Page 93 of Magic in My Bones

The Merfolk regarded me with suspicion, its webbed fingers twitching nervously at its sides. But as I met its gaze, I saw a flicker of something in those inky depths. Curiosity, perhaps, or a desperate longing for connection.

“You...you are not like the ones who came before,” it rasped, its voice a guttural croak. “The ones who come with magic and blade, seeking plunder our ancestral home.”

I shook my head, a sad smile playing at the corners of my mouth. “No, my friend. We are scholars, not thieves. We seek only to learn, to understand the secrets of this place.”

The Merfolk hesitated a moment longer, then nodded slowly. “I am called Fisk,” it said, its tone guarded but not hostile. “You’re standing in my home.”

I offered a gentle smile and bowed my head in greeting. “Well met, Fisk. We apologize for the intrusion into your abode. It was not our intention to trespass or cause alarm.”

Fisk's posture relaxed slightly, though wariness still glinted in his bulbous eyes. “Few surfacers come here with peaceful intent. The ruins hold many secrets, yes, but also great danger for the unwary.”

“Indeed,” I mused. “We have heard whispers of the dark magic that lingers in these halls. But we also believe this place may hold the key to preventing a great catastrophe.”

I placed a protective hand on Ren's shoulder, drawing him closer. After everything we'd been through, every tendermoment and hard-won victory, I wouldn't let any harm come to him. Not from Fisk, not from Alistair, not from anything lurking in these depths.

“Please, Fisk,” Rens said. “We're searching for a man named Alistair Grimshaw. He's a necromancer, and we believe he plans to perform a ritual here that could shatter the boundaries between life and death.”

Fisk's eyes widened, his fins flaring in agitation. “The Mad Mage? Yes, I have seen him. He comes with tools and tomes, offerings for the Deep Father.”

My throat tightened at Fisk's words. “The Deep Father? Is he referring to...?”

“Dagon,” Cassian breathed, his deep voice trembling. “The ancient sea god of the merfolk.”

Fisk nodded gravely. “The Mad Mage seeks to open a portal to the Drowned Halls, where the Deep Father slumbers. He believes that by offering a powerful soul, he can gain the boon of immortality. He’s a fool. The Deep Father knows only one thing: hunger.”

A chill ran down my spine as the pieces fell into place. The ruins, positioned between sea and shore. The lack of spirits, consumed by Dagon's hunger. And at the center of it all, Alistair, driven by his twisted obsession with cheating death.

“Please, Fisk,” I implored. “We must stop him. Can you tell us where he's performing the ritual?”

The merfolk hesitated, torn between fear and a flicker of hope. “I can show you the way, but…The way is in the deep. You land dwellers will never be able to reach it. There’s no air for you below.”

I smiled faintly, holding up a hand to reassure him. “That won’t be a problem.” I reached into the folds of my robes and withdrew a small vial of shimmering blue liquid. “This isBreath of the Abyss, a spell I perfected for situations like this.”

Fisk’s head tilted slightly, his expression skeptical. “And this…will let you survive the deep?”

“Not just survive,” I said, uncorking the vial. The scent of salt and ozone filled the air as a faint mist spiraled upward. “It will adapt our bodies to the depths, allowing us to breathe water, withstand the pressure, and even move freely, as though we belong there.”

I turned to my companions, who regarded the potion with varying degrees of trust. Ren’s brow furrowed as he studied the liquid, while Cassian crossed his arms, looking unconvinced. Rowan, of course, leaned closer, their curiosity overriding any hesitation.

“Does it taste as bad as it looks?” Rowan asked, their lips twitching into a smirk.

“Worse,” I admitted with a chuckle. “But it works. I’ve tested it myself on dives far deeper than this.”

Ren glanced at the vial, then at me. “Will it work for us, though? We don’t all have…yourexperience, Professor.”

I held his gaze, my tone gentle but firm. “I wouldn’t offer it if it didn’t. Trust me, Ren. I wouldn’t risk your safety, any of you.”

He nodded slowly, and I poured a small measure of the potion into a shallow dish. “One sip each should be enough to last for several hours. The spell adapts to your individual biology, so don’t worry about side effects.”

Rowan reached out first, their fingers brushing mine as they took the dish. “Here’s to not drowning,” they said, tipping it back. They winced as they swallowed, coughing slightly. “Oh, gods, that’s vile.”

Cassian took the dish next, sniffing it warily before taking a hesitant sip. His face twisted in disgust. “It’s like drinking kelp and regret.”

Ren hesitated a moment longer, then squared his shoulders and drank. He shuddered but said nothing, his resolve evident.

Once everyone had partaken, I drank the remaining potion, feeling the familiar tingle spread through my body as the spell took hold. My lungs felt lighter, as though filled with cool, flowing water instead of air, and a faint hum resonated in my ears, tuning my senses to the rhythms of the ocean.

“Give it a moment,” I said as I set the vial aside. “The spell needs a few seconds to settle.”

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