Catherine and Ivarr headed for the cove by the bay east of town, the nearest place where the crystals they needed could be mined. Even though he was about to get his own combat ring, Ivarr insisted on learning to chant. He was persistent, so Catherine relented. It’s a good pastime while walking, she thought.

  “No,” she said for the third time, tapping the line in his spellbook. “It’s that word. You keep swallowing the ending.”

  Ivarr frowned, cheeks tightening with effort. “I’m not swallowing it.”

  “You are,” Catherine replied, dead serious. “Again.”

  Ivarr sighed through his nose, then nodded and tried once more. This time the syllables came out cleaner—still awkward, but closer. He glanced at Catherine, waiting for praise. She gave him none.

  “That one,” she said, “was acceptable.”

  Ivarr brightened anyway, like acceptable from Catherine was the same thing as applause. He chanted again, and again, and gradually the phrases stopped sounding like noises and started sounding like words. By the time the shoreline came into view, even Catherine had to admit he was improving.

  The beach was quiet that day. Since it was still mid-spring, most townsfolk preferred warm hearths to chill air and restless waves. A thin, cold wind rolled in from the water, carrying the scent of salt and damp stone.

  They followed the curve of the bay until the land pinched into a narrow cove, half hidden by rock. The entrance was dim and low, with water threading in and out of it like the sea was breathing.

  Inside, it was just as quiet. Waves whispered against stone. Water dripped somewhere overhead in slow, steady drops. Catherine wrapped her cloak tighter. Ivarr stayed close, cloak brushing the cave wall. Barrel padded behind them, ears forward, his paws making almost no sound.

  Deeper inside, Catherine spotted it: a dull lump of crystal jutting from the stone, half embedded like a growth. It wasn’t large, just about the size of a clenched fist, but it caught what little light reached this far and held it faintly.

  Before they could reach it, they had to cross a stretch of shallow water. Catherine stepped through first. Ivarr followed, careful with his footing.

  No one noticed it—no one except maybe Barrel—but as Catherine stepped into the cold water, a faint pulse stirred from inside her satchel.

  The pulse slid downward through leather and cloth, like a ripple running from her bag toward the water at her feet… and then beyond, toward the open ocean outside the cove.

  Barrel stopped. He didn’t growl, nor did he bark. He simply froze, staring past them—past the cove’s mouth, toward the darker interior beyond, ears rigid and tail gone still.

  “Barrel? Come on,” Catherine urged, waving him forward. “It’s just water.”

  Barrel didn’t move. Neither did his gaze.

  Catherine frowned and decided to stay with him while Ivarr reached the crystal. He tugged his backpack around, rummaged, and produced a pickaxe.

  Catherine stared at the tool, nearly forgetting Ivarr’s backpack was bigger on the inside. “You carry that?”

  “It’s useful,” Ivarr said, already positioning himself.

  He raised the pick and brought it down, the sound ringing sharply through the cove as he repeatedly struck the crystal’s base.

  Tiny flecks chipped away, skittering into the water. Ivarr kept at it with stubborn determination, breath puffing faintly in the cold air.

  While he worked, Catherine scanned the cave walls. The place was littered with old scars, spots where crystals had clearly been removed before. One spot had bits of crystal littering the base of the wall. Her eyes lowered and caught something near it: a pickaxe lying on the ground beside a rock shelf.

  It wasn’t rusted, and the handle wasn’t swollen with water damage. It looked… surprisingly intact.

  Catherine walked over and picked it up, testing the weight. “Huh.” She glanced around the cove again, more alert now. “This isn’t old.”

  Ivarr didn’t look up. “Someone just dropped it and didn’t bother picking it up.”

  “Maybe,” Catherine muttered, unconvinced.

  With the pickaxe in hand, she moved deeper along the wall, searching for another seam.

  Behind her, Barrel tried to follow, only to stop again. This time it wasn’t subtle. His paws planted. His gaze stayed locked toward the cove’s bend.

  Catherine followed his line of sight, then looked down at him with narrowed eyes.

  “Still don’t want to move?” she asked, half teasing, half wary. “Don’t like the cove?”

  Barrel whimpered and refused to go any farther in.

  “You stay here, then,” Catherine said.

  Barrel didn’t look happy about it, but he remained where he was, eyes still tracking the darker curve of the cove. Ivarr, having finished prying loose his first fist-sized chunk, moved deeper as well, far enough that the sound of his pick began to echo differently.

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  Meanwhile, Catherine finally spotted a crystal seam a short distance away and waded toward it, boots scraping over slick rock. She raised her borrowed pickaxe and brought it down.

  She had only just started when Barrel decided to finally move, but not casually this time.

  He surged through the shallow water and skidded to Catherine’s side fast, growling so low it vibrated in his chest. His hackles rose. The growl sharpened into barking, urgent and sharp enough to make Catherine flinch.

  “Barrel—hey.” Catherine turned her gaze toward the rocks ahead. She saw nothing but wet stone and shadow. “Calm down. What’s gotten into you?”

  Barrel didn’t calm down. He shifted in front of her, his body angled like a shield.

  Catherine swallowed her irritation. “Fine,” she muttered, raising the pick again. “I’ll be quick. Then we leave, okay? Clearly you hate this place.”

  She brought the pick down again.

  At the same time, Ivarr was mid-swing into his crystal when he froze. Somewhere ahead, past the curve of rock—a scream tore through the cove.

  It was unmistakably human, followed by a deep, wet growl and the violent splash of something heavy tearing through water.

  Ivarr whipped toward the sound.

  He saw Catherine down in the shallows, half on her side, scrambling against slippery stone. Water rushed around her legs, making it harder to stand. And in front of her, Barrel had thrown himself at something that should not have fit inside a quiet seaside cave.

  The monster was twice Barrel’s size.

  It rose from the water on two thick arms, its head like a semi-aquatic reptile’s—elongated, slick, ridged. A sail-like crest ran along its back, and a finned tail lashed behind it, sending cold spray across the cave. It squared off against Barrel, jaws parting to show rows of teeth.

  Despite Barrel’s efforts to keep its attention, its head snapped toward Catherine. She was still struggling to get her feet under her, hands slipping on wet rock.

  The monster shoved forward. Barrel lunged to intercept, but the creature whipped its tail and slammed Barrel out of the way with brutal ease, going straight for Catherine.

  Ivarr ran without thinking, without a plan. He just sprinted through the water, cloak flaring, and brought his pickaxe down with all his weight behind it.

  The impact landed on the creature’s armored nape, but the pick simply bounced off as if Ivarr had struck stone.

  The monster’s head turned toward him. Its arm shot out, a clawed swipe ripping through the air. Ivarr jerked back and stumbled, barely avoiding the worst of it, water splashing high around his legs.

  Behind the creature, Barrel was already back on it, leaping and throwing his weight onto its back. He snapped at the base of the creature’s skull and managed to pin its head for a heartbeat, just long enough for Ivarr to reach Catherine.

  “Catherine—!” Ivarr gasped, grabbing her arm. “Up—come on—”

  He hauled, trying to pull her upright, but the monster bucked violently, muscles rolling under its slick hide. It surged forward, shook Barrel off, and then slammed its arm sideways into Ivarr with the force of a swinging log.

  He flew off-balance and hit the shallows hard, his pickaxe slipping from his grip and clattering away on stone.

  The creature’s attention turned back to Catherine, who was still on the ground. Its tail lashed, and it charged, water exploding around its legs.

  Catherine saw the dropped pickaxe as she dragged herself away. She didn’t hesitate.

  She crawled. hands and knees scraping wet rock, lunging for the handle just as the creature pounced. Her fingers closed around the wood, and as the monster’s shadow swallowed her, she swung upward with everything she had.

  The pickaxe bit into the side of its neck, into soft, unarmored skin.

  The creature shrieked, letting out a high, furious sound that made Catherine’s ears ring.

  Blood spilled hot across her hands and forearms. Catherine didn’t stop. She ripped the pick free and struck again, harder this time, splattering more blood across her sleeves and the front of her dress.

  The monster recoiled, stumbling back with a panicked snarl. Its sail trembled. Its claws scraped stone as it lost ground, eyes wilder now from the wounds.

  It lurched back, plunging into the sea. The water swallowed it in a violent splash.

  For a moment, all that remained was the sound of Catherine’s breathing, the drip of water from above… and the last ripples spreading across the shallows where it had been.

  Ivarr scrambled to his feet and splashed toward Catherine at once. “Catherine—” His voice pitched sharp with panic as he reached her side. “Are you hurt? Where did it hit you?”

  Catherine didn’t answer right away. She let him grab her forearm, let him steady her, but her eyes stayed locked on the ocean surface, on the ripples still spreading where the creature had vanished. Her knees burned. Her arms stung where wet stone had scraped skin raw. She could feel the cuts already swelling under the cold.

  Ivarr followed her stare, then swallowed hard.

  “What in—what in the Twins’ name was that?” Catherine breathed.

  “I… don’t know,” Ivarr muttered.

  He dropped to a crouch and yanked his backpack closer, hands fumbling as he rummaged. “Hold still. Let me see if I have something I can put on your wounds.”

  He found cloth first, then a small tin of ointment. Ivarr dabbed it onto the worst scrapes with careful, hurried motions, wrapping cloth around her forearm and then her knee. His fingers trembled despite his effort to act composed.

  “We need to leave,” he said firmly, looking over his shoulder into the cove’s shadow. “There could be more of those things in here.”

  Catherine’s jaw clenched. Her gaze flicked once toward the crystal seams they’d come for.

  “At least finish the second crystal,” she said.

  Ivarr stared at her like she’d lost her mind.

  “We need it,” Catherine insisted, voice tight. “For the raid.”

  Fear flashed across his face, real fear, then he exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But you’re not staying in here.”

  He pointed toward the entrance. “Go outside. On the beach. Now.”

  Catherine didn’t argue. She rose with a wince, letting Barrel hover close, and limped out of the cove until her boots hit sand instead of slick stone. The wind cut through her damp clothes like a blade.

  Inside, Ivarr worked fast. The cove echoed with frantic clinks, but less precise now, more desperate. Water splashed as he shifted his footing, and every few seconds he paused, listening for movement in the sea.

  Then the sound stopped, and Ivarr burst out a moment later, breath steaming, the crystal clutched in his hand like proof he’d survived.

  Catherine stood not far away, shivering, shoulders drawn in, eyes still fixed on the ocean, as if the monster might crawl out again at any second.

  “Catherine,” Ivarr said softly, stepping closer, but she didn’t look at him.

  He hesitated, then dug into his backpack again and pulled out a blanket. He wrapped it around her shoulders without asking, tucking it tight. “We should go back,” he said.

  Catherine’s fingers curled into the blanket. Her lips parted, but no defiance came. Only a quiet, exhausted breath.

  Ivarr tried to keep his tone practical. “Go home, get changed. We can postpone the raid. You need to rest and let those scrapes heal.”

  Cold, injured, and still visibly shaken, Catherine didn’t argue. “Fine,” she murmured.

  They started back, first stopping at the warehouse by the dockyard to drop Ivarr off. Catherine walked wrapped in the blanket, moving like her thoughts were somewhere behind her, still trapped in the cave with that thing.

  Barrel kept close, never leaving her side.

  And because she was distracted, because her hands were numb and her mind kept replaying teeth, water, and the sound of that shriek, Catherine didn’t notice the streak of the monster’s blood along her forearm.

  She didn’t notice how it touched the bracelet—and how, slowly, the monster’s blood staining her began to move toward it.

  The primary stone drank it in.

  Under the blanket, hidden from sight, letters flared in flickering light.

  Upgra— upg— recei— ing— up…

  …

  …

  ...

  What in the sea slug’s slime is this place?