TO Rewrite: B4 — 15. Queens and Pirates (Patreon)

1. Fiona White (Our Fairy Queen!)

2. Selvaria (Our Leviathan Girl!)

TO Rewrite Index

Previous Chapter

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Fiona floated out of the nearby window as Selvaria opened it, giving her a sharp, toothy grin that would make a shark scream and flee. “Good luck, Fairy Queen. If you need a monster drop, just spin me a portal and I’ll body slam the villain.”

Classic Selv.

She giggled, feeling the weight fall off her shoulders as she glanced around the room.

Merlin had vanished, as usual, but Anthony was giving her a thumbs up, telling her he’d handle informing and protecting her parents. She had such good friends.

Piper. Yeah, the tag-along stalker vampire from a bloodsucker world was now fiddling with her phone, probably searching for more random facts—nope, now she was taking a picture of Anthony for some reason.

Maybe Elizabeth just wanted to get rid of her for a bit, so she dumped her on us? I don’t know. She’s so obsessed over Anthony, though… An engaged man! Eww. Until death do us part? Blah. I suppose she doesn't come from just another culture, but a whole vampire world.

Fiona gave Selvaria one last look, as if to say, “Watch out for that one.”

Selv’s typical, expressionless face was back, but the thumbs up said, “I’ve got it.”

Then again, the leviathan had her own…unique ways of handling things.

Time to save my sister. Titania or not, Nora comes first.

Fiona slipped through the open window, Selvaria’s frown lingering as she waved on her exit, taking off into the sky to meet the legendary wizard.

Cold air kissed her cheeks. Her wings caught it, beat once, twice—then she let the new city scenery take her, rising above the mists.

London wasn’t London.

She rose above the eaves, and the world tilted: the Thames was no longer a river, but a vein, thick with glacial shine, fed by waterfalls she could feel in her sternum. They burst from wounds in a trunk that shouldn’t fit inside reality—whitewater thundering out of hollowed knots, silver sheets breaking into mist that tasted of pine and iron.

Spray jeweled her lashes. Every thunderclap rattled the gold in her dust until it bled green, then steadied again as she forced her breath to match the rhythm of the fall.

The Tree had eaten the horizon.

It swallowed bridges and embankments, spines of wood threading through brick and steel like ivy with a vendetta. Whole streets curled into bark. Chimneys grew leaves. Balconies budded. She skimmed above a row of townhouses that were no longer townhouses, their facades softened into cambium and soft moss, door knockers blinking as if they were beetles pretending to be brass.

Everywhere, veins of honey-bright sap pulsed—slow heartbeat, patient and huge.

Mythical birds she’d never seen before were flying high in confusing patterns, likely still trying to come to terms with whatever the Second Oscillation had done to them.

The whole world was still in flux.

She banked toward the river and dared a glance down.

If Selvaria hadn’t been exaggerating, the island that was once the United Kingdom now floated, a plate set adrift on black water that wasn’t water anymore.

Could the ocean really just…endless? If the UK floated, what about Ireland?

From this vantage point, the ocean in the distance looked almost magical, color sliding from slate to indigo to that impossible, lightless blue.

Maybe a trick of the light.

Maybe not.

Roots as wide as train tunnels curled through blocks, rising again like fingers searching for purchase.

Her stomach flipped. Wings stuttered. She pulled herself higher, away from the thoughts that nipped at her wings—what if this wasn’t just a tree changing a city?

Yet, the new vista budded a new, terrifying theory into her psyche.

What if the Second Oscillation gave the world itself a Seed? What if—

Nora’s cries cut through the theory, sharp as broken glass.

Not now. Focus.

Wind carried the scent of crushed leaves and old stone as she followed it to Westminster.

Parliament had become a memory of itself, carved from a living thing.

The silhouette remained—towers where towers should be, arches dreaming of arches—but every line had softened into grain.

The clock face was a luminous knot, time spiraling in rings. Gargoyles had turned to foxglove spires and antlered ferns. Tendrils linked the building to a root the size of a hill and then—barely—broke. The Tree had touched it, claimed it, and released it to grow on its own.

She hovered, letting the scale settle under her skin. Every window breathed. The whole place whispered in a language she didn’t know, but should know, and yet, somehow understood enough to create an echo in her chest that ached.

Her wings carried her lower, past a UK banner that had unfurled into a sheet of lichen, past a wrought-iron fence now blooming thorns as soft as rabbit ears—would Rachel have decried that comparison?

The front steps had become roots braided into stairs. At their base, standing in the cool shade, waited the wizard and a woman whose presence rang like a tuning fork.

Merlin first: same rumpled draw, attention flicking to her with that too-quick focus that meant a dozen calculations had just rearranged themselves.

His projection tricks were gone; this was the real one, lines at the eyes deeper than moments ago—had he been crying? Staff in hand. Wind-loved coat. The ghost of regret clung to him like winter.

Beside him, the stranger looked as striking as Rachel herself, without the mystical appeal. Yet Fiona felt it regardless—a hidden gravity that organized the air around her. Lids lowered a fraction at the sight of a seven-centimeter girl arrowing in, as if cataloguing and accepting simultaneously.

Merlin’s demeanor said it all.

His boss. She’s got to be his boss.

Fiona’s dust flicked to polite silver before she strangled it back to gold.

Good. More adults. Fewer gods. Maybe I’ll actually get an answer? Wait—who would be Merlin’s boss anyway? King Arthur? Nah. Merlin never took orders. Guinevere? Mm, hair’s wrong. …His wife? Ugh, that thought feels weird. Lady of the Lake?! Oh, sugar plums, what if she’s Lady of the Lake?!

Keep calm, Fiona. Keep cool. Just…say hello like you aren’t about to faint.

She dropped the last meter and landed on the railing that happened to be at their eye level, tiny leather sandals skidding a little on the bark-smooth wood.

The waterfall’s roar pressed against her spine and echoed in the distance, kicking up mist that gave the entire area a mythical vibe; the Tree’s hum shivered through her bones—being this small meant every vibration hit harder.

“Hi! I…didn’t think you’d beat me here,” she chirped, voice steadying on the third word. “You said to meet at the Parliament building. I’m here. It’s, uh, very…arboreal.”

Merlin opened his mouth. “This is—”

“M,” the woman said crisply, cutting him off before he could lace her identity. Her voice carried the sharpness of glass on steel. “Director Johnson, if we’re being proper. But ‘M’ will do.”

Fiona’s wings hiccuped mid-beat. Her dust flicked bright pink before she strangled it back to gold. “You’re M? Like, James Bond’s M? Oh my gosh, that is so cool! The Myth of M?”

A smile tugged at the corner of the woman’s lips, professional mask never slipping.

Her suit was immaculate, her hair pinned with surgical precision. Only the faintest shadow under her eyes and a strange instinctual pull that said there was pain behind her vision tugged at Fiona.

“Charmed,” M said smoothly, inclining her head just enough to acknowledge Fiona. “I believe that is all the introduction needed, Agent M,” she whispered, powerful emerald eyes darting to him that left no prisoners.

Merlin’s mouth tightened, as if he wanted to argue, but the words never came. His staff shifted against the wood beneath his palm, then stilled. He gave the barest nod, ceding ground.

Fiona’s wide eyes darted between them in the awkward silence.

Okay, there’s some history here… A lot of history.

“…As you wish, Director.”

With a flash of light, he was gone, leaving her alone.

Suddenly, Fiona felt even more exposed.

Wait, that’s it? He’s just…gone to be with Anthony? Like, five words and out? Huh?!

M turned without another word. Her heels struck the root-braided steps with clipped precision. The air around her organized into order the way sap found its veins. Fiona darted forward to keep pace as the woman strode directly toward the open gate, mist flowing around them both.

She hovered at M’s shoulder—no, Director Johnson’s shoulder?—she reminded herself, watching the woman’s professional expression remain perfectly in place in front of the former government building.

Okay, maybe being shadowed by a legendary super spy is what I need right now. I am supposed to spy on the Scarlet Hand as a triple agent, after all… Am I Lady Bond? Agent F?! So cool! Nora will freak… Well, I need to save her for her to freak, but yeah…

How is she so calm? Fiona wondered, her fairy dust shifting from gold to anxious green. She’s literally walking into Parliament like it’s another Tuesday.

“Stop overthinking, Ms. White,” M said quietly, not breaking stride as they approached the entrance where two knights stood guard. “Your dust is giving you away.”

Her heels clicked like daggers against the wood.

“You want to be a spy? Then remember—spy-work isn’t about bravery. It’s about persona and delivery. They need you. You don’t necessarily need them.” A glance, emerald eyes sharp as glass. “You must develop a pyroclastic flow. You’re more lethal than you realize. You’re fae—magic should never be needed. Plant words in their minds to defeat them.”

Fiona’s dust pink-gold, wings stalling mid-beat. “Sorry, I just—wait, really? Can I do that? I need to be a fast-moving avalanche of hot gas, ash, and volcanic rock?”

The woman’s lips lifted ever-so-slightly. “Unstoppable. Beautiful. Mysterious. A queen is cautious, yet acting. Humble, yet royal. Calculated, yet compassionate”

“And…you’re saying I’m built to be a fairy queen. So, lean into that. Okay. But a fae?” Fiona pressed, a lump dropping down her throat as the massive, transformed palace loomed ahead.

“A fae?” M’s voice dropped to a whisper. “A fae robs you of certainty. Makes you question your reality. Positions herself as if she was always there. Resourceful, pulling what she needs out of the mud.” Emerald eyes locked onto hers, steady as glass. “It’s all about your mindstate. That’s inside you, Ms. White.”

She swallowed hard, the lump still there. “Inside me, huh? Great. So along with the glitter allergies, I’ve also got a built-in world-domination starter kit. Fan-tastic.” A weak laugh slipped out. “Guess we’ll see if it actually works before I fall on my face.”

The woman’s eyes held a bullet’s impact.

“Things you never see when you have a vision,” she said, heels clipping a measured rhythm.

Fiona’s wings twitched, dust bleeding pale green. Why does that sound like a warning? Green, again?! Gah. I need to fix this!

“All the things you miss when you’re on a mission.”

Her stomach tightened. Like Nora. Like Mom and Dad.

“The willingness to die, so that you can live it. Motivation. That is the difference between you and them.”

Fiona swallowed, wings stalling. “Motivation? Like…rage counts, right? Even fear?”

Emerald eyes slid toward her, glass-sharp. “This world is harsh. Every queen has a slight insanity in them, Ms. White. A heart deeper than the ocean has its darkness, its tide…its hidden monsters. A queen tames that darkness; she does not hide it.

“It boils down to what you can lose—and how deep you can swim before you break. No training. Shark waters. Whose abyss runs deeper?”

She almost squeaked. She makes it sound like I’m entering a war. Well, I guess, yeah… [Warpath] proves that it’s what I’m kind of built for. I even went down that path…

“This is no game. The devils will test you,” she stated, stopping in front of the knights as they saluted, waiting without a word. “It’s about your mindstate.”

Fiona hugged herself in midair, wings jittering, dust spitting unstable colors. “Sometimes I just act, though… I can’t stop—just tear through like chaos.”

“All the pressure may make you feel as if you are going mad.”

“I already feel crazy!” Fiona blurted, then clamped her mouth shut.

“The trick?” M’s lips curved, precise. “Don’t smother it. Aim it. Let it drive you.”

Fiona’s dust flared, then steadied to gold for a heartbeat, pulled taut by the certainty in her tone.

“Like Rachel? Rachel is like…the most motivated person I know—no days off—just raw momentum. It’s kind of scary.”

“Ah. There’s the key… And when all of your idols turn rivals, then you’re doing something right.”

The line sank deep. She flinched, thinking of Rachel, of Anthony—Selvaria’s endless confidence—of every larger-than-life figure she was supposed to walk beside. Her wings faltered, and she only just caught herself.

If they turn rivals, does that mean I’m finally…at their level?

Her heart thumped back to that first spark—Maria shielding her from the gangsters. Maria had motivation. That was it.

It really is a mindset.

“Director Johnson,” one of the knights greeted her the moment her gaze slid to him, with a respectful nod. The palace’s front gates—root-braided and seam-sealed—pulsed faintly with sap-light, as if the palace itself were breathing. “No one enters. The Prime Minister ordered—”

“You are dismissed,” M cut in, tone like glass on steel.

They faltered. Sap-light flickered in the arch as though waiting. At her raised brow, both saluted sharply and withdrew down the steps. Only when their boots had faded into the mist did the living gate unseal, bark splitting apart like a jawline of wood.

Fiona had to look after the men, who didn’t seem brave enough to even look back.

Yeah, she’s a queen.

The clarion spark of crystalline hooves striking wood echoed out, snapping her attention back to the door. The glass-like chime pulsed again. And the door opened.

Where the palace doors had once stood, bark unfurled in layers, revealing a glow of sap and shadow. From that radiance, a figure emerged, crystalline hooves striking wood with the chime of glass.

A figure stepped into the glow.

Antlers caught impossible light, each tine sharp enough to cut through space itself. The stag filled the arch, gaze spanning eons.

“High Queen Titania,” it intoned, voice reverberating through the building itself, yet unheard by the world. “At last, not in dream, but in flesh.”

Fiona’s wings faltered mid-beat. Heat tightened around her lungs. “I’m not—I just—”

Its voice pressed through the living palace.

“High Queen Titania. You cannot run forever. The cries of the world are already inside you. The Scarlet Hand knows this truth. They would twist it. But your way still remains. If you would see your sister again—stop fleeing what you are. Your will is mine.”

Her wings stuttered. Heat locked around her ribs.

Her dust flickered unstable green, then bled gold.

“Enough.” Her voice cracked and rose, sharp as glass. “I’m done being told who I am. I’m done letting everyone else write the script. You want a queen? Then you get one. But she’s mine. My rules. My rage. My love. Not yours. Not theirs.”

The stag’s eyes gleamed, ancient patience unmoved.

“You feel the weight. That is what makes you worthy.”

She laughed—bitter, fierce—wings thrumming like a storm.

“Worthy? I’m furious. I’m terrified. And I’m not burying that anymore. I’ll weaponize it. I’ll twist it until it bleeds fire—because I am not going to lose Nora. Not to the Scarlet Hand. Not to your duty games. Not to anyone. I’ll drown the world in glitter if I have to.”

M’s emerald eyes narrowed, but for the first time, her lips curved into a fuller smile. “That’s it. Don’t hide the pressure. Turn it.”

Fiona’s brow set.

You want a queenly breakdown? Hang up my heart. Let it air out? Fine.

Her wings flared.

I’ll show them they’ve already lost.

“Show me,” she blurted. The words came sharper than she meant. “If you want me to believe all this, then show me. But only if it helps me save Nora. That’s my will. Enact it.”

The stag’s crystalline hoof struck the root-floor, sending a clear chime through the air upon drawing back. “As you wish.”

Fiona followed M across the threshold.

The entrance hall of Westminster was still itself—arches where arches should be, the familiar sweep of the grand stair, portraits gazing down from the walls—but everything had been devoured and reborn.

Moss spread thick over the floors like carpet. Pillars had become trunks, their crowns vanishing into vaulted canopies overhead. Chandeliers were gone, replaced by clusters of bioluminescent fungi and draping vines that glowed faintly gold.

The portraits hadn’t been discarded; instead, the frames had merged with bark, the canvases redrawn as shifting inky silhouettes that breathed with natural touches—petals, feathers, smoke. Eyes followed them with uncanny awareness, as if nature were watching them.

Her chest tightened again when the sound returned.

She’s weeping…

The ache of the World Tree hummed in her ribs with every breath.

“Fascinating,” M murmured, fingertips brushing a living banister that pulsed faintly with sap. “Not replaced—repurposed. The structure is scaffolding for something larger… This is her body that she can restructure at will, yet somewhere, there is a heart.”

The stag’s voice resonated through the roots. “Come.”

It led them deeper into the transformed hall. And there, where symmetry demanded a centerpiece, roots had curled inward, braiding into a towering mirror. Its surface rippled like water, reflecting not the foyer behind them but infinite branching paths.

M’s fingernail sliding down the frame, eyes narrowing. “A Nexus Mirror. Theoretical, until now. It doesn’t answer want—it answers need. Perfect.”

Fiona was shocked that her voice didn’t shake. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” M said, cool as the mirror’s surface, “it may take you to Nora. Or to what you must face before you can reach her. Straight paths are a luxury the universe rarely grants.”

Fiona’s gaze darted across the mirror. Dozens of her stared back—goddess-sized, shadow-twisted, grief-hollowed. And one, laughing with human Nora in her arms.

“That one,” she whispered. “How do I become her?”

“Not choice, High Queen,” M said. Her eyes cut to the mirror, then back to Fiona. “This is where you get dangerous. This is where you get anxious. This is where your heart screams one thing, but the mirror drags you to another. It reflects your longing—but endings never match beginnings. That’s the nature of need.”

Her wings quivered. “If I go through…will I still be me?”

The stag’s voice softened. “More yourself than you have ever been.”

That’s what I’m afraid of…

The image of Nora pulled at her. The weight of it all pressed heavy, the voices of countless tiny beings still crying for their queen.

I don’t want this…

Nora’s words stung—how she’d seen herself as a black, slug-like monster beside Fiona’s ethereal light. Fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening as cracks spidered across the mirror.

I’m not perfect, Nora.

I didn’t see you. I only saw the perfect bubble I lived in.

Maybe it’s time I broke it.

Move out. Take a new route.

Things will blur. I may get hurt.

But for you, little sister… I’ll make the changes.

They pushed my buttons. Now they’ll regret it.

Her fist clenched. Dust seared gold.

Enough talking.

“Fine,” she spat, wings snapping wide. “If the world wants a queen, it gets one. If this kills me, I’ll still carve a way to Nora.”

She didn’t wait for permission. She launched. The mirror shattered and swallowed, surface breaking into a thousand screaming paths.

Heat. Voices. Light.

The last sound behind her was M’s voice, low and almost smiling:

“Give them hell, Agent Majesty.”

✧⸻✧⸻✧

Selvaria stood on the dock, watching Cahira’s flame-red hair whip in the wind as she laughed at something the newcomer had said. The man looked exactly like that pirate from those movies Maria had forced her to watch the night before—same dreads, same swagger, same roguish grin that probably got him both into and out of trouble in equal measure.

Cahira’s going to sleep with him. Probably within the hour. She’s going to die of STDs. Her own fault.

“Selvaria!” Cahira called out, arm wrapped around Jack Ward’s waist as they swaggered over like they’d been drinking together for years instead of minutes. “Meet the legendary Jack Ward! Jackie, meet the most dangerous woman in Omen—”

“After Rachel. But she's unconscious, so I'm number one right now. I'm basically a galactic starship.” Selvaria nodded matter-of-factly. “I’ll have one of those soon.”

Jack swept his hat off in an elaborate bow. “The legendary leviathan herself! Your reputation precedes you, love. They say you ate three Myths in Cuba and asked for dessert.”

“Uh, I’ve never been to Cuba,” Selvaria corrected, tail swishing behind her. “What lies have you been feeding him, Cahira? Do you want me to eat him? Because not even death can save him from me.”

The pirate’s grin faltered, but only for a heartbeat, before he snapped it back like a mask. “Oh? Must be a vision of the future! Only in the metaphorical sense, of course. Though, hmm, I’ve been told I’m quite delicious in the right circumstances—”

“Stop.” Selvaria’s voice went flat as her tail slammed into the dock, sparks flying, a gouge carved deep, concrete shards spraying like bullets. “The flirting thing doesn’t work on me. Cahira, why is he here? I’m about to turn him into a popsicle. Lightning veins included.”

She hissed, electricity crackling over her tongue as frost leaked between her fangs.

Anthony emerged from the building, Piper floating beside him on those bat wings that made Selvaria’s skin crawl—not with fear, but with irritation. The vampire hadn’t just been making eyes at Anthony all morning. Every word out of her mouth was a purr, dripping with seduction like she thought it was oxygen.

“Perfect timing!’ Cahira announced. “Our fearless interim leader needs to meet our new ally!”

“Ally?” Anthony’s hand instinctively moved to where his sword would manifest. “I don’t think we are at that level, quite yet. And since when do we—”

Sir Gawain stepped out of the shadows, that perfect smile plastered on his stupidly handsome face—the same one that had bugged Selvaria the entire truck ride over. His armor caught the light in ways that probably made normal people swoon. Selvaria just found it irritating. Shiny, smug, knightly irritating.

“Ah, the famous Omen crew spirit,” Gawain said warmly. “Ms. Selvaria, wasn’t it? I do enjoy your jokes. I don’t believe we were able to be properly introduced on our ride, though, or…when your employer threw me through those buildings,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Hammered,” Selvaria corrected without a hint of apology in her voice. “She hammered you through them. But details.” She took his offered hand, shaking it with deliberately measured force—she could turn it to jelly, but she was nice. “Takes more than a pretty smile to curl my tail, buddy. We have plenty of flirts already at this party. You’re not needed.”

Gawain’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, the smile flickering. “I…wasn’t trying to—”

“Good.” She turned away, already dismissing him. Squaring up to Jack Ward in her small teenage form, hands on her hips, she made Cahira’s muscles tense and her smile strain. “I don’t waste time. Betray us or lay a hand on Cahira, and your death will be quick, glorious, and with my name carved into your nightmares in Hell. Are you feeling lucky, pal? I can already smell your fear. So what’s it going to be?”

Cahira’s high-pitched laugh cut the tension as her aquamarine eyes drilled into Jack’s hazel grin. “You’re such a riot, Selv! She’s kidding—not really—but she’s kidding! Jack here stole Blackbeard’s ship! Did you know that? Quite the tale! That’s not where the story even ends!”

“His story ending isn’t where mine ends, either,” Selvaria mumbled as the pair spun away in unison to disengage her. “You’re gonna hate life for weeks, Cahira. Your own fault.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, lassy?!”

“Ahem—I don’t want to live forever, I just want to die a king! Cheers, love?” he asked, lifting a bottle to drink before passing it to her. “And allegedly stole the old beard-of-beard’s ship!” Jack pivoted with a wink that made her want to throw him straight into the Thames.

“Sweetoms, it’s not alleged if everyone knows you did it,” the pirate queen pointed out.

“Ah, but knowing and proving are different things entirely, love. Savvy?”

Piper drifted closer, studying Jack with those calculating red eyes.

“Fascinating. A lie about desiring immortality, yet nuanced with application. Your legend pulls from both historical record and popular fiction. That must create interesting…capabilities. Do you bleed differently, too? May I test it?”

“Capabilities? Darlin’, I could show you plenty.” Jack’s grin widened as he somehow produced another bottle from nowhere, holding it aloft like a magician’s trick. “Anyone fancy a drink before we get into the grim business of Ireland? I’ve even pilfered a dusty bottle of blood from one particularly unsavory fellow—care for a private tasting, my sun-braving, fine-fanged lass?”

“Promise?” the vampiress whispered, tongue sliding across her lips as she tilted her parasol to frame wide, gleaming eyes. “I’ve never had such a delightful invitation.”

“Yup.” Selvaria snorted. “He’s suicidal. If you both kill each other, I win.”

“Can we cut the grim-death flirting? Selv, you’re above that. Jack—the way in, now?” Anthony interrupted with a sigh.

Selvaria’s tail flew into the air as she spun around sharply, forcing the pirates to tilt back in a half-drunk way to evade its razor edge. “What? I’m not flirting. That was a threat.”

“No, of course not,” Gawain whispered, moving to stand beside her with a deep frown aimed at the troublesome three. “I agree. Provocative tones do little to ease the gravity here. Men and women are dying in Ireland. Perhaps…a recentering of our focus?”

“See? Someone gets it…” Selvaria grunted, tail smacking the dock with a crack.

The crack of Selvaria’s tail still echoed across the dock when the group instinctively edged back, giving her a wide berth before temper turned to collateral damage. All eyes slid to Jack. Piper actually looked sheepish for once, drifting back to Anthony’s side like a chastised bat. Jack, on the other hand, only brightened under the pressure, grin sharpening as though this was the stage he’d been waiting for.

His grin widened. “Well, when I say found, I mean more…theoretically discovered a possible, maybe solution that might work if we’re lucky and the wind’s right.”

Selvaria’s tail hit the dock again, hard enough to splinter stone. “That’s a lot of qualifiers.”

“It’s a pirate thing,” Cahira laughed, though the tension in her shoulders betrayed the thrill beneath. “Everything’s negotiable, including reality!”

“Isn’t it?” Merlin's voice came from behind them, making everyone except Selvaria jump. His projection flickered into view, but there was something different about it—stronger, more solid. “Mr. Ward’s method might be unconventional, but his legend includes impossible navigation. If anyone can find a path through Balor’s barrier…”

Jack swept his hat off in a flourish, bowing low. “It’d be the man who sailed to places that didn’t exist until he arrived. Savvy?”

Anthony crossed his arms. “What do you want in return?”

“Straight to business! I like that.” Jack took a swig of rum. “Simple really. I need muscle for my own Legend Quest. Your Leviathan there could probably solo it—she’s truly a beastie of beasties—but I figure having the whole crew increases the odds of everyone surviving with all their pieces attached. Some pieces be worth more than others, after all.”

I don’t like him,” Selvaria announced.

“No surprises then… You don’t like anyone unless you’re drunk,” Cahira pointed out.

“I like Fiona. And Maria—though she swears a lot. And Rachel, when she’s not being weird and confusing. And my mom. And you, when you’re not a total floosie. And my pets.” She paused. “And cheesecake. ”

“The cheesecake rates higher than me?” Anthony asked with mock hurt.

“Cheesecake doesn’t make me fill out paperwork.”

Jack laughed—genuinely, not his practiced pirate laugh. “Oh, I like her! Exactly as advertised. No pretense, no games—just raw power and theatrical deadpan delusion!”

“You’re deadpan delusional,” Selvaria shot back. “Flattery and crazy talk still don’t work on me.”

“Oh? What about the truth?” Jack leaned forward conspiratorially. “The path through Balor’s barrier requires something only you can provide.”

Her dragon ears twitched. “Which is?”

“The ability to dive deeper than any human should survive. The barrier stretches down into the depths, but there’s a point—even after the ol’ Second Oscillation—where Balor’s power meets something older. Something a Leviathan-class being can shrug off.”

Selvaria’s eyes narrowed. “The Deep Ones. My time has come.”

“Bingo!” Jack clapped his hands. “The lovely Cahira mentioned your group encountered the tentacle lovers before. They’re not exactly fans of Balor’s magic reaching into their territories. With the right…lassy, they might open a way.”

“Negotiations,” Anthony repeated skeptically. “With beings that Rachel had to match insanity to beat? I don’t know, Selv.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds dangerous,” Jack admitted cheerfully.

Gawain stepped forward. “I could accompany and provide—”

“No,” Selvaria said flatly. “You’d die. Pretty armor doesn’t stop Eldritch whispers from melting your brain. I’m built different.”

“She’s not wrong, my boy, your spiritual strength is enormous, but you are unprepared for this sort of threat… At least, at this point,” Merlin agreed, his projection flickering as something drew his attention elsewhere. “Though perhaps less bluntly put than necessary, Ms. Selvaria.”

“I’m efficient with words,” Selvaria returned. “Also, someone needs to say it—this plan is insane. We’re talking about making a deal with creatures that exist partially outside reality to break through a barrier created by a god-level entity to maybe save an island that might already be doomed. Chances suck.” She paused. Then nodded. “Perfect. I’m in.”

“Just like that?” Piper asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Fiona’s family is there. That’s enough.” Selvaria's tail swished, creating grooves in the concrete dock. “I’ve got all this power. What else am I going to do? My whole thing is I’m a land-based—soon-to-be airborn—battleship. But if this Jack Ward gets anyone killed with his ‘theoretical’ plan, I’m eating him. And my mouth…my mouth doesn’t go to Hell.”

“Noted!” Jack said brightly, not seeming bothered by the threat. “Though I should mention, the Deep Ones will probably want something in trade for safe passage.”

“Yeah… I’m aware,” Anthony mumbled, causing all of them to look his way—it almost sounded like he was saying it from experience, but that couldn’t be right.

Selvaria’s tail whipped around, stopping inches from Jack’s throat. “You’ve got something to trade, right?”

“Ah! Ah!” Jack said quickly, hands raised. “Of course! We could offer them something else…such as information, perhaps. The location of certain artifacts they’ve been seeking. Maybe a promise of future assistance against their enemies…”

“You mean Cthulhu,” Selvaria said bluntly, causing a shiver to run through all of their spines as the air literally chilled around them—it felt like she was being watched for several seconds before it gradually faded. “Yeah, not scared. Strong defenses. Remember?”

Everyone shivered.

Then, Anthony spoke up. “Selv, don’t worry about the price. Rachel…and I have that covered.”

“When?” Selvaria demanded. “When did you two even—”

“A while ago,” Anthony cut her off, voice quieter, heavier. “It doesn’t matter. She said this would probably happen. She wanted me ready when it did.”

The dock went still. For a heartbeat, even the water seemed to hold its breath.

Cahira broke it first, tossing her braid back with forced cheer. “Then it has to be tonight. The tides won’t line up again for a month, and by then…”

“Ireland might be gone,” Gawain finished grimly.

Anthony exhaled, long and steady, before squaring his shoulders. “Fine. Then we do it my way. Full preparation. Contingencies. Everyone goes in with eyes open about the risks.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, mate.” Jack’s grin widened as he thrust out a hand.

Anthony clasped it, grip firm. A flicker of green fire flashed in Jack’s eyes—too quick, too strange—but before Selvaria could snarl about it, Cahira hooked her elbow with a sailor’s ease and pulled her aside.

“You sure about this, big blue?” Cahira’s voice had lost some of its bravado. “The Deep Ones aren’t like the other monsters. They crawl in your head. Make you see things you don’t come back from.”

Selvaria bared her teeth. “Rachel dealt with it. I can.”

Cahira barked a laugh, but it came out thin, strained. “Eh, I don’t know about that, lassie. Rachel’s mind is, eh, somethin’ else. And she be havin’ special moons to help her handle it. Just…be careful, yeah? I’d hate to lose my favorite sea monster.”

“I’m your only sea monster.”

“Still counts.”

As the group scattered to prepare, Selvaria lingered, her gaze fixed on Jack Ward. Something about him set her instincts gnashing—not dangerous exactly, but…wrong. Like staring at a picture where someone had been cut out and pasted over.

Rachel would know what it was. But Rachel wasn't here. Anthony was acting weird, too.

Whatever. She'd handle it.

Her tail swished with anticipation, carving sparks off the dock. At least it wouldn’t be boring.

Detective Leviathan was on the case.

She paused, jaw slackening when she turned and saw a giant hole in the dock, filling with water from her tail swipes.

Oops… Someone will fix that. Yeah… Someone will fix that.

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