The Ascended — Chapter no 2

Chapter 2

Sea and Soil

THE ENDEAVOR SLICED THROUGH THE SWELLS, BLEEDING WHITE FOAM IN HER wake, her hull groaning with the weight of the morning's catch. I hauled another net aboard, muscles burning as the rope bit into my palms and grinned as silver bodies writhed in the mesh. The other fishermen watched with grudging respect as I hefted the load onto the deck.

"Damn, Thais," wheezed Old Henrik, wiping sweat from his weathered brow. "You're making us look like children."

"Maybe you should eat more of what you catch," I shot back, earning a round of laughter from the crew. "Might put some muscle on those scrawny arms."

The captain, Jorik, shook his head with a grin. "Should've known better than to bet against a Morvaren. Your brother warned me you'd clean us out."

We'd been out since before dawn, following the deep currents where the best fish ran. I'd volunteered for the expedition at Sulien’s request—but also because I needed something to do with my hands. Physical work had always been my cure for restless energy.

"One more haul," Jorik called, pointing toward a promising swell of dark water. "Then we head back before the tide turns."

I positioned myself at the net, sea spray cooling my sun-heated skin.

The work was brutal, but there was honesty in it—no pretense, no hidden dangers, just muscle against the sea's bounty. For a few hours, I could forget everything else, lose myself in the rhythm of cast and haul.

"You're enjoying this too much," Henrik observed, wiping his brow as he watched me coil rope.

"Better than shucking oysters all day," I replied, testing the weight of the net. "At least out here, the only thing trying to cut me is the rope."

"Aye, but oysters don't fight back when you haul them up," Tam added with a grin. "Fish have more spirit."

"So do I," I shot back, earning another round of laughter.

The final net went down heavy and came up like it wanted to drag us all to the bottom. I grabbed my section of rope and pulled, the familiar burn starting in my shoulders. Around me, the other men were grunting and swearing as they hauled.

Without thinking, I pulled harder. The net crawled up the side of the ship, cutting through the water like it weighed nothing.

"Well, shit," Tam said, staring as we made quick work of what should have been back-breaking labor. "Either we got lucky with the current or—"

Oh, fuck.

I let go so fast I nearly sent Henrik sprawling.

"Careful there!" he barked as the rope jerked in his hands.

"Sorry." I grabbed the rope again, this time letting its full weight hit me.

My shoulders screamed in protest—not from the effort, but from suddenly having to pretend it was difficult. Thatcher and I had always been stronger than we had any right to be. Just another consequence of our parentage "This thing's heavier than it looks," I said.

"No kidding," Henrik grunted, his face red and slick with sweat.

The net finally cleared the water, fish cascading onto the deck. The men looked pleased.

"Good day's work," Jorik said, surveying our catch. "You did well, Thais. Most landlubbers can't handle a full day like this."

The compliment warmed me despite my worry. "It was good to get out on the water," I replied. "Thanks for letting me join the crew."

The harbor buzzed as we tied up at the docks. The priests had indeed arrived, and they'd brought enough attendants to fill the village.

"Thais!" Lira, the village healer, approached with a confident stride, gray-streaked hair braided with small shells. She'd tended every scraped knee and fever in Saltcrest for as long as I could remember.

"Lira," I said, curiosity replacing my unease. "What brings you to the docks? Someone need patching up?"

She laughed, the sound rich and infectious. "Just keeping an eye on our illustrious visitors. Making sure they don't frighten the children too badly."

Her expression grew more serious as she glanced toward the priest ships.

"They're asking questions, Thais. More than usual."

"Have they…" I swallowed hard. "Have they mentioned anyone specifically?"

Lira's weathered hand found my arm,. "No names yet. But they seem particularly interested in young people. Anyone between twenty and thirty."

Her eyes, sharp despite her years, held mine. "Be careful, child. Both of you."

Lira had never asked for details, but she'd been present at our birth— one of the few who'd witnessed our mother's final moments. She'd helped Sulien through those first terrible weeks when we were too small, too fragile, and he was too broken by grief to care properly for us. If anyone suspected anything, it would be her. But she’d never asked.

"We will," I promised, the words feeling inadequate against the scope of the threat.

Lira squeezed my arm once more, then moved away. But her warning echoed in my mind as I shouldered my share of the day's earnings and headed home through the village streets.

I passed the temple on the hill and saw a cluster of figures in pristine white robes speaking with Elder Keth. Even at a distance, they carried themselves with the bearing of those who served the divine realm, Voldaris.

One of them looked up as I passed, and our eyes met across the distance. For a heartbeat, I felt naked—like those vacant eyes could see straight through to the secret burning in my chest. Then the moment passed, the priest turned back to his conversation, and I hurried away on unsteady legs.

Calm down, I told myself. He can't read your mind.

But my hands were shaking as I quickened my pace.

By the time I reached the cottage, Thatcher was sprawled in his usual chair by the fire, whittling a piece of driftwood.

"Let me guess—you beat all the fishermen at their own game and they're still trying to figure out how."

"Something like that." I sank into the chair across from him, accepting the cup of tea Sulien brought from the kitchen.

We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the evening routine settling around us. Sulien read from an old book, Thatcher continued his whittling, and I let the day's tension ease from my shoulders.

"Early night for me," I announced after finishing my tea, standing and stretching. "Tomorrow's another long day on the water if Jorik will have me back."

"He'd be a fool not to," Thatcher said, not looking up from his carving.

"You made him more coin today than his usual crew manages in a week."

I moved toward my room. "Don't wait up if I'm late tomorrow night. I might stop by the tavern after work. It’s Jorik’s birthday and if I’m out on the water with them all day, they’re going to expect me to join in on the festivities after."

"Thais." Sulien's voice stopped me cold. There was a warning in his tone I hadn't heard in years—the same authority he'd used when we were children and had pushed too far. "Maybe that's not the best idea right now."

I turned back, eyebrows raised. "What, having a drink? Since when do you care if I go to the tavern?"

"Since you seem to think it's a good idea to drink yourself senseless when you need to be most careful." Sulien set his book aside, his weathered face serious. The years of hauling nets and working the oyster beds had left their mark on him—shoulders permanently stooped from decades of bent labor, hands gnarled and scarred from countless cuts from shells and ropes.

His hair had gone completely gray, and the lines around his pale blue eyes spoke of too many years squinting against sun and salt spray.

"Oh, come on." I laughed, but it sounded forced even to my ears. "I can handle my ale just fine. I'm not going to do anything stupid."

Sulien stood slowly, his joints protesting after a long day's work. When he straightened, he seemed taller, more imposing than the gentle man who'd raised us. "Alcohol doesn't make you more careful, Thais. It makes you careless. And careless is the one thing you can't afford to be."

"I'm not going to lose control over a few drinks—"

"That power of yours is getting stronger. I see you rubbing your hands sometimes, like they're burning. You disappear at night more often than you used to." He stepped closer, his pale eyes boring into mine. "What happens when you're drunk at the tavern and someone says something that angers you? What happens when you lose your temper and those stars start pouring out of your hands?"

The words hit like a slap. My cheeks burned. "I wouldn't—"

"You're being reckless." His voice cracked slightly, and desperation flickered across his face. “The walls you've built around that power are starting to crack. And alcohol doesn't strengthen walls, Thais. It tears them down."

"I think that's enough," Thatcher said quietly, but neither of us paid him any attention.

"I've been careful," I protested, hating how defensive I sounded. "All of this time, I've been careful. I've hidden what I am, I've stayed quiet, I've done everything you asked—"

He shook his head, shoulders sagging. "I won't lose you to them. I can't."

"Father," Thatcher said, standing up from his chair. His voice was gentle but firm. "I'll go with her tomorrow night. Keep an eye on things. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid." He shot me a meaningful look. "Right,

Thais?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"You're both good kids," Sulien said finally, settling back into his chair with a weary sigh. "Better than I deserve. I just…" He looked up at us, and I saw the exhaustion there—not just physical, but the bone-deep weariness of a man who'd already buried the woman he loved, who'd spent decades raising children that weren't his blood, living in constant fear that the gods would come to claim what they'd left behind. "I just need you to be smart.

Especially now. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah," I managed, my voice thick. "Yeah, we can do that."

He nodded once, then picked up his book again, but I could see his hands shaking as he turned the pages.

I stood there for a moment, watching him pretend to read. My chest tightened. The cottage was suddenly too small, the walls pressing in on me.

"Where are you going?" Thatcher asked as I headed for the door.

"For a walk," I said. "I need some air."

The evening breeze hit my face as I stepped outside, but it didn't help. I could still feel the weight of Sulien's terror, the way he'd looked at me like I was a loaded weapon about to go off. Maybe I was. Maybe that's all I'd ever be—a danger to everyone I cared about.

I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings. The need to remain vigilant, to keep my powers hidden, to protect

our family's secret—it all coiled around my chest like rope pulled too tight.

Sometimes I envied Thatcher's easy freedom, his ability to act without the crushing weight of consequence sitting on his shoulders.

I started walking without thinking about where I was going. I needed… what did I need? Not to be alone with my thoughts, that was certain. Not to go back inside and pretend everything was fine.

I needed to feel normal.

I FOUND Marel at the carpenter's shop. He was there after hours, bent over a piece of wood. Shavings curled around his feet like pale flowers, and the air smelled of cedar. He looked up as I entered, his face lighting with the kind of uncomplicated pleasure that I’d come to know so well. As selfish as it was, this thing between us, temporary and guarded and filled with lies, brought comfort.

"Thais." My name sounded warm in his voice. He set down his carving knife and looked at me. "You look like you've had a day."

I settled onto a stool beside the workbench, suddenly drained. "Working late then?"

Marel's cheeks colored. "You know I’m not working." He smiled, picking up the piece he'd been carving—a delicate seabird. "Just needed to come here and think."

It was exquisite, every feather detailed, the wings positioned as if the bird were caught mid-flight. "It's beautiful."

"It's nothing," he said, but I could see the pride in his eyes. "Just something to keep my hands busy."

Like me, Marel had grown up here in Saltcrest, working the boats since he was old enough to handle a line. But his true passion had always been this.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked, his hands still for once.

He had always been perceptive—one of the things that both drew me to him and made him dangerous. His sun-bleached blonde hair gleamed in the evening light streaming through the shop windows, and those hazel eyes of his seemed to see straight through whatever mask I was trying to wear.

"I heard you went out with Jorik's crew today," he continued when I didn't answer immediately. "That must have been different from the oyster beds."

"It was good," I said, and I found myself actually smiling. "I may have shown off a little."

Marel laughed, the sound rich and genuine and exactly what I was craving. "I'm sure you did. You never could resist a challenge." He leaned back against his workbench, studying my face. "But something's bothering you. You've got that look you get when you're trying to work out a problem."

Perceptive, I thought again. Too perceptive for his own good.

"Walk with me?" I asked, needing to be somewhere less confined.

He nodded, setting aside his tools without hesitation. "Where to?"

"The cliffs. I need to see the sea."

“A day of fishing didn’t tire you out?” He cocked a sly smile.

“Never.”

We left the village behind, following the winding path that led up the coastal headlands. The sun hung low in the western sky, painting the water gold and purple. We walked in comfortable silence at first, but I could feel Marel watching me.

"Tell me something about yourself," I said suddenly, needing to focus

on something other than my own fears.

Marel smiled. "Like what, exactly?"

"I don't know. What did you want to be when you were a child? Before you became a fisherman?"

"A sailor," he said without hesitation. "I wanted to see the world beyond Saltcrest. Explore distant shores, meet strange people."

"What changed your mind?"

His expression grew serious. "My father died. Someone had to take care of my mother, and she needed stability more than I needed adventure. So I kept fishing, learned the trade properly."

"Do you regret it?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But then I think about the life I've built here, the people I care about." He glanced at me. "And I think maybe adventure isn't always about going somewhere new. Sometimes it's about finding something worth staying for."

The words made me stall, as they always did. "Marel—"

"I know something's eating at you," he said quietly. "I can see it in the way you hold yourself sometimes. Like you're bracing for the worst."

I stopped walking, turning to face him. "How do you—"

"Because I've felt that way too. After my father died, I spent months waiting for the next disaster. Wondering when the other shoe would drop."

He reached out, taking my hand in his. "What has you so worried, Thais?

What are you afraid of?"

I tried to divert the conversation.

“Sometimes I dream of leaving this place.”

Marel simply looked at me.

"But my family is complicated. They need me here, and truthfully, I need them. A part of me wants to leave this place and never look back, but I feel so weighed down. I don't know if I truly have a choice," I murmured.

"There are always choices," he said firmly. "Maybe not easy ones, maybe not good ones, but there's always a choice."

We'd reached the cliff overlook—that secluded pocket of grass and wildflowers where I'd spent so many hours alone. Standing stones rose around us, and the endless sea stretched out below, reflecting the fire of the sunset.

"You're right," I said, settling onto the sun-warmed grass. "There's always a choice. But sometimes all the options are terrible."

Marel sat beside me. "Then you choose the least terrible one. And you find ways to live with the consequences."

I looked at him, really looked, taking in the strong line of his jaw. He was beautiful in a quiet, understated way, solid and real and honest. And mine, if I dared.

"What if I told you that being with me was a terrible idea?" I asked, but immediately regretted it. Too much truth.

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "I'd say that sounds like you're trying to scare me away. And I'd wonder why."

"I'm not trying to scare you away," I said, forcing a laugh. "I'm just saying… I don't know. Maybe I’ve seen too many of those traveling theater shows. All those dramatic stories about cursed lovers and tragic endings."

Marel smiled, some of the tension leaving his face. "You're worried about tragedy? Thais, we live in a fishing village. Half the men here don't come back from the deep waters. Life is already dangerous."

"I suppose that’s true."

He reached for my hand. "Look, I know you're worried about something. But whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone."

I reached for him, pulling him closer, and he came willingly, his arms wrapping around me as I buried my face against his neck. When he kissed me, it was with an urgency I’d never seen from him. I gave myself over to the sensation, letting myself forget for a moment about my secrets. There was just this. Marel's mouth on mine, his hands in my hair, the simple connection I'd been craving.

"Are you sure you’re okay with this tonight?" he whispered against my lips, his hazel eyes searching mine in the fading light. “I don’t want to cross a boundary, especially if you’re in a bad state of mind.”

"I need this," I said, and it was the most honest thing I'd said all day.

His hands were gentle as they traced the line of my jaw, down my throat to the hollow where my pulse hammered against my skin. "You're shaking," he observed softly.

"I'm fine," I lied, but we both knew it wasn't true. I was coming apart at the seams, had been since the moment I'd left the cottage.

"No, you're not," Marel said, his thumb brushing across my lower lip.

"And that's okay. You don't have to be fine with me."

I pulled him down, kissing him with a desperate hunger, pouring all my fear and need into the contact. He responded with equal fervor, his hands tangling in my hair as he deepened the kiss.

We helped each other out of our clothes, movements eager but familiar.

We'd done this before, countless times over the last few years, but tonight felt different. We were teetering on a precipice. A truth I could never reveal, but one he sensed nonetheless.

Marel's hands knew my body well by now, knew exactly where to touch to make me gasp and arch beneath him. But there was a new tenderness in the way he explored, as if he were trying to remember every inch of me.

"How are you so beautiful?" he murmured against my shoulder, and I could hear the wonder in his voice.

I wanted to tell him it wasn't natural, that there was something wrong with me that I couldn't explain. But the words caught in my throat as his mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of my neck.

He paused, reaching for his discarded clothes. "Just a moment," he said, retrieving a small wrapped packet from his pocket. There was an efficiency in his movements as he prepared himself.

The grass was soft, cushioning us as we came together. Above us, the first stars were beginning to emerge in the darkening sky, scattered like diamonds across velvet. I tried to focus on them, tried to keep some part of my mind anchored to something beyond the sensations flooding me.

"Let me," he said softly. "Let me take care of you."

In our previous encounters, I had always been the one in control–the one who set the pace. But tonight I found myself surrendering to his gentle insistence.

His hands were everywhere, worshipping every inch of exposed skin.

When his mouth followed the path his hands had traced, I couldn't suppress the soft sounds that escaped my lips, my back arching involuntarily.

"Marel," I whispered.

"I know," he said against my skin. "I know, love. I've got you."

The endearment seeped into me. Love. No one had ever called me that before—not with such tenderness, such certainty. And never during a moment like this, with our bodies tangled together.

For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be the kind of woman someone could love without reservation. One who didn't carry secrets—who could give her heart freely instead of sharpening it like a weapon.

The fantasy lasted exactly three heartbeats before reality crashed back in. He didn't know what I was. Didn't know that loving me was the most dangerous thing he could possibly do. And I was too selfish—too desperate for the comfort of connection to let him go.

The guilt felt like drowning. Marel deserved someone who loved him completely, not someone who used him as an anchor to feel normal. The hardest truth was that even if I weren't half-divine, even if I could tell him everything—I wasn't certain I would ever feel for him what he clearly felt for me.

The moment we joined, the power that I kept so carefully contained began to stir. I tried to ignore it, tried to focus solely on Marel.

He moved slowly at first, his eyes never leaving mine. But as I responded to his touch, as my body welcomed him deeper, the gentleness gave way to urgency. Desperation. Longing.

"God, Thais," he gasped, his forehead pressed against mine. "You feel…"

I couldn't form words to answer, could only hold him closer. My gaze was drawn upward to those brilliant points of light, and I watched in growing alarm as they began to pulse.

The intensity was building, ripping through my chest. My fingernails dug into Marel's shoulders. Above us, more beads of light began to join the first, their essence growing brighter with each passing moment.

"Look at me," Marel whispered, sensing my distraction. "Stay with me, Thais."

I tried to focus on his face, on the way his blonde hair fell across his forehead, on the desire written clearly in his eyes. But the power inside me was growing stronger and I could feel it beginning to leak out despite my efforts. It was going to consume me.

As the pleasure crested, washing over me in waves that left me gasping and shaking beneath him, I lost all control. The stars above us flared to brilliant life.

Horror flooded me even as my body continued to pulse with aftershocks. The constellations were rearranging themselves, forming spirals and flowing curves that matched the rhythm we'd just shared.

I tried desperately to pull the energy back, to force the stars back into their normal patterns, but it was like trying to stop a river with my bare hands. The more I fought it, the brighter they became, until the entire sky throbbed. Gods, anyone in the village could see this.

Fuck.

I froze.

"Thais?" Marel stilled above me, voice breathless. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"Nothing," I lied, my voice shaking. "Nothing's wrong."

Marel searched my face, clearly unconvinced by my reassurance. His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away tears I hadn't realized

were falling.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be," he said firmly. "Stay with me."

"I can’t." I turned my face away.

But I could feel his eyes locked on my face, searching, guessing. Guilt churned through me, and I reached out, pulling him close, suppressing the sob that wanted to form in my throat. Because I wasn’t holding him out of desire, only to stop him from seeing what was happening above us.

Gradually, the glow began to fade from the heavens, and when I finally dared to glance upward, the stars were slowly returning to normal.

If he noticed them, he didn’t say it.

"I should go," I murmured.

"I wish I knew what to say. I want to help, Thais. To be here for you in whatever way you need, but I’m flailing," he said, his arms tightening around me. "You know you can tell me anything."

Gods, I couldn't do this at Marel's expense anymore. I couldn't be selfish.

“Thank you for tonight.” I said as I finally pushed away and dressed to leave.

And I walked off, not waiting for his questions or sweet sentiments that would only make the guilt in my chest burn brighter. I let the tears fall, safe and alone and full of regret.