The dream returned, but this time it was not a nightmare.
Elias stood on the shore of the haven, the sand warm beneath his feet. The sun was rising, golden and clean, and the sea was blue as a child's drawing. No green. No cold. Just the ordinary miracle of morning. Lyra was beside him, her hand in his, and she was laughing at something he'd said. He couldn't remember the words, only the sound—bright and free. The other children were there too, running through the shallows, their voices carried on the wind. It was a future that did not exist, a version of the world where the deep had never stirred.
Then a shadow passed over the sun, and the water turned black.
Elias woke with a start, the warmth of the dream already fading. The small room he'd been given in the haven was dark, lit only
