water.

Her talons and webbed fingers were on display, making her guess they were a permanent feature rather than something she could shift into.

All she recognized of herself was her eyes. Those haunting, glacial blues.

A sharp pain ignited in her skull, and in flashes, visions rapidly spun through her mind.

Esmyra saw herself in this new form and someone who appeared to be its twin, standing tall, effortlessly commanding the seas—she could only assume the other was Syrena.

With the flick of their wrists, waves crashed down, storms erupted, and whirlpools spun at their will.

She realized then that they weren’t visions at all—they were memories .

Esmyra and Syrena were goddesses .

Twin goddesses.

The ones who had been lost to the realm for centuries…

The visions darkened, colors bleeding into one another as the memory shifted. A surge of dread turned her blood cold, a tremor formed in the core of her being as the scene before her drastically changed.

Back in the highest tower of the castle, a scene played before her. She and her sister—at least she thought it was them, in these new, unfamiliar forms—were backed into a wall, bound by velsinyte cuffs, vines, and flame as blood seeped from their eyes.

The room was crowded; other beings, exuding endless power, stood around the twins as they were secured to the wall. Esmyra stepped closer to get a look at who these beings were.

The first was a man. His frame was massive, every muscle forged as if sculpted by centuries of violence, while crimson light pulsed beneath his rich brown skin like veins of living fire.

Another man stood at his side. He was tall and lithe, his hair a wild, tangled mane of red with vines braided within it.

And flanking them both was a woman of flawless beauty.

Her hair was a flowing river of raven-black that shimmered with both silver and gold with every subtle movement, while her fair skin had a subtle luminous glow .

Cool, sickly horror crawled through Esmyra as recognition slammed into her. She’d seen depictions of them throughout her long life across the realm— in statues carved of stone, ancient texts, and stories passed down.

They were Irah, Villaem, and Vydenne. The other gods of Rymelle.

And they were all using their powers against the twins to hold them in place.

Esmyra’s gaze fell to the floor, only feet away from where they held the goddesses. She gasped at the sight of two bloodied bodies sprawled out before them, crowns entangled in their hair.

And then, in the corner, with terror etched into every feature of his face, Cyrus Blackwood stood.

“What have you done to the Aeress family?!” he bellowed.

She took a hesitant step closer, eyes focusing on the corpses.

Aeress . Those must be her…her parents .

And they were dead, discarded as nothing in a bloody pile on the floor.

Esmyra’s jaw fell open in horror while the gods ignored Cyrus’s outburst.

Something caught her eye, and she found Irah standing before the sisters with two daggers in hand—the blades glistened like liquid starlight that swirled with velsinyte. The weapon itself radiated a power, as if it were forged from the essence of the gods themselves.

Esmyra watched, horrified, as Irah’s gaze met her other form—her goddess form—strapped to the wall. She raced to stand next to them, to stop whatever was about to happen.

When she looked at the god of rage and war, all she saw was an endless conflict in his eyes. It was then Esmyra realized she knew those eyes.

Her favorite pair of whiskey eyes that held thrashing flames.

They were Draevyn’s eyes.

Only now, they flickered with fury and anguish, and she couldn’t figure out why .

Why were they doing this? How could this have happened? And why in all gods did Irah care, if he was the one who held the blades?

Then her twin spoke, voice trembling with rage. “They mean to end us, Kae.”

Kaelypso.

Esmyra’s jaw dropped. Eyes widening in disbelief, she watched as her other form spoke to Irah. Kaelypso’s voice was filled with desperation as she said, “Do you truly mean to kill me?”

For a heartbeat, Irah’s face softened, his lips parting as if longing to speak. But the glint of his blade caught the merlights, and he took a step forward. “It's too late to go back now,” he whispered, as if speaking to himself as much as her. “This isn’t my choice.”

Esmyra’s heart shattered into endless pieces, as if it mimicked what was happening inside of Kaelypso’s chest.

The two other gods stepped forward, and her sister’s power surged through the tower, pressing against the velsinyte bindings until they emitted a glowing heat. The eruption of magic was so great it had Esmyra clutching her chest.

But the surge of power still wasn’t enough to break free, and there was nothing to be done.

And then Irah moved.

Esmyra could see it in his eyes, in the way his grip on his weapon faltered.

“You don’t have to do this,” Kaelypso said, her voice soft, almost pleading.

Naerysa, or Syrena, let out a bone-chilling cackle from beside her. “You know what they fear—they cannot control us, and so they wish to destroy us.”

Esmyra turned to her father, who was watching the scene unfold, gazing right through her, as if she weren’t even there. Though she supposed she wasn’t.

“DO SOMETHING!” Esmyra screamed at him, begging, as tears slipped from her eyes.

But all Cyrus could do was watch.

Irah exhaled sharply. His jaw clenched as his gaze hardened. “This is the only way to protect the realms,” he murmured, as if trying to convince himself.

“Liar!” Naerysa hissed.

“You shut your mouth! If I don’t do it, they will,” he barked at her, gesturing to Vydenne and Villaem, who looked as if they would rip the blade from his hands and finish the goddesses themselves.

But then Irah turned to Kaelypso, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “And I can make it quick.”

“Get on with it, Irah! It needs to be left in their hearts!” Villaem hissed, and Vydenne nodded alongside him.

“I will find you again,” Irah whispered, his voice sounding broken.

Esmyra’s hand clamped over her mouth as bile burned the back of her throat.

Before Kaelypso could respond, Irah’s hand moved, and in one brutal motion, he thrust the velsinyte dagger into her chest—into her heart.

An agony greater than Esmyra had ever known seared through her, stealing her breath. She felt as if she were drowning in flame and ice. She screamed as her body writhed, matching the movements of Kaelypso against the wall, her strength crumbling with each heartbeat.

Through Esmyra’s blurred vision, she watched Irah move toward Naerysa. Her sister screamed as she violently thrashed, but with one ruthless strike, he plunged the second dagger into her.

The twin goddesses crumpled together, their once-divine forms weakening. The hue of their skin became ashy under the velsinyte curse as the daggers remained in their chests.

Esmyra fell to her knees, feeling as if her soul was ripped from her body. Her gaze slowly lifted to her lifeless goddess form as Irah gently brushed his fingers against her cheek.

She felt everything as Kaelypso had. His touch burned as the darkness claimed her—her essence tearing free from her body, drifting like smoke billowing on a wind.

The tower began to tremble, the kingdom itself shuddering in protest, as the waves beyond the kingdom rose in wrath .

The gods began bickering, fighting over what to do as the castle shook and screams erupted from the far edges of the city.

“Asyris needs their souls for it to be complete!” Vydenne screeched.

“Surely something would’ve indicated what would need to happen once they were stabbed!” Villaem countered.

Asyris? What in all gods was an Asyris?

“They forged the daggers, and that was all the instructions they gave. You were there, so you’re aware of just as much as I am,” Irah snapped, his eyes a storm of raging flames.

Vydenne stepped up to him, pointing a finger in the god of rage’s face. “You better have stabbed their hearts, or so help me, you will be the next to find a dagger in your chest.”

Movement caught Esmyra’s attention, and she watched as two orbs, resembling lightning-fueled merlights, emerged from the goddesses’ bodies, gliding from the room while the gods bickered among themselves.

Cyrus followed them, running after the orbs as if his life depended on it.

And then her anguish faded, along with her spirit. She felt herself being pulled, her essence scattering, seeking something new. As her vision swirled and shifted, the cries of two newborns echoed, and then she stood inside a royal bedchamber, two elaborate cradles in its center.

Esmyra’s gaze drifted to the door, where the two glowing orbs, one teal and one golden, floated through and drifted towards the infants. Cyrus ran through the door a moment later, and they both watched, jaws hanging in disbelief, as the orbs slipped into the fragile bodies in the cradles.

The infants’ skin immediately cast an otherworldly glow, each matching the orbs that claimed them.

The castle continued to tremble as the fall of Maerinys raged on just beyond the walls—chandeliers shook, shelves rattled, and screams erupted from the halls.

Cyrus’s gaze lingered on one of the baby girls—with hair dark as night and eyes blue as the sea—before he reached in and took her from the cradle.

“Don’t you dare, you bastard,” Esmyra whispered as she watched.

And a second later, he ran from the room, leaving the other baby behind.

Esmyra reached for her sister’s infant body, but her hands passed right through her, as if she were a ghost.

“Fuck!” she bellowed, but the castle trembled again, and water began to seep into the room from beneath the doors. “I’m so sorry,” she said, tears bursting from her eyes as she turned away from Syrena and sprinted out the door.

She raced through the halls, trying to get back to the tower, back to her body— Kaelypso’s body.

Once she was halfway up the spiral staircase, sharp, piercing pains erupted down her arms and spine. She fell to her knees as a scream erupted from her throat.

Esmyra laid sprawled across the stairs in agony when she found the runes marked her flesh once more, racing up her arms.

“Oh, my gods.” She lifted her shaking hands to her face, twisting her wrists to view the red-hued markings.

A strange sensation swept through her, like an invisible force trying to drag her back to the world she came from, as her vision’s edges blurred and frayed.

“No,” she gasped, her fingers scraping over the ancient stone steps she remained on.

She needed more, needed to understand. In that memory, Esmyra had been powerful, untouchable—a goddess .

Esmyra was Kaelypso, one of the lost sea goddesses of Rymelle. Only Syrena had been right—they were never lost. They were betrayed .

She strained against the pull dragging her back, her heart thundering in her ears. But the force was relentless as the vision continued to slip away, her grip on the memory fading like water slipping through her fingers .

The last of the vision dissolved like mist, and when she opened her eyes, she was back in the crypt.