Ethan woke with dirt in his mouth and pine needles stuck to his cheek.
For a second he thought he was back in Windrest City’s ruins—then he remembered the singing.
He pushed himself up, blinking.
The fog was still there, thinner now, drifting in lazy ribbons through the trees.
Skye sat on a fallen log, grooming her paw like she’d merely taken a nap between errands.
“You took your time,” she said.
Ethan wiped his face. “You didn’t pass out.”
“I did. For like three seconds.” Skye sounded offended. “Then I got annoyed and woke up.”
Ethan stared at her. “That’s not how biology works.”
“It’s how dragons work.” She flicked her tail. “And before you ask—yes, it’s mermaids.”
His chest tightened. He rose, hand sliding to the grip of his revolver.
“Where’s James?”
Skye hopped down and padded toward the deeper forest. “That way. They’re still walking.”
They crept forward. The trees grew closer together, branches knitting overhead like ribs. The fog thickened again, carrying that faint, sweet song.
Ahead, shadows moved.
Men.
James Lloyd, two officers, and a handful of sailors—eyes glazed, mouths slightly open—walked in a loose line as if sleepwalking.
And in front of them… girls.
Barefoot, pale-skinned, hair long enough to brush their waists. They wore thin wraps that clung in the damp air, and they moved like dancers, swaying as they walked.
They didn’t look back.
They didn’t need to.
The men followed anyway.
Ethan’s jaw clenched. “They’re kidnapping them.”
Skye looked at him like he was slow. “They’re recruiting.”
“For what?”
Skye’s ears tilted. “For making babies.”
Ethan choked. “For— Skye, that’s—”
“It’s breeding season,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Mermaids don’t always have males. When they need them, they go shopping.”
Ethan stared at the line of entranced sailors. “That’s your explanation?”
“It’s the truth.” Skye shrugged. “And before you go full hero-mode—mermaids aren’t stupid. They don’t kill the merchandise.”
James Lloyd stumbled a little as he walked, but the mermaid girl nearest him reached back and touched his wrist.
His posture eased.
Ethan’s fingers tightened on his revolver.
“If he dies, Radiance Isle will burn half the sea looking for a culprit,” he muttered.
“He won’t die,” Skye said. “He’ll wake up with a headache and a story he’ll never tell at dinner. Then he’ll get paid.”
“Paid?”
Skye padded to a nearby tree and nosed at something on the ground. She picked it up in her mouth and dropped it at Ethan’s feet.
A small cloth pouch.
Ethan opened it.
Pearls spilled into his palm—dozens of them, each one the size of his thumbnail, gleaming softly even in the fog.
He looked up slowly. “You’re kidding.”
Skye’s tail swished. “Mermaids pay in pearls. It’s tradition.”
Ethan glanced back at the sleepwalking sailors and tried to process the situation.
“So those guys are getting dragged into a foggy forest… and they still get compensated.”
Skye nodded. “A free ride and a payday.”
Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “The Endless Sea is a nightmare.”
“It’s an ecosystem,” Skye corrected, sounding offended on the mermaids’ behalf. “Anyway. You’re not here to save nobles from consensual bad decisions. You’re here for the temple.”
Ethan’s gaze sharpened. “You think the temple is real.”
“It’s real,” Skye said. “Delanna wouldn’t have bothered otherwise.”
Ethan followed the line of fog deeper, but he kept his distance from the mermaid procession. He didn’t want to step into their spell again.
After a few minutes, the singing faded.
The fog thinned.
The forest opened into a small clearing where old stone steps vanished into vines.
At the top of the steps sat a structure that didn’t belong to any human mason.
Pale stone, curved lines, smooth as bone. The roof rose into a narrow spire like a seashell turned upside down, and carved along the edges were patterns that made Ethan’s eyes itch—too many repeating angles, too precise to be decorative.
Skye stopped beside him.
“You feel that?” she asked quietly.
Ethan did.
Not fear, exactly.
More like being watched by something that didn’t blink.
“Yeah,” he said. “I feel it.”
Skye lifted her paw and pressed it to the stone step. “Mermaid architecture. Old.”
Ethan eyed the symbol carved above the entrance—an eight-pointed star inside a ring.
He’d seen that star before.
Not on any church.
Not on any flag.
On System prompts. On relic seals. On the edges of nightmare things that hated light.
He swallowed.
“Tell me again,” he said, voice low, “who mermaids worship.”
Skye’s ears twitched. “Depends. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they bargain.”
Ethan stared at the star.
“And sometimes,” he murmured, “they build temples.”
Skye glanced at him. “You’re thinking something stupid.”
“I’m thinking something dangerous,” Ethan corrected.
The temple waited.
And somewhere behind them, deep in the fog, men kept walking toward the sea.