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This ends here!

Turo turned sharply to his right, just as another flash of lightning split the sky. In that brief moment of illumination, he saw her—Samora, crawling through the shallow water near the shoreline. Her movements were deliberate, her body hunched low, as if she were struggling to head toward a destination only she could see or understand.

Then his eyes caught something else, something strange.

A rope.

It rose out of the rippling water, taut and slick, glistening in the storm light. One end disappeared beneath the lake’s dark surface, the other was tied securely to the base of a palm tree near the shoreline.

What was it? A weapon? A tool? Some kind of escape mechanism?

His thoughts raced, each possibility churning uneasily in his gut. Whatever it was, Turo knew one thing for certain—Samora was slipping away. She was slipping away, and so was his future.

No. He wouldn’t let her.

Fueled by desperation, Turo lunged forward. The wet ground squelched beneath his gaiters as he crossed the few strides separating them. The air reeked of damp earth and rotting vegetation, but all he could focus on was the figure just ahead of him.

The terrain grew slicker the closer he got to the water’s edge. He stumbled, catching himself once, then again, before his footing finally gave way. The ground seemed to pull him under as he slid into the lake, the cold water swallowing him whole.

The shock of it hit him like a slap. The taste of mud and decay filled his mouth as he gasped instinctively, drawing in a mouthful of foul, silty water. He clawed his way back to the surface, coughing and spluttering, spitting out the murky liquid. The storm howled around him, but beneath it, he could hear Samora—panting, flailing just ahead.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he rasped, his voice hoarse with fury and the strain of holding himself above the water.

Without waiting for an answer, he lunged again, his hands finding her ankle. He tightened his grip and yanked her toward him, pulling her down into the water with a violent splash.

Samora let out a strangled gasp, her body thrashing wildly. Her arms flailed, fingers clawing at the water, at anything she could reach, as she tried to fight her way back to the surface.

The lake seemed alive around them, rippling and shifting as if it, too, wanted to drag them under. The air was thick with the smell of rain and mud, the faint tang of something metallic laced within it.

Turo tightened his hold, his fingers digging into her skin.

Turo jerked his hand back, the cold water dripping from his fingers as the reality of what he was doing struck him. His grip had been too tight. His actions too rough. Samora’s gasps echoed in his ears, louder than the howling wind. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. She was his cousin, almost like an elder sister to him. He loved her in some distant, tangled way.

But the baby.

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The baby was his only chance.

He hesitated, his chest heaving as he watched her struggle to rise from the water. She was floundering, her movements sluggish, as though something unseen was pulling her down. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt, a flicker of doubt. She was weak, bleeding, barely holding herself upright. She needed help.

Against his better judgment, Turo stepped closer.

“Samora…” His voice was low with frustration but also something softer. “Come on. You’ll drown if you keep this up.”

She didn’t respond. Her head drooped forward, and her body tilted unsteadily against the waves. Turo hesitated again, then moved quickly. He slid his hands beneath the crook of her armpits, his fingers sinking into the cold, wet fabric of her skirt.

“Let me help you,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

The water seemed to fight him, the rippling waves tugging at her as he pulled. His arms strained, but the buoyancy of the water worked in his favor. With one final effort, he managed to drag her toward the shore. Palm stems and fronds floated by, torn from their trees and scattered across the water’s surface. One brushed against his leg, startling him with its cold, slimy texture. He gritted his teeth and focused on his task, hauling Samora through the shallows until they were just a few feet from solid ground.

When the water was shallow enough for her to stand, Turo released her. His arms fell limply to his sides, aching from the effort. He took a step back, his feet sinking into the slick mud beneath him.

“What are you doing, Samora?” he demanded, his voice rising above the storm. The frustration in his tone was unmistakable, but there was a rawness to it—a desperation he couldn’t hide. “You’re weak. You’re bleeding. Just give me the baby and come with me. Let me take you back. We can treat your wounds.”

But Samora only stared at him.

Her eyes, gleaming with a strange emotional depth, locked onto his. Her expression was unreadable, but there was no fear in it. No submission. Instead, she looked at him as though he were the foolish one, as though he couldn’t understand her situation even if she explained it.

The storm raged on around them, the rain falling harder now. Somewhere in the distance, the rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.

And still, Samora said nothing.

Before Turo could comprehend her intent, Samora’s hand shot out. She grabbed a palm stem drifting nearby, its jagged edges slick and glistening from the rain. In one swift motion, she swung it toward him.

The blow struck his leg—not hard, but unexpected. The sharp slap of the stem against his soaked skin startled him more than it hurt. Turo toppled backward into the muddy water.

He flailed, his hands searching for something solid to anchor himself. But the shoreline offered no mercy. His fingers slipped through slimy kelp and tangled weeds, their cold, sinewy texture making him recoil in disgust. Every attempt to push himself upright sent him sliding further into the muck.

By the time he managed to rise, his body trembling from exertion and humiliation, a sight in front of him froze him in place.

A large, wide basket bobbed in the water just beyond the shore, its woven sides glistening in the storm’s intermittent flashes of lightning. It was unmistakable, yet his mind struggled to accept what his eyes were seeing.

Samora, leaning on the palm stem to keep her balance, hauled herself onto the basket. Her movements were sluggish, her injury and exhaustion evident, but she pressed on, ignoring the strain.

The palm stem became her oar. Instinctively, she pushed the basket further away from the shore, her silhouette blending with the dark water and stormy horizon.

Turo stood frozen, watching in stunned disbelief as the impossible unfolded before him.

She was crossing Lavalthon.

The lake was untouched for generations, its waters shrouded in fear and superstition. Tuscanians believed Lavalthon and anything beyond its waters wera cursed domain, a place where the spirits of the past slumbered, vengeful and waiting. No one dared venture into its deepest waters, not even the bravest hunters or the most reckless children.

And yet, there she was, sailing across its forbidden expanse.

“She’s bringing a curse onto us,” Turo thought, his gut twisting with dread and anger. The rain pelted his face, running down his cheeks. His hands clenched into fists, slick with mud and trembling with frustration.

The storm surged around him but the basket stayed afloat, gliding steadily away, widening the distance between them, and with it, Turo’s chance at reclaiming his future.

He stood there, helpless, as Samora disappeared into the dark, uncharted waters of Lavalthon.