This time the hall fell utterly silent.

  “Meruda read in the Visilanth that the creature will shatter the ancient stone that floats at sea,” Kaela continued. “It will destroy this place. But the prophecy did not say Thalasson must sink with it. We stand on this rock now—that does not mean forever.”

  Lirena finally spoke, soft but full of worry. “My child,” she said, “we are sea elves. Moving an entire kingdom… building a civilization on land… that is no small thing.”

  Vaelvalis stepped forward before Kaela could answer. “Better hard than dead, Mother,” he said coldly. “Kaela is right. This way Thalasson can survive—at least we, and those under our protection.”

  Lorvalis was silent a long while, then spoke slowly, “Consider it an expansion of the kingdom. Perhaps… perhaps it can be done.”

  “Not perhaps,” Kaela snapped, eyes burning. “We must be able. All of Thalasson’s people are our responsibility. If Thalasson moves, it is not only Seabright that moves—it is everything. Driftport. Byssgate. All of Thalasson.”

  Caelran, Thalasson’s general, who had stood quiet until now, felt his chest tighten. In his heart he admitted: Kaela wasn’t thinking of nobles—she was thinking of the people.

  Ocevalis looked at Kaela for a long moment. “Other options?” he asked, his voice flat—but there was pressure behind it.

  Kaela frowned. “If Uncle means war, my answer is no.”

  “I mean reality,” Ocevalis said. “A kingdom does not survive on goodwill alone. If food supplies become our weapon, the next step is logical: press. Seize territory. Strike before being struck.”

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  Some council members exchanged looks. The word ‘strike’ echoed louder than any shout.

  “That is not my way,” Kaela said, tone sharp but controlled. “I never intended to make other realms victims of our fear.”

  “And if they come first?” Ocevalis pushed. “If the prophecy invites war?”

  Kaela drew a breath, straightened her shoulders—not as a princess, but as someone who had made a choice.

  “If you force me to name another path,” she said softly but clearly, “then listen closely.”

  She lifted her gaze, looking each face around the circle.

  “We will not attack other kingdoms. We will hunt.”

  Silence froze.

  “We will use food trade to build fleets, armaments, and forces—not to conquer, but to face one target.”

  Her stare hardened.

  “The creature of the prophecy. Whatever its name. Whatever its shape.”

  She swallowed, then continued.

  “A prophecy can be changed if its cause is removed,” Kaela said quietly. She paused, letting the words sink like a stone into the sea. “I will not sacrifice the world to save Thalasson.”

  Those eyes swept the room—catching astonishment, fear, and a refusal barely concealed.

  “I will kill what threatens it.”

  No cheers. No rebuttals.

  A heavy silence enveloped the hall—the silence of people who realized a new choice had just been spoken, a choice that would make the world never the same.

  Lorvalis slowly closed his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was thin, as if addressing the current of time itself. “We… do not rewrite the Visilanth.”

  Kaela did not answer. She remained standing in the center of the stone ring, calm, letting the words hang—neither accepted nor rejected.

  “I do not ask you to trust me,” she finally said, low but clear. “I only ask for time.”

  No one replied.

  The old stones of the hall absorbed the sound like the sea absorbs the last light of dusk. Chairs remained filled. No one rose. No one left. The meeting was not over—it had only entered its most dangerous phase.

  Far below Seabright, the sea moved slowly, as if listening for its name to be called.

  And in that hush, they all realized something more terrifying than any prophecy:

  The Princess of Thalasson no longer asked whether fate could be changed. She had chosen to challenge it.

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  But simply reading and enjoying this tale is more than enough—I am already deeply grateful.