The Edge of the Ocean

When I finally woke, the world was still a blur. The sun was gone, offering some reprieve. The spinning had lessened slightly. I felt a little less disoriented, but still... disconnected. 

I needed wind. And freedom. 

So I pulled myself from bed, no boots this time, and went to find it. 

This castle was still unfamiliar to me. So many winding corridors and stairwells, it felt like I was walking through another world. Another reality. It wasn’t only different levels, but hidden landings. Interior balconies wrapped around cathedral halls. Forgotten theaters glistened with moonstone and opal. 

Enchanted candles danced in their sconces, and torches breathed softly against bright, polished stone. 

Whoever built this place, ancestor or god, had carved a sanctuary out of air and silence. Everything connected. A city folded inside a fortress. 

At times, the corridors opened into skywalks—stone bridges that led to entirely separate wings. Places I paused. Breathed. Spoke to that quiet presence inside me. The calm, not the flame. My wind. 

Not that the corridors lacked it. Wind-workers had enchanted the castle long ago, whispering breezes through every crevice, every hall. 

But I didn’t want gentle wind tonight. I didn’t want control. 

I wanted its freedom. Its fury. 

I wanted wind that tangled my hair and stole the breath from my lungs. Wind that burned my skin in a way fire could not. 

If only Father could walk beside me here, in this city of stone and air. Where fire could thrive. Or disappear. 

No flame could take away these halls. 

Only the people could burn. 

Finally, I found the passage out. 

Just before I crossed the threshold, something tugged at me. Not with force, but with a gentle knowing. Asked and answered, like my essence had caught the scent of something alive in the wild of night. 

I found myself drawn, in the stillness of that summer night, to the sound of the ocean crashing in the distance. It had been weeks since I’d felt anything. Maybe it had been longer. Maybe only days. 

My pace was slow, but my body carried me forward, as if pulled by something older than thought. The spray of salt and the thunder of waves grew louder with each step. 

Ahead, the dark water stretched into nothing. It felt like standing at the edge of the world, vast and hungry. If I stepped too far, I might fall into it. I was small and infinite in the same breath, my heart aching at the beauty of it. The beauty of sound. Of life. Of pain. 

I didn’t understand why I was drawn here, only that something inside me had been stirred. A sadness deeper than the ache of the sea before me. The volatile, breathtaking nature of the world was pulling something loose in me. 

And then he was there. No sound. No warning. 

A presence, as beautiful and terrible as the ocean itself. He stood some distance off, facing the water in silence. I felt it at once, that invisible thread between us. He was feeling something heavy. Not just sadness—grief. 

Perhaps that was the draw all along. 

In the moonlight I could just make out the shape of him. Dark, wavy hair wet from the sea. Pale skin catching the light like a polished blade. His face held both softness and pain. His lips were parted, as if whispering to something no longer listening. 

I stepped closer, careful not to startle him, like one might approach a wounded animal. I only wanted to see him more clearly. To feel him. 

Sometimes I couldn’t tell which emotions were mine and which belonged to others. They moved through me like waves, slow and overlapping. Quiet at first, then impossible to name. 

And then he turned. 

I froze. 

His eyes landed on mine, as if he had known I was there all along. He hadn’t searched. He hadn’t flinched. Despite the dim light, I could see the sharp blue of his gaze. I was already falling into it, pulled by grief, by something older than either of us. 

Was I missing something I didn’t know I needed? 

His expression changed. Anger rose like flame through water. 

He turned toward me, walking fast now. Urgent. Fierce. 

"You." 

He stopped just short of me, close enough to feel the heat of his breath. 

I did not move. My body forgot itself. 

He grabbed the collar of my tunic and yanked me forward. I could see it now—his fury, unfiltered and alive. 

"How dare you come here. Approach me." His voice was rough. "I should strike you down for the insult." 

Still, I didn’t move. 

I felt only what he felt. His fire filled the hollow places inside me. His grief was mine now. 

Then something shifted. He searched my face, jaw clenched. A heartbeat passed. And then he let go. 

He stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair, as if trying to shake something loose. He turned to the sea, almost like he was asking it a question. 

When his eyes met mine again, they were different. 

Not fire. Water. 

"I… do I know you?" The words barely broke the silence. 

I was trying to regain control. And failing. 

The ache in my chest surged like a wound reopening. 

I realized, in that moment, that my body had become his vessel. 

A silence stretched between us. 

Then he laughed, a laugh of indignation. 

"Know me? It was your face I saw when my sister took her final breath." 

"How—" I started. 

He stepped closer again, bending down and tilting his head. 

"Did you feel her life leave? Did you see it?" 

He grabbed my chin firmly, tilting my head back. 

"Did you even hear her screams?" 

Finally, my body obeyed and yanked itself away. 

"No—no!" 

He didn’t pursue, but he pressed further. 

"No what? You didn’t hear her screams?" 

Something flared inside me. Panic, sharp and sudden, cutting through the haze. Just enough to speak. 

"I—I didn’t hurt your sister. I don’t even know who she is." 

His eyes widened, and the fire in them roared to life. 

I could barely breathe. 

Then, without another word, he turned. 

And walked straight into the ocean. 

He didn’t pause. Didn’t hesitate. 

The waves crashed around him as he dropped to his knees, cradling his head in both hands. 

"Leave." 

His voice broke. 

When he looked at me again, the fire was gone, swallowed by something thicker, colder. 

Something I couldn’t name. Something that made my skin crawl. 

"Leave," he said again, quieter now. "Before this kingdom’s throne remains... empty." 

My breath caught. Not at the threat. At the implication. 

My father’s absence. My obligation to replace something I believed was irreplaceable. 

And the knowledge that his absence was no longer mine alone. It was seen. Felt. Spoken aloud by someone who had never laid eyes on the cold body beside the hearth. 

Pain, sharp and true, stabbed through me. A cold so deep it burned. 

It burned straight through the threads to him. The chains that had held me still. 

And so I ran. Again. 

Not from a tower this time. 

But from a truth.