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Nox felt like he was drowning in shame.

“What do you mean he’s sailing across Lavalthon?” Phyto demanded, rising abruptly from his position. He crossed the distance between them in a few swift strides, roughly shoving aside the men in his way. He grabbed Nox by the shoulders. “No one sails those cursed waters! Yes, we fish there. Our women fetch water, wash, and our kids play along the shore. But sail? Are you serious?”

Nox didn’t resist. He stood still, his head bowed. His body felt heavy, unmovable, like stone. But his insides churned. He said nothing.

Phyto shook him roughly. “Answer me. What do you mean by that?”

Nox’s thoughts spun back to the stories Calla had told him when he was a child. She had spoken of a hero and his twenty-eight followers who had crossed the lake in search of a way to destroy the evil that plagued the world. He had dismissed those tales long ago. Even as a toddler, he’d thought they were just stories—nothing more.

He had never imagined anyone could or would truly cross Lavalthon.

Growing up, the idea hadn’t even occurred to him. Sure, they used rafts to transport coconuts from the groves to their village, but those were simple, practical trips, never meant for venturing out onto the deeper waters. The thought of using them to cross the lake had felt impossible, forbidden. Was it foolishness? Or was it something deeper—a mental boundary instilled in them since childhood that kept them from even considering such a thing?

It wasn’t until now that the reality struck him. He had seen it with his own eyes: Turo, clinging to a palm trunk, drifting across the water.

But it wasn’t Turo that had shaken him most. It was what he saw when the lightning lit up the night—a sight so strange it didn’t seem real.

An oversized basket.

It was floating on the water, carrying Samora as if she were something otherworldly. Nox struggled to find the right word to describe what he had seen. A goddess. That was it. Samora had looked like a goddess in the flash of lightning, framed by the stormy sky. Her hair was loose, soaked with water—or maybe blood. Her chest was bare, her hands resting protectively over her pregnant belly. But it was her eyes that struck him the most: they burned with a wrath unlike anything he had ever seen in any woman.

The basket cradled her like a throne, swaying on the waves. She had looked both majestic and terrifying.

“Nox?” Phyto’s voice cut through his thoughts. His hand gripped Nox’s shoulder with a strength honed from years of labor in the fields. “We don’t understand.”

Nox didn’t either.

Women in Samora’s situation would usually break. They would cry, scream, or collapse in grief. They had even prepared themselves for the possibility that she might lose her mind entirely, crushed by the shock of everything.

But this?

Where did her wrath come from? How could she muster such strength?

“He’s following Samora,” Nox said finally. He realized with a sick twist in his stomach that he needed to fix what Turo had unleashed. It was his responsibility to the village—the people who had placed their trust in him.

Chief Marnoell’s eyes snapped to him, confusion and disbelief written across his face. The space erupted in murmurs of shock and fear as everyone rose to their feet, one by one.

Kaius, the village elder, stepped forward. He seized Nox by the shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. His aged eyes glinted with anxiety and anger.

“What do you mean by that?” Kaius demanded. “Samora is birthing—” He gestured toward the direction of the birthing chamber but then stopped, his hand faltering mid-air. Doubt crept into his voice. “She is, isn’t she?”

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Nox sighed, summoning every ounce of courage he had left. This wasn’t going to end well, and he knew it. Explaining it to them would be harder still.

“She was,” he said. “She… escaped.”

A collective gasp rippled through the group of men. They looked at one another—some confused, some afraid, others in outright disbelief.

Chief Marnoell struggled to stand. Phyto stepped forward to help him, gripping his arm and guiding him upright. Malok started to move, hesitating as if unsure whether to assist, but stopped a few steps behind. Hiyan mirrored Malok's actions, before stepping back as well.

“She escaped?” Marnoell asked, his voice wavering with disbelief. “In the middle of labor?” He shook his head, as though the words didn’t make sense.

Nox nodded.

“That’s… impossible.” Marnoell staggered backward. “It’s simply impossible.”

“That’s against nature,” Phyto agreed.

“It must be the monster in her taking over,” Kaius muttered. His knees buckled, and he collapsed. The boys who were sitting next to him, scrambled to catch him, pulling him back to his feet.

Chaos erupted in the tight space beneath the Great Banyan, with its maze of protruding roots and massive trunks that it suddenly felt suffocating.

Everyone rounded on Nox, their faces tight with worry and unease. Phyto stepped closer, and asked with urgency. “What exactly happened, Nox? Tell us everything. You went there to check on the women, right?” He nodded, urging him to continue. “Was Samora there when you—”

Nox cut him off with a weary shake of his head. “I don’t know.”

The group fell silent, waiting for him to explain.

Nox met Chief Marnoell’s gaze directly. “Uncle, you ordered us not to enter the birthing chamber. And I obeyed you. I didn’t go inside the house.”

Marnoell gave a small nod of approval.

“So I don’t know what happened inside,” Nox confided. “But Turo went in.”

A collective gasp rippled through the group. Chief Marnoell’s hand shot to his chest in shock. The poor man was recieving too many bad news in one day. “He did what?” he murmured.

Malok sprang to life for the first time in what felt like hours. He grabbed Nox by the neck, his eyes blazing with anger. “You let Turo inside the birthing chamber? Do you know what you’ve done? You’ll bring the gods’ curse upon him! How could you allow that?” He tightened his grip, his voice rising into a furious shout. “Did you do this on purpose? Of course, you would!”

Nox, startled by the sudden attack, struggled to free himself, clawing at Malok’s hands. The others rushed in, Marnoell among them, pulling Malok away as he thrashed and shouted. It took several men to pull him away. Together, they pried Malok’s hands off Nox, though he continued to thrash and shout.

Nox stumbled back, coughing and rubbing his throat.

“I told him not to,” Nox choked. “I insisted. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He went in anyway.”

Malok struggled against the men restraining him in fury. His eyes burned with rage, and it was clear he would have throttled Nox if given the chance.

“You should have forced him to stay out!” Malok shouted, his voice raw with anger. “Even if it meant using violence, you should never have let him inside!” His hands curled into fists, itching to wrap around his brother’s neck.

“Malok!” Marnoell’s stern voice cut through the tension.

The command worked. Malok fell silent, though he shrugged off the men holding him, his defiance visible as he glared daggers at Nox.

Nox took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “I stayed outside the hut, just like I was told. But Turo never came out. I heard voices—angry, hurt, desperate—from inside. I didn’t know if it was okay to knock on the door of a birthing chamber, but I had no other choice. So, I knocked.”

He paused to draw a deep breath. “Aunt Daya came out. She was covered in blood. Her forehead was bleeding.”

Nox glanced at Kaius, Daya’s husband. As expected, the elder’s face crumpled with worry.

“She said Samora had escaped,” Nox continued. “She hit Aunt Daya with a stone bowl and ran. And Turo… he went after her.”

The gathered men exchanged uneasy glances.

“I searched for both of them, but I couldn’t find them anywhere. I heard Turo moving around, though—like he was avoiding me on purpose. His footsteps, his voice…” He hesitated, the memory replaying vividly in his mind. “Then I heard Turo call out for Samora. His voice came from the edge of the village. I ran there, but by the time I arrived, there was no one.”

Nox swallowed hard. “I thought, maybe, he went to the lake. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the only place left to check. So I went to the shore.”

He stopped, his words catching in his throat. The memory of what he had seen was too vivid, too raw.

“That’s when I saw it,” he said.

“You saw what?” Hiyan pressed, unable to contain his growing curiosity. Chief Marnoell was panting, as if he’d been the one running after Turo. The others stood frozen, their curiosity etched into their faces.

“I saw Turo and Samora,” Nox said bluntly. “They were crossing Lavalthon.”

“Together?” Malok’s voice turned venomous, suspicion dripping from every word.

Nox frowned, irritation flickering across his face. “No. I told you—he was chasing her. Samora was in a huge basket, floating. Turo was clinging to a single palm trunk, struggling to stay afloat in the storm. He said he wouldn’t come back until he’d hunted down ‘the monster’ in her womb.”

The malice in Malok’s eyes dimmed, replaced by grim satisfaction.

Nox hesitated but then added, “But I’ll tell you this—she didn’t look human. She looked like a goddess. A vengeful one.”