"Help me up," Elara said, clutching onto Juda as he eased her to her feet.

She clung to him for a moment, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of his skin as the haze cleared and the pain that needled under her shoulder blade settled into something she could manage.

"Maybe we should wait..." he murmured against her head; his hands warm on her lower back.

How she wished she could. By her foremothers, there was a part of her that wished she could just will everything to stop. Encase this time in ice and let them stand here forever like this, not moving forwards or back. To just lean against his chest and let the bastard world above be damned.

But it was not to be, and she knew it. The temple pulsed around her, a soft, but insistent call that stirred that all too-familiar yearning in her veins.

She opened her eyes. "There can be no waiting now."

It was a risk to take him with her. She knew that almost as much as she knew they could not stay here together, nestled into a fissure of time, but the tide was already slipping away from her. She needed to do what she had planned the very first time she had met him in this cavern and he had stood, staring back at her, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Leading him from the main chamber, Elara followed the feel of the pulse beneath her bare feet, the beat of the Naiad flowing over her skin, prickling the hair at the nape of her neck. She'd never be able to explain it to Juda, or anyone. How it made her feel to be here among them. This sense of her foremothers, of all who had gone before her. She could feel them—the press of their bodies as they walked alongside her, fingers entwined with hers. She could smell them—sea salt and dragon's gold. And she could hear them—lyrical song and incantation that ebbed and flowed against the temple walls, that ghosted her ears and sent shivers down her spine.

Without the reflection of the water, the light in the passageway glowed a deeper cerulean, its brightness giving way to a rich cyan hue that always soothed Elara. She couldn't resist reaching out and running her fingertips over the velvety-covered rock, slick with dragon's gold, which seemed to bristle under her touch, almost as if it breathed around her.

The ground sloped into a gentle incline and it was here that Elara stopped, placing her palms against the rock wall and touching her forehead to the soft blanket of moss that covered it. The sensation came as it always did. A heartbeat. A whisper. A touch so light, so gentle, that it coaxed the sigh from her parted lips.

She smiled to herself, in spite of the image of Kelena's face that still dogged her vision, and in spite of the novice who stood at her side.

The novice who should not be here.

Not here, in the very place her foremothers had trod, their song filling every crack and crevice in the black rock of Druvaria, spreading out under the citadel as if it would reach up and pull the entire Kingdom into the sea.

"What is it?" Juda said, his voice dropping to a gruff whisper. "What can you hear?"

She'd noticed how at ease he seemed to be close to her now, how she could often feel the warmth of his body, his hands never straying too far from the small of her back or to graze her hip. The familiarity of it felt good, even if the Naiad under her skin—the one she both adored and was sometimes scared of—wanted to recoil from it.

"Them," she said. "I can hear them." The answer was cryptic at best, but it was all she could give him, and she saw how his brow thickened, uncertainty worrying his eyes.

Lifting the pendant from around her neck, Elara slid her hand underneath a twisted curtain of dragon's gold and creeping rock reed, fingertips searching over the bumps and grooves in the rockface until she found the small dial. Pushing aside the moss, she placed the pendant into the circular indent, twisting it until the symbols on the golden orb aligned with those etched into the rock.

She felt it before she saw it, a sudden rush of water, the tiniest of tributaries pushing up through the ground, travelling through the same cracks where her foremothers' song lingered still.

Juda gasped as the delicate rivulets appeared around his feet, moving swiftly, hundreds of them all flowing like the winding roots of the Batak tree. She grasped him before he could move, shaking her head even as some snaked over the toes of his boots and made his eyes widen in horror.

The Druvarian fear of the water always amused her, tapping into that darkness that held strong in her veins, the place where vengeance and malice reigned true, but she found she strangely took no delight in Juda's alarm whereas once she would have fed from it. Enjoyed it.

The water converged at the base of the wall, trembling as the tiny rivers joined, before splitting apart again and, moving through their own volition, began to trickle upwards, the glow from the dragon's gold shining through and spilling its light onto their faces. Elara watched it, her heart thumping, the thrill of it coursing over her skin. Soon, the water covered the entire face of the rock in front of them, the network of tributaries like an intricate spider's web sparkling with the morntide dew.

When the light intensified, Juda pulled his gaze from the wall, shielding his eyes with his hand, but Elara didn't flinch, didn't look away, but she did find herself reaching for his arm, clutching at it as the rock shifted. The low groan of the black stone, like the warning roll of distant thunder, made her tighten her grip. When it was done, she squeezed his arm and gestured for him to look again, enjoying the surprise on his face to see the opening that had been solid rock just moments before.

As she took his hand, leading him into the alcove beyond, she thought about the last time she was here, holding the hand of another, hers much smaller than it was now.

Blessed waters. Blessed foremothers. Say it with me, Naidaini.

She said it again then, ignoring the glance that Juda gave her.

This chamber was smaller, the roof of the cavern lower, but no less beautiful. Here, thick veins of dragon's gold ran overhead, light reflecting from the circular pool sunken in the middle of the alcove.

"What is this place?" Juda whispered in awe, his gaze drawn to the symbols inscribed over the walls, the same that embellished the pendant Elara had used as the key.

Elara understood his wonder, watching him as he stepped closer to the etchings, slowly turning and lifting his head to take in the full glory of the tapestry of Naiad art adorning the rock face. She'd done the very same herself the first time her mother had ever brought her here.

Was Juda the first ever Druvarian to enter the sacred chamber? The thought of that gave her a sense of disquiet in her stomach, a nagging feeling of shame that maybe she had broken a sacred rule. But what would she know? The Naiad were all but dead, all except for her, and it cut her deeply that she didn't know enough, had never had the chance to be taught enough. What if she was doing it all wrong? What if she was not enough? What if her mother had been wrong about it all, about her?

She'd asked herself these questions many times. Felt the pain of them too many times.

Still, she would know the answers soon enough.

"This place is the Ellisder, the divining chamber. It is sacred to us."

Juda shot her a glance, his eyes narrowing. "Divining?"

Moving to his side, Elara brushed her fingers over the symbols on the walls, tracing the story she saw there that he could not. "This is Naiada, the old language, the one of my foremothers. These tell of our stories throughout time, what has come to pass and what is yet to come." She paused, the ache spreading across her breastbone. "It's been a long time since these walls told our stories. I haven't been here since I was a child. Here, is the tale of Iselda. She could harness the power of the waves as if she were nature itself. Lor-Raollin the First bid her send the waves to destroy the entire fleet of Drogia that had amassed off the southern coast. It was said he was so indebted to her for saving the Kingdom, that he gifted her the isle of Tevari and everywhere they walked together, their love gave life to the wild violets that grow there."

She moved past him, looking up and grazing her palm across a sequence of symbols that gleamed emerald in the cavern light. "And here, it speaks of Hana Rin, high priestess of the Naiad and special envoy of King Gor-Wilden. Before the rise of the Druvari Sect." She gave Juda a wry smile. "King Gor-Wilden trusted Hana Rin implicitly in matters both personal and territorial and they shared a friendship that endured until her death, when she was assassinated by spies from Carraterra. The King was so bereft, that he staged a war with the desert lands that lasted for over thirty moons. When the general of the Carraterrean army was captured, Gor-Wilden personally beheaded him and fifty of his men as vengeance for their crimes."

She stopped, flattening her palm against the wall and holding it there, feeling the pulse of the temple thrumming through her hand and up her arm.

"Does it surprise you?" she said, turning her head to look at Juda. "That your Kings were once loyal to the Naiad? Held them in the highest of regards? Loved them even?"

Elara didn't wait for him to answer, but carried on, her fingers dancing over the stories on the walls, until she reached one etched into the rock like blood, intricate red goldstone symbols that covered an area larger than five men.

"Even King Elvin Ban-Keren, Aldolus' own father put his faith in the Naiad and in the old gods. That was until the Druvari Sect sharpened their claws and set about sinking them deep into the flesh and bones of young Aldolus. Before then, even the Druvari had been devoted to the old gods, quietly and peacefully dedicated to serving the temples and shrines, but within their ranks rose a dangerous faction—fuelled by the teachings of an ancient Druvari priest who foretold of the destruction of Druvaria and of a power that only the truly divine could possess."

She paused, feeling the sting of the blade in her back, overpowered only by the bitter taste this story coated onto her tongue. Thick and sour.

"The water holds omens and secrets, Juda, and only the truest among us are destined to find them. This divining chamber and the pool within it, is where the chosen of the Naiad came to write our stories and our truth. What you see on these walls are what the water showed us, the past that has been and the future that is still yet to come."

"The future?" Juda frowned. "If it has been a long time since any stories were recorded here, how can this place still tell of the future? What story is yet to come?"

Elara couldn't help but smile then. He was smart, this one. Even if he didn't understand—how could he—there was far more to this novice than a cruel hand and a vengeful heart.

"The cult that arose within the Druvari grew in strength, their influence like a disease among the young, power-hungry priests that valued dominance and tyranny over peace and faith. They knew Elvin was too loyal to the Naiad to listen and, knowing that his reign would soon come to an end, they set their sights on the young prince Aldolus, whispering in his ear, spreading their poison. They told him of what would come to pass if he did not intervene and so, the first action he took when he ascended the throne was to denounce the Naiad and declare them an enemy of the crown."

She moved towards the edge of the pool, looking down into its depths.

"The Serpent Order were instructed to round up all the Naiad and one by one, my foremothers began to disappear or be forced into hiding, like my mother. There were executions, violent and bloody— a show of power that certainly did not account for all the Naiad that had been captured. At first, public opinion in Grimefell was in contrary to the King's actions—after all, the Naiad had served Druvaria faithfully for many moons, what could they have possibly done that would have the crown declare them an enemy greater than even that of Drogia? And therein lay the King's first lie: the Naiad had been subverted by those with evil intent and with their numbers increasing with every moon, they sought the destruction of the Kingdom and would use their powers to sink the citadel into the Setalah."

The water in the pool was darker than that in the cavern, but Elara didn't need to see through its depths to know what lay at the bottom.

"Only that is not the story inscribed upon that wall, Juda." She pointed towards the scarlet etchings. "That story tells not of how the Naiad would destroy Druvaria, but how one Naiad—the same that appears in both Naiad and Druvari prophecy alike—would destroy him. King Ban-Keren."

Juda took a step forward, the light reflected off the surface of the still pool rippling over his body and casting shadows onto the wall behind. Elara wanted to tell him how beautiful he looked then. If this had been another time, a different time, maybe she would have dared just so she could devour the fire she knew she would see in his eyes.

But now was not the time. Perhaps it would never be.

"He slaughtered them all, every single one, so that he could destroy the prophecy and hold tight to that throne of his." She studied Juda then, curious to see the workings of his mind. "Have you ever wondered, novice, how he has held onto it for so very long? You've attended the Gatherings. You've seen him for yourself. We all have. He is an old man now, and yet..."

"...He does not look it," Juda finished. He looked sharply at her. "How?"

Elara shook her head, frustration winning out. "I know not. All that I know is that it has something to do with what the Druvari prophecy foretold. A power only the truly divine could possess. He is a god now, is he not? The old gods are dead and we are to get down on our knees in the dirt and worship him alone. A King who does not die. Long life to Ban-Keren," she said, mimicking the greeting passed from the lips of Druvarians for as long as she could remember, and no doubt before then too.

"The people abandoned and betrayed the Naiad, Juda," she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. "Any discovered were reported and dragged from their homes and Grimefell citizens were rewarded for their loyalty to their King. They took his false stories and swallowed them whole, gladly. Freely. Without question. They turned on those with whom they had lived side by side for their entire lives. They spat in their faces. Cheered as the Order hung them from the walls outside the palace. Screamed for their blood and their death. And it was all based on a lie. A lie."

Juda moved to her side then, his hand finding hers, his thumb brushing against her palm. She wondered if she touched his wrist, would she feel his pulse as strong as that of her foremothers. Like a song in her veins, under her skin. She fancied she could still feel the warmth of him between her thighs, still recall the taste of him upon her tongue.

"Elara, you cannot think they deserved the fate the Naiad cursed upon these waters? Your foremothers' fight was with the King, not with people."

She lifted her face to look into his, defiant. "Tell that to the ghosts of the Naiad who were torn from their beds. Tell that to the ones who were paraded through the streets naked and beaten. Tell that to the ones who watched the entire citadel demand their murder before the noose was wrapped around their throats and they were thrown from the palace walls."

She sighed then, reaching to palm his cheek, seeing the anger in his eyes. "I have lived my entire life knowing just what the Naiad curse has done to Druvaria. I have lived my entire life with the guilt and the shame, watching those I care for fight and struggle, scrabbling around in the dirt of the slums to survive another tide, but still I refuse to condemn my foremothers for what they did. It was part of their story, an inevitable outcome foretold. What they did has come to pass, and I cannot change that, for it was written on these very walls long before my story was told."

Juda's attention snapped to the walls and then back to Elara. "Your story?"

"You asked what story was yet to come, did you not? Well, it's mine, Juda. The story of the last of my kind. The last Naiad."

She felt them then like she never had. The ghosts of her foremothers standing here, in this place, their incantation a constant murmuring behind her eyes, watching as the last chosen among them walked freely into the dark, thick waters of the divining pool.

"I am the last water witch, Juda. The one who would destroy not a King, but a god."