Cheth: How dare you?!

Cheth clutches themself close and the spirits in the waves echo the sentiment “how?!” but the tables have been quite soundly turned. Phaedra’s sword is steady in her right hand, and her dagger poised in her left. Her expression is the scowl of a stern ruler and the seas splashing back down behind her makes it seem as though she is the ocean deity of this arrangement and not Cheth.

Phaedra: You will not touch me again!

Cheth looks at her wide eyed, then shares a glance with themself- a look of shock that morphs slowly into smugness. They see they’ve pushed the manta princess to the edge- and got cut for it. But just because she’s won this battle does not mean she’s won the war.

Cheth: Fine-- you’re out of my hands for the next four months. I swear I will do you no harm.

The god reaches their severed wrist underwater and the limb reforms, first bones then translucent skin, before solidifying to white, the red veins stitching it back together. 

Cheth: Luckily you’ve done plenty of harm all on your own. When your friends wake up, they’ll see the fates you’ve won for them. Cursed to roam as phantoms, only to return to my hands in the end?

Cheth holds their hand up for Phaedra to see, assuring her that shocked though they might have been by the violence, they were by no means the victim here. They grin, sharp toothed and sly.

Cheth: I’m sure they’ll be very grateful.