Chapter 12 · The Circle's Awake

"Get your filthy hands off her!"

Cane didn't just shout; he lunged. His shoulder slammed into the lead priest’s chest, sending the man sprawling across the wet stone of the ritual chamber. The impact echoed off the obsidian walls, but the victory was short-lived. Three more priests, draped in heavy, brine-soaked robes, closed in instantly. Their spears weren't steel—they were carved from the bone of something that had died before the suns existed, and the tips hummed with a sickly violet light.

"Step back, Diver," the lead priest spat, coughing up a mixture of seawater and bile. He didn't look scared. He looked annoyed. "You're interfering with a divine awakening. The girl isn't yours to save. She belongs to the tide."

Cane didn't step back. He stepped forward, sliding his arm around Lyra’s waist and hauling her tight against his side. She was shaking, her breath coming in jagged, shallow hitches that vibrated against his ribs. He could feel the blood pact humming between them—a low, electric thrum that made the skin of his forearm itch where their blood had mingled.

"She’s not a thing," Cane snapped, his voice raw.