The sound of rushing water intertwined with the unholy shrieks that escaped the heartbeast Imyra as she fought the Turning that was trying to consume herself and her bonded both. The warm spark of her innocent mind was fueled by Coyrifan's unguarded primal rage and coaxed into a blaze that first terrified, then maddened her. She began to thrash about with her entire body, which had already begun to shift and change.

Even as the frenzy overtook her, Coyrifan's strength grew so that he was able to hold her head pinned as it was before, embracing the still-forming guardian with arms that doubled, then tripled in breadth. His eyes flew wide as a stab of pain shot through him from tail to head, sending his entire body into spasms. The pain coalesced in his mouth, where his aching teeth began to grow so quickly that they tore through his lower lip. From there, it moved on, changing every part of his frame that it passed through.

By the time the Turning was finished, he was barely conscious, suspended limply in water that had become cloudy with his own blood.

He snapped fully awake at a yammering voice and the touch of feminine hands, his response instinctive and immediate. He lashed out with hands that were hard and strong, and whose nails had hardened into spear-like points.

His claws raked Erin's shirt, tearing a set of long slashes in the fabric that would have eviscerated her, had Prince Koben not guessed the outcome of her foolish attempt to rescue a merling who could no longer be saved. Already wading backward to a safer distance, the prince had yanked the girl back and behind himself. His hazel eyes were wide and sharp, fixated on Coyrifan with a tense vigilance. A sword jutted from his hand between them, an ineffectual ward against the Turned merling. As if that sliver of metal could have prevented Coyrifan from taking any manling life he wanted.

The girl had moved on to babbling at Imyra instead, sending the guardian into angrily swinging her head as if trying to shake the high-pitched droning out of it.

Imyra had been beautiful before, but she was magnificent now. She was a being forged of fire and violence, utterly perfect in form and in the strength she radiated. No longer did she project her feelings in a silly display of flashing lights that would instantly turn her into a target. Indeed, she had already left that childish habit behind to camouflage herself against the black ocean depths and the bright blue sky, choosing the colors of her skin in such a way that she was nearly invisible below the surface but for her sea green eyes. She had grown in much the same way as Coyrifan had, her slim body becoming vastly more rugged and strong in the process of her Turning. In the manner of a snake preparing to strike, she carried herself with her neck arched and her maw gaping, her glass-like teeth glinting in the sun’s light as she eyed the two manlings.

“Imyra, don’t you remember me?” Erin was still whining. “I’m your friend. Don’t you remember all those times we played together? Or when you helped me talk to Coyrifan?”

Koben was still backing away, actively fighting the manling girl as she struggled to get closer to Imyra. Coyrifan sunk down into the water until only his eyes and the top of his head were showing above the surface. Just a little further back, and they would be at the perfect distance for him to strike the man down.

“Can’t you help me now?” Erin begged. “I don’t think he understands me anymore. If you could just tell him...”

“Silence, Erin,” the prince snapped. “It seems that this is the Turning he spoke of. It would also seem that we’ve lost two precious allies because of it, even if we’ve managed to avoid another war.”

His words triggered something in Coyrifan’s mind. A memory of a battle. A looming battle, and one of great import. A battle between the Mivusas and the Ghaleri.

Chief Ferrifan and his guardian Meeoa were on the move with all of the Mivusan men, armed for war.

It would be a complete slaughter.

Coyrifan heard her yelp as Erin called out to him to stop, but he was already deep under the water with Imyra, diving as though their lives depended on it.

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At the Ghaleri border, Chief Abenfor had just barely gathered his men and their hunting beasts when the shadow of the guardian Meeoa faded into view, moving so quickly that the water frothed in her wake. She was upon them in moments, plowing a bloody swath through the warriors with booming claps of her jaws. The Mivusans came just behind her with spears in hand and sharks at their shoulders, Chief Ferrifan leading at the head of the pack. It was a simple matter for them to run those spears through the shocked and distracted men that were left gaping on the edges of Meeoa’s killing path.

With one sweep, they had taken a full eighth of the Ghaleri men, and lost none of their own.

Now that Chief Ferrifan was in the waters of battle, he pinpointed Chief Abenfor and gave the order to Meeoa. The heartbeast rumbled her acknowledgment and came back around, this time aiming directly for the Ghaleri chief. For all of her ungainly size, she was lightning-fast, and Abenfor had only moments to look up and watch her approach, her maw opening wide to receive him. Shielding his head with his arms, he braced for his doom.

An instant before Meeoa’s mouth closed on the man, a sharp projectile shot out of the dark waters and burrowed into her nose, slicing roughly through the blubbery flesh and sending the great beast spiraling off into the distance as she futilely tried to dislodge it. The resulting wound was deep and would not easily staunch itself of bleeding. As such, many of the less-loyal hunting beasts from both tribes abandoned their masters to chase after her, lured by the sweet scent of her lifeblood.

Coming from the same direction as the projectile, Coyrifan and Imyra dove into the midst of the warriors, deliberately breaking off fight after fight as they swam between groups of combatants. His father, Chief Ferrifan, bellowed at the interference of his Turned son and guardian, and began to come after them.

Seeing his unarmed friend enter the fray, Vasadax jabbed his own spear through the belly of a Ghaleri warrior, swiped up the dying man’s spear, and swam over to place it in Coyrifan’s hands. He took one look at what Coy had become, and his face became solemn. “What can I do?” he asked.

Coy took up the spear, firmly nodding his thanks to his friend. “Distract Ferrifan. I need time—or, rather, Imyra does.” He glanced toward the injured Meeoa, trusting that more words were not necessary.

As always, Vasadax understood immediately. He set his jaw, renewed his grip on his spear, and sped off to intercept his own chief.

Coyrifan sent Imyra after Meeoa, the young guardian joining the rebellious hunting sharks in a combined effort to harry the older heartbeast and keep her away from the battle. As for himself, Coy only had a few short moments to catch his breath before a disgusted Ferrifan had thrown Vasadax aside and was coming for his son. There was a cloud of blood forming from somewhere on Vasadax’s body. Luckily, another Mivusan—Fydiro—saw him, and hurried over to assist as soon as the chief was gone.

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Trusting that his friend would be well taken care of, Coyrifan led his father on a chase back and forth through the clashing tribesmen. Though he had no secret hiding places in that unfamiliar territory of another tribe, he was still much smaller than Ferrifan, and used that fact to his advantage. He was constantly weaving through the individual brawls, and nearly laughing every time his pursuing father collided with those unsuspecting warriors. It disrupted the battle and even caused the chief to drop his own spear, altogether working very well until Chief Abenfor became the next warrior that Ferrifan ran into.

The Mivusan chief swam full tilt into his rival, stunning him to near unconsciousness, then hauled him along toward a trio of warriors who had just finished off their Ghaleri foes, treading water near their bodies just above some large boulders. He shoved Abenfor toward them, gesturing with an impatient beckon of his fingers for them to come and use their spears for their grim purpose.

Seeing Coyrifan coming to rest behind their chief, the warriors hesitated, looking to his young son for direction.

That hesitance was enough to put Ferrifan over the edge. With no warning long enough for anyone to act, he tore the spear away from one man, thrust it through its former owner and out the other side, and ripped another spear away from the next warrior. By then, Coyrifan and the remaining two warriors were upon him, each of them clinging desperately to hold him back.

Coyrifan had become very strong, but even in light of his transformation, it turned out that he was still as a child beside his father, who had always been a very large man even before his Turning. Once Ferrifan managed to grip his arm, it was all over. He swung Coyrifan over his shoulder and down in front of him, bashing the younger merling against the boulders below.

A bright light filled Coyrifan’s vision, then a fast-dimming darkness. Suddenly, Imyra’s presence was there, jabbing at his thoughts with great urgency.

Ferrifan’s hand closed about Coy’s neck, partially cupping his jaw with fingertips digging painfully into his skin. “You cannot possibly kill me,” he hissed through fully-bared teeth, shoving his son’s head down against the cold stone.

Struggling to focus his eyes on his father, Coyrifan showed his own teeth. “I won’t have to.”

Still fighting against the darkness, the young merling nodded toward something in the distance. Chief Ferrifan followed his son’s nod just in time to see Meeoa open her maw and slam it shut on Imyra.

Briefly shifting his awareness to Imyra, Coyrifan sensed that she’d successfully navigated past Meeoa’s deadly teeth, letting herself be swept to the back of her mother’s mouth. He glanced at his father and saw that Ferrifan’s eyes had gone distant as he reached out to Meeoa, experiencing the very same event through her senses.

It was time. Imyra was ready. Coy shouted the order as loud as he could, for all to hear.

NOW!

The warriors all went still as Ferrifan suddenly screamed, his deep voice sounding as though it was being ripped from his throat as he realized what was about to happen, and could do nothing to stop it.

Imyra inhaled as deeply as she could, then let loose her freshly-formed spike, aiming it upward through the roof of Meeoa’s mouth. It blasted into her skull, ricocheting off of the bone walls as Meeoa spasmed, her body stretching to its fullest length, then slowly curling in upon itself, her jaw and fins hanging limply from her soon-stilled form.

Before the sound of her last thunderous roar faded, Chief Ferrifan Ere Alten Mivusa was dead.

As Coyrifan gathered his father and lay him down upon the boulders, the Mivusan warriors gathered around, their faces relieved, yet solemn. Imyra exited the open mouth of the tribe’s former guardian and came to lean her head against Coy’s tail. A warm hand lay comfortingly upon his shoulder, and when he looked up, Vasadax smiled back. He nursed a tended wound on his side, but seemed otherwise unharmed. Coy returned the gesture, clapping his friend’s shoulder.

“Then the battle is over, I presume?”

When Coy turned at the voice, he was startled to see Chief Abenfor treading water behind him, and his warriors beyond. With a rush of hot anger, he broke away from Vasadax, taking up a spear and spreading the clawed fingers of his other hand with clear intent to use them. “You presume much, Abenfor. I will face you now, in Ferrifan’s stead.”

“I would speak with you first, Coyrifan Mor Donen Mivusa,” the Ghaleri chief said, his voice taking on a stiff, formal tone.

Coyrifan’s response was quite formal in return, but his tone was little more than a bestial growl. “And what words would be worthy of my attention, Abenfor Dal Evis Ghaleri?”

“Give ear to my overture, I implore you. I wish to offer peace between the Ghaleri and Mivusa tribes. I am certain you would agree: we have warred long enough.”

Unfamiliar muscles tightening as he rounded his shoulders, Coyrifan lowered his head in a feral glare. “And that war will last as long as it takes for me to complete my task. My heartbeast and I will kill every Ghaleri that remains, in reparation for my father’s untimely death.”

The opposing chief startled, the sound of his gasp swallowed by those of his own warriors. “B-But you just helped us to kill him!”

“That would not have been necessary if you hadn’t secretly planned to attack the Mivusas first!” With that last, he swung his arm in a violent gesture of frustration. “My father allowed you beyond the Howliths to spy on us only because he believed you were sincere in your offer of goodwill.”

The frozen look on Abenfor’s face showed his sudden grasp of his own folly.

Coyrifan elected not to stand by and suffer to watch him contemplate it any longer. Gripping his spear and sending an order to Imyra to ready herself, he shifted to launch himself at his foe.

“Don’t you dare!” Zeriva zipped up from a hiding place somewhere nearby to block his advance, her expression fiercely determined. “I told you about the ambush ahead of time so that my father wouldn’t have to fight your men, and possibly die for it. I never imagined that you, of all people, might be the one who tried to kill him!”

Behind her, Chief Abenfor looked at his daughter, his surprised expression melting into pathetic, broken-hearted affection.

“Move out of the way, Zeriva,” Coyrifan ordered, his lips sliding back from his teeth.

She had been most confident up to that point, but as soon as she saw his fangs bared at her, and her alone, she became shaken, her blue eyes uncertainly traveling from his once-soft face down to the tip of his moonstone-encrusted tail. She met his eyes again, looking into them with a desperate, searching gaze. “Coyrifan… after every ridiculous thing you’ve done to save yourself and Imyra from the Turning, is this truly how you wish to go on?”

Vasadax came close again, this time with Fydiro and the other warriors, all of them quietly beholding the son of their departed leader.

“You’re our chief, now,” said Vas. “You have people to take care of. People who believed you were going to be a different breed of leader than Ferrifan, and who couldn't wait until you took over.” Though he bore a definite risk in doing so, his large palm descended onto Coyrifan's shoulder with a decisive weight, and he smiled at his friend. "You can still be that leader."

Staring back and forth between his two closest friends, Coy began to remember his former self. It was like recalling events of a dream, or watching the life of another from afar. As he remembered his earliest days with Imyra, the young heartbeast let out a strange, soft trill. Briefly, a faint ring of yellow rolled across her body, flickering as if she didn’t quite recollect how to properly display it.

Coyrifan reached for Zeriva, who readily offered her hand. Her touch was as the comforting embrace of water after one had been on dry land too long. Its gentle coolness smothered the fire in his body and mind, calming his thundering heart. He pulled her closer, seeking further relief by drawing her into a hug.

It wasn’t just relief from the constant burning that he sought. It was more than that. She was more than that.

When they separated, Zeriva smiled, lifting a hand to stroke Coy’s bloodstained cheek. She then turned to her father. “I wish to return to the Mivusa territory with Chief Coyrifan,” she announced, using her most formal tone.

Chief Abenfor’s face fell, but then he seemed to realize something, his expression shifting back to an affectionate warmth as he gazed at his daughter. “Is this what you wish?” he inquired of Coyrifan.

Coy looked at Zeriva, adoring the way her beautiful blue eyes lit with bright expectation. “Yes, that is what I wish.”