Irix Vaniem's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Irix knelt on the wet sand and lowered the rattlewood staff into the shallows. The reef pulled away from their fingers, every polyp closing tight. Irix had come to carry its life-spirit before it faded, but the water tasted of fear, not welcome. "I am not here to harvest you," Irix said to the small fish, to the foam, to nothing. A ribbon-tailed burrower watched from a tide pool, its hinged crown twitching at each word. Irix shook the staff. Stones rattled inside the hollow tip, a steady sound the reef could follow. Then they saw it — a runed glass vessel half-buried in the sand, cloudy residue still clinging inside. Scratched symbols marked its belly. Someone had stood here. Someone had taught the word. Irix lifted the vessel slowly. The reef shuddered, then went still — listening, at last. Not trust. But the recoil had stopped. Irix set the staff down beside the vessel and understood: before any bond could begin, they would have to answer for whoever came first.