Thalros the Coiled tasted the iron the moment the first crowbar bit the wreck. A hundred miles of black water carried the insult straight into his jaw, and his long body tightened around the coral spire he had claimed as his perch. Above him, the reef thinned where the drought had pulled the tideline back and exposed the broken ribs of a merchant ship to anyone with a boat and a rope. He had waited months for the grouper and the bluefin to settle into these warm shallows. The scavengers up there did not know the water belonged to him now, or that the curse riding his spine had turned him from a guardian into something that ate first and judged later. He could already feel the prey scattering, silver bodies bolting for cold deeper trenches he could not control. Thalros uncoiled from the spire and began the slow climb toward the hull, counting the shapes splashing at the surface. The wreck sat tilted on the reef shelf, its split hull spilling cargo across the coral. A blue light burned inside the broken hold. Thalros knew the shape of it before he saw it clearly: an orb wrapped in black iron tendrils, pulsing through the silt like a heart that would not stop. It was the kind of relic his old order had once been sworn to guard. Now it only told him where the thieves would dig hardest. Above the wreck, the keel of their boat cut a long shadow across the sun. It was a wide salvage rig, green with algae and patched with mismatched planks, anchor chains dropped careless over living coral. Four divers worked the hold. A fifth waited in the cage, hauling up netted bundles. Thalros counted them again and let the iron taste sharpen his hunger. He took the cage diver first. One coil around the ribs, one squeeze, and the man went limp before he could pull his line. Thalros fed the body into the dark below the shelf. The other four felt the rope go slack and turned in the murk. He came up through the hold and broke the blue orb's cradle with a sweep of his tail, killing the light. In the sudden black he was only motion. Two divers he crushed against the hull. The last two cut their weights and bolted for the surface; he let them go so they could carry the story back. He rose under the salvage rig and split its keel along the seam. The boat folded and sank in pieces. By the time the prey began drifting back toward the warm shallows, Thalros lay across the broken hull, and every scavenger within a hundred miles now knew the reef had an owner. The two survivors would tell the rest, and the rest would come armed.