BAYHAND

The sea demands

The storm came without warning. One moment the horizon was calm, the next it was blackened by clouds that boiled like smoke. Bells clanged through Bayhand as townsfolk rushed to shutter windows and tie down boats. Liora stood in the square, rain slicking her hair to her face, as the wind tore through the streets like a wild animal.

Kael appeared at her side, gripping her arm. “It’s begun,” he shouted above the gale. “The sea is calling again.” His eyes were fierce, but there was no panic in them—only grim certainty.

The townsfolk gathered at the chapel, their voices rising in frightened prayer. Faces pale, lips trembling, they looked at Liora with a mixture of fear and accusation. She was the stranger, the one who had asked too many questions, the one who had stirred old memories best left buried. Whispers swelled into shouts: “The sea wants her.”

Liora’s stomach turned cold. She tried to protest, to insist she was no offering, but their eyes told her she had already been chosen. The priest’s hands shook as he lifted a silver chalice and murmured words of surrender to the waves. “If the sea demands blood, then blood we must give.”

Kael pulled her away before the crowd could close in. “You are not theirs to sacrifice,” he said through clenched teeth. “But if you stay, they will not hesitate. You must choose—flee, or face the sea on your own terms.”