The boat creaked like a dying thing.

  Aeris gripped the rail, her knuckles whitening as another wave slammed into the hull. Salt spray stung her cheeks, and the wind carried the scent of brine and something older—burnt sugar, maybe, or the metallic tang of rust. Behind her, Virellia stood motionless at the prow, her fire-dancer’s robes flaring crimson against the gray sky. She hadn’t spoken since they’d left port.

  Typical.

  Aeris scowled. “If you’re going to sulk, do it quietly. I didn’t drag you here to brood.”

  Virellia didn’t turn. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I came because you’d drown otherwise.”

  “I can swim.”

  “In that?” Virellia flicked a glance at Aeris’s armor—the same damnable set she’d worn since they’d fled the Sanctum, its leather straps frayed and buckles tarnished. “You’d sink like a stone.”

  Aeris opened her mouth to retort, but the boat lurched, and she bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood. Damn this sea. Damn this silence.

  Captain Elira’s laughter cut through the tension like a knife. “Sisters, eh?” The pirate leaned against the mast, her grin sharp as the cutlass at her hip. Her coat—a patchwork of stolen silks and storm-worn wool—flapped in the wind. “Never seen two people so keen to drown each other without water.”

  Aeris shot her a glare. “We’re paying you to navigate, not narrate.”

  “Ah, but the best stories come with commentary.” Elira twirled a brass compass in her hand, its needle spinning wildly. “The Sea of Shattered Glass doesn’t follow rules. Time slips here. Memories too. You’ll want a guide who knows how to listen.”

  Virellia finally turned. “And what do you hear, Captain?”

  Elira’s smile faded. “The waves sing of things lost. Sometimes, they answer.” She pocketed the compass and nodded toward the horizon. “We’re close.”

  Aeris followed her gaze. The water ahead shimmered, not with light, but with fragments—countless shards of glass floating just beneath the surface, their edges glinting like teeth. The Sea of Shattered Glass. A graveyard of moments.

  Her throat tightened. This was a mistake.

  Virellia’s voice was barely audible over the wind. “You’re afraid.”

  Aeris stiffened. “I’m practical. We should’ve gone after Lyria first.”

  “Lyria can wait.” Virellia’s fingers brushed the hilt of her dagger—a twin to Aeris’s, though hers was etched with flames. “But Sorin’s dreams? His scars? You know what they mean.”

  Aeris’s chest burned. She did know. She just refused to say it aloud.

  Elira clapped her hands. “Enough chatter. Time to work.” She tossed a rope ladder overboard. “The memories you’re hunting? They’re down there. But be quick. The sea gets hungry.”

  Aeris stared into the water. The glass shards shifted, forming shapes—a crown, a child’s hand, a face she almost recognized.

  Then it was gone.

  Virellia stepped onto the ladder. “Coming?”

  Aeris exhaled. “Someone has to keep you from setting the ocean on fire.”

  For the first time in years, Virellia laughed. It sounded like an old wound splitting open.

  The water swallowed them whole.

  Aeris plunged into the cold, her lungs seizing as the glass shards parted around her like a sigh. Light fractured in every direction, painting the sea in jagged blues and golds. Below, the depths yawned—an endless cathedral of broken things.

  Virellia kicked ahead, her robes billowing like blood in the water. Aeris followed, her pulse hammering in her ears. Idiot. Reckless. Just like when we were kids.

  A glint caught her eye. A shard, larger than the others, drifted toward her. Against all instinct, she reached out.

  Her fingers brushed the glass—

  —and the world split.

  A younger Virellia, laughing as she spun a ribbon of fire between her hands. Aeris, barely twelve, scowling from the sidelines. "Show-off."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "Jealous," Virellia sang back. The fire twisted into a blooming rose. Their mother’s favorite.

  The memory sharpened—smoke, screaming. A Sanctum Knight’s blade glinting. Their mother’s last words: "Take your sister and run."

  Aeris wrenched her hand away, gasping. The shard darkened, its vision spent.

  Virellia was watching her, eyes wide. "You saw it too."

  Aeris couldn’t speak. The past was a knife, and Virellia had just handed her the hilt.

  Elira’s voice echoed strangely through the water, amplified by some trick of the sea. "Don’t linger! The longer you stay, the more it takes."

  Virellia swam closer, her braid coiling like a snake. "We need to find the right shard. One that knows him."

  "Him?" Aeris spat a bubble. "Say his name."

  "Sorin." Virellia’s gaze didn’t waver. "The boy who dreams of falling."

  A current stirred below. The glass shards trembled, then spiraled into a whirlpool, revealing a path deeper. Aeris’s skin prickled. Something’s down there.

  Virellia dove before Aeris could stop her.

  The water pressure squeezed Aeris’s ribs as they descended. The light dimmed, replaced by a sickly glow from the glass below—a mosaic of forgotten moments. A child’s birthday. A burning library. A kiss in the rain.

  And then, a shard the size of a door.

  Virellia froze. Aeris followed her stare.

  Inside the glass, Sorin knelt in a field of ashes, his golden scars gone dark. The Hollow King’s crown sat crooked on his head. Above him, a shadow with Kael’s voice whispered, "You were never supposed to wake up."

  Aeris slammed her fist against the shard. It didn’t budge.

  Virellia’s voice was hollow. "I’ve dreamed this a thousand times. He dies. Every time."

  Aeris whipped toward her. "You knew? You knew and you—"

  "I tried to change it!" Virellia’s nails dug into her palms. "I left the Sanctum. I followed every omen. But the dreams keep coming. And now—" She touched the shard. "—the sea remembers too."

  The glass moved.

  A crack splintered across its surface. The vision shifted: the crown rolled from Sorin’s head, and the ashes formed words—Find the Wandering Saint.

  Elira’s warning came too late. "Don’t let it—!"

  The shard exploded.

  Aeris threw up her arms as glass rained down. One shard grazed her cheek, and another vision assaulted her:

  Herself, clad in armor she didn’t recognize, gripping a spear. Behind her, the Hollow King’s throne—shattered.

  Then, the sea inhaled.

  The water surged upward, dragging them with it. Aeris flailed, catching a glimpse of Virellia’s terrified face before the waves folded—not into a crest, but a shape.

  A silhouette. Tall. Crowned.

  The Hollow King.

  His hollow eyes locked onto Aeris. The last thing she heard before the blackness took her was Elira screaming—

  "SWIM OR DROWN!"

  Aeris woke choking.

  Salt water burned her throat as she rolled onto her side, vomiting onto the deck. Above her, the sky swirled like ink in water—the strange, bruised hue that passed for twilight in this cursed place. Her armor weighed her down, each gasp a struggle against the metal pressing into her ribs.

  A shadow loomed over her. "Breathe, idiot." Virellia's voice was rough, but her hands were steady as she hauled Aeris upright.

  Aeris shoved her away. "Don't." The word came out cracked. She wiped her mouth, staring at the water lapping against the boat. It was calm now. Too calm. "What the hell was that?"

  Virellia didn't answer. She was staring past Aeris, at Captain Elira.

  The pirate leaned against the mast, her usual smirk absent. In her hands, she cradled a glass shard—smaller than the others, its edges smoothed by the sea. Inside it, a flicker of light pulsed like a heartbeat.

  "You stole it." Virellia's voice was low.

  Elira's grin returned, sharp as a blade. "Traded. The sea always takes its price." She tossed the shard to Aeris, who caught it on reflex. "A memory for a memory. That one's yours."

  Aeris stiffened. The shard was warm against her palm. She didn't want to look.

  (But she did.)

  The Hollow King's throne room. Not ruined, not yet. Aeris stood at attention, her spear gripped tight. Before her, the Hollow King—Sorin, but not Sorin, older and weary—reached for a crown that wasn't there. His voice echoed: "You were supposed to remind me."

  The vision shattered. Aeris's hands shook.

  Virellia exhaled. "So it's true."

  "You knew." Aeris's voice was venom. "You saw all of this, and you never—"

  "I tried!" Virellia's composure snapped. "Every time I warned someone, the dream changed. Every time I interfered, it got worse. The only constant is him—Sorin, the crown, that damned throne—"

  Elira cleared her throat. "As touching as this is, we have a problem." She pointed.

  The water was rising.

  Not in waves. Not in ripples. It climbed the sides of the boat in slow, deliberate curls, as if guided by invisible hands. The glass shards scattered across the surface shuddered, then began to move, sliding together like pieces of a puzzle.

  Aeris's breath caught. The Hollow King's silhouette had been bad enough. This was worse.

  The shards formed a hand.

  A massive, skeletal hand, its fingers stretching toward the boat.

  Elira cursed and lunged for the sails. "We're leaving. Now."

  Virellia didn't move. She stared at the forming figure, her face eerily calm. "It's not here for us."

  Aeris grabbed her arm. "Like hell it isn't!"

  Virellia met her gaze. "It's here for you, Aeris. You saw the throne. You've always been part of this."

  The words hit like a physical blow. Aeris recoiled—

  —and the boat lurched.

  The hand slammed down, fingers curling around the hull. Wood groaned. Elira shouted something lost to the wind. Aeris stumbled, grabbing for her dagger, but it was too late.

  The water exploded.

  Shards rained down like knives. Aeris raised her arms, bracing for impact—

  —only for Virellia to shove her aside.

  Fire erupted from Virellia's palms, a desperate, brilliant inferno that melted the glass midair. The heat seared Aeris's cheeks, but the flames weren't enough. The Hollow King's figure loomed above them, half-formed but undeniable, its hollow eyes fixed on Aeris.

  A voice echoed, not from the figure, but from the sea itself:

  "You will remind him."

  Then, silence.

  The figure collapsed, dissolving into a thousand shards. The sea stilled.

  Aeris lay on the deck, gasping, Virellia's weight heavy atop her. For a heartbeat, neither moved.

  Then Virellia whispered, raw and broken: "I can't keep saving you."

  Aeris had no answer.

  Elira's voice cut through the quiet. "Land ahead."

  Aeris turned her head. In the distance, a shadow rose from the water—not an island, but a tower, its stones blackened by time.

  The Wandering Saint's domain.

  And at its base, a single figure waited.