Phantom Hollow To breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive

A Sea-Snake separated from the sea was a terrible thing.

But Alara was older now, wiser, grown into her own power. This time she had left of her own accord. This time she meant to return triumphant.

A pair of hauntingly familiar scents on the wind told her that she was on the right path; @Hunst and Reverie. These were the wolves she'd been searching for, though it worried her to find them alone. Alara, unwilling to draw attention to the pair and herself by calling out for them, set off into the woods at once to track down her Sea-Snake cousin.

Hunst had been prowling the edges, his mind still half on Reverie when the scent hit him—a trace of salt and familiarity. He stiffened, instinct taking over as he inhaled again, confirming what he thought he knew. Sea-snake. A ghost from his past, a reminder of tides and treacherous waters, of the old world they had once known together.

Moving silently, he cut through the trees, his powerful frame slipping into the shadows as he stalked toward her. And there she was, unmistakable and yet changed—Alara, with that same fierce presence, only sharpened. He emerged from the cover of darkness like a revenant, stopping just short of her, his voice a low murmur, barely more than a breath.

Alara?

It was both question and confirmation. He took her in, noting the strength she carried now, the weight of years etched across her gaze. His own eyes betrayed a flicker of something almost like relief, though it was tempered with caution.

A Sea-Snake this far from the waves, he muttered, his tone edged with reverence. What’s brought you to this shore, cousin?

Hunst; ah, he hadn't changed, though he now wore the same gilded leash donned by the rest of Casco Bay. A testament, truly, to the seductive power of Sea-Snake magic. Alara judged him for it, of course, but only a touch.

You, She answered steadily, gaze unwavering upon him. And her, I suppose. Her muzzle tilted in the direction from which Hunst had come, indicating the woman he followed. Alara had made no secret of her own distaste for Reverie — not a personal grudge, but a deeper knowledge of what the woman would always bring with her.

That was a conversation for another day.

River forbade it, of course, Alara beckoned her cousin forward, moving to take the lead, albeit slowly. Eventually they would need to see Reverie. But not just yet. He would sooner have me on the front lines of the war. I say there are bigger fish.

I'm here to reclaim what has always been ours. Something stolen. It just so happens that our goals align, She stole a glance toward Hunst as she spoke. Pointedly, she did not ask; they would have her along whether they wanted her or not.

i think this is the most he's ever spoken lolol

Hunst’s towering form moved with deliberate steps, his stark white face impassive but his eyes alight with something sharp and unreadable. He met Alara’s unwavering gaze with one of his own, brow lifting slightly at her pointed remarks.

You never were one to mince words, cousin, he rumbled, his voice low and gravelly, touched with the frost of his homeland. And yet here you are, aligning yourself with goals not entirely your own. Curious, isn’t it?

His gaze followed the tilt of her muzzle toward the path he had come from, where Reverie’s shadow lingered. A brief flicker of something passed over his features, too fleeting to name. Her way is not mine, nor is it yours, he stated, his tone steady as stone. But war has a way of binding wolves to things they’d rather not claim. River’s hold may chafe, the least I can do is remain steadfast.

As Alara moved to take the lead, Hunst followed at her pace, his heavy footfalls deliberate but unhurried. "You speak of reclaiming what’s stolen," he murmured, his voice quieter now, as though weighing the words. Damn right. We’re owed more than scraps, more than a place at someone else’s table. Independence isn’t just a dream, Alara—it’s the only way forward. The Sea-Snakes have always been their own, and I’ll see to it they remain so.

His gaze flicked to hers as they moved, the storm in his eyes unrelenting. I’ll fight beside you, not because we share blood, but because we share purpose. Let Reverie and her ilk think they can tame the sea. We’ll remind them why it’s always been untamed—and why it always will be.

In these moments Alara was reminded of the lifetime of differences which stood between them. She had been born Cyanean, a silver spoon at her lips from those first moments. He'd been born an ember, the faintest burning hope that the Sea-Snakes might one day reclaim what had been lost so long ago; raised a stranger among people who were not his own — yet he was a Sea-Snake. They both were.

Servitude had splintered their people, but it had not broken them. It had not erased them.

It's our blood that ties us together, Hunst, Her words were warm and her eyes affectionate even as she disagreed. Perhaps you aren't as leashed to her as I'd thought - but the Sea-Snakes of old kept no alliances, fought no wars. They traded magic to anyone who brought something of worth. This - Another gesture in Reverie's direction.

This is our own doing - or rather, our forebears'. So I'll help, Now her eyes found Hunst again. But know this: the Medeiros heir can bring nothing but ruin where she walks. Oh, I know that old cunt Atlas has been parading his granddaughter around as his heir. But River knows the truth. It's always been her.

You desire a future? A Sea-Snake future, without servitude, without living on the scraps of those who would sit above us? Then we'll see this through, and we'll go to the sea, you and I.

Alara had always had a way of wrapping challenge and promise into one. Her own gaze was stormy, but no less filled with love.

And then - well, I have no powers of prophecy yet, A thing reserved for mothers; those who created life. But Sea-Snake has never been a name forgotten.

Hunst listened, his pale eyes narrowing slightly as Alara spoke, her words weaving the intricate tapestry of their shared bloodline, their fractured past. Her warmth, her love—it was felt, but he remained stoic, his jaw set firm as though weighing the weight of her words against the cold northern wind that had long shaped him.

It’s our blood, aye, he said at last, his voice low and deliberate, the Northern cadence of his tongue lending his words an air of gravity. But blood alone doesn’t shape the future, Alara. It’s what we do with it—what we reclaim—that matters.

His gaze flicked briefly toward Reverie, shadowed and unreadable. There was no denying her place in this tangled web, and no denying Alara’s sharp warning. Yet, Hunst’s loyalty was not something easily unraveled, not even by the stormy conviction of his cousin.

Maybe the Sea-Snakes of old kept no alliances, he murmured, turning his eyes back to Alara, but they also kept no fear. If there’s ruin to come, then we’ll face it. War, we’ll carve our place within it. I’ve seen what serving others brings—it’s high tide the sea serves us.

Her challenge, her promise—it stirred something deep within him, the ember that had burned faint and unyielding since his youth. He nodded slowly, a flicker of determination cutting through the stoic mask.

Then we’ll see it through, he said, the words resolute, heavy with finality. To the sea, Alara. But first— His gaze sharpened, meeting hers with the weight of an unspoken bond. I finish the job. River trusted me. No matter how much you swoon beneath his feet.

A rare softness flickered across his features, barely perceptible, as he added, And you’re right—Sea-Snake is a name that will never be forgotten. Not while we’re here to carry it.

By turns Hunst spoke in soothing promises and scathing observations. Were he anyone but a cousin, a Sea-Snake, she might have struck him; she might have scorned him. Even then, Alara had always been enchanted by the warrior in some inexplicable way. Sea-Snake, yes, but in a sharper fashion, honed for wars fought in the name of independence.

Was she not the same? Crafted for the throne rather than the battlefield, true, but perhaps these little anomalies held the key to their future. A queen and a soldier; an iron fist and a steel sword.

I swoon beneath no one's feet, Alara reminded him, but there was no bite in her voice. And River's hold is tenuous, even now. He's taken a wife at last - a proper Sea-Snake wife, but even so, our people are losing faith. Why else would I be here?

He trusted you, yes - but it's my faith that will see us through. When we've reclaimed what belongs to us, I intend to claim my place as our people's matriarch. She didn't need to tell Hunst what that meant. Children; an empire; the old ways brought back to shivering, shuddering life. What she spoke now was treason, but the sort of treason that seems inevitable; the sort whispered among friends for years and years until one day it simply becomes real.

Now it was real.

Hunst listened, his sharp gaze narrowing as Alara spoke, the weight of her words pressing against his chest. For all her poise and defiance, there was something unshakable in her voice—a truth he had expected but wasn’t prepared to confront so soon. River. Married.

He exhaled sharply, the sound more incredulous than anything, though his lips quirked faintly into a wry smile. River, married, he echoed, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. It’s shocking, I’ll admit, but… not unexpected. The boy always did have a knack for theatrics.

Hunst shook his head, the weight of the news settling. A proper Sea-Snake wife, you say? Well, that will pacify some of them, I suppose. But you’re right—his hold is weak, and a marriage alone won’t mend that. Our people won’t follow him just because he’s followed tradition.

He met her gaze, his own a mix of steely resolve and quiet pride. You, though—matriarch. He said the word like a promise, his voice low and firm. That is something they’ll follow. You’ve always had the spine for it, Alara. The fire. The question is, how far are you willing to go to see it through?

He paused, tilting his head slightly, the flicker of a smirk returning. And what exactly do you need from me? A sword, I assume. There was no judgment in his tone, only the quiet acceptance of a warrior ready to stand where he was needed. Just say the word.