Location: The Reef of Songs and Music, Derinkral | Year: 8003 A.A | Time: Midday beneath the calm tides
The Reef of Songs and Music was a sanctuary woven from light and song. It stretched for miles, a sprawling, living tapestry of such vibrant colour and intricate form that it seemed a dream given substance. Great forests of coral branched out in hues of lavender, saffron, and cerulean, their forms like petrified, elegant music. Delicate sea fans, wide as castle gates, pulsed with a soft, internal luminescence, while gardens of anemones, in shades of emerald and ruby, waved their gentle tentacles in the slow, eternal dance of the currents. Conch shells the size of small hills spiralled towards the distant sun, their pearlescent interiors gleaming, and fields of seagrass, each blade tipped with a tiny, star-like light, swayed in unison, creating a soft, sighing melody. Schools of glassfish shimmered through the coral, their scales flashing quicksilver melodies. Sea lilies turned their faces upward, filtering the soft, sun-dappled beams that pierced from the world above. Red, violet, turquoise, and gold — the hues layered upon one another until even shadows glowed faintly, like dreams refusing to die. For Adam, the Reef was a symphony. Even with the blindfold drawn over his eyes, he could see it. To his inner vision, mana shimmered from every crevice and fold of coral, each plant and shell alive with ancient song. It was as though the ocean itself whispered, 'Behold what peace looks like when it sings.'
Here, he found his uncle. Dirac swam with a casual, unhurried grace, his magnificent azure tail moving with gentle undulations that barely disturbed the water. His hair, the colour of molten gold, flowed around his shoulders, and his violet eyes, usually alight with kingly authority, were now soft with contemplation as he observed a small herd of seahorses, their bodies intricate and delicate as carved jade.
"Watch closely, Adam," Dirac murmured, his voice a low, resonant hum that blended with the reef's own music.
No sooner had he spoken than one of the larger seahorses, its body taut, released a cloud of tiny, perfect replicas, each no bigger than a fingernail. They drifted for a moment, bewildered and new, before finding their bearings and darting into the safety of a nearby coral thicket.
Dirac laughed, a sound of pure, unburdened wonder. "Hahahaha!!! Remarkable!! The way of the world continues to revolve, no matter the wars we wage or the crowns we wear." He turned to his nephew, the kingly mask falling away to reveal the man beneath. "Tell me, my son. How have the years been?"
Adam sighed, the sound a soft exhalation of bubbles. "Long, Uncle. It hasn't been easy. Sometimes I used to look back and wonder if I should have left you back then. I have missed you more than words can hold."
Dirac nodded slowly, his gaze falling upon the newborn seahorses that had begun to nestle around their mother. "The feeling is mutual, my son. But destiny does not bend to affection. It calls, and we must answer — even when it tears the heart in two."
They swam together through the glowing gardens. A ray glided past them, its wings leaving trails of silver dust. Schools of koi-scaled fish hummed between coral towers. For a moment, it felt like the sea was holding its breath for their conversation.
"I never told you this," Dirac said, voice lowering. "But I made a pact with your parents — a mana vow. That I would never leave your side until you were old enough to face your destiny. They trusted me wholly, though I admit… I forced them to. I needed a vow strong enough to chain me to my promise, no matter the cost. Especially as I was also guarding three of the Aryas."
He paused beside a coral outcrop shaped like a throne, brushing a hand against its smooth edge.
"At the last straw of the Narn War," Dirac continued, his voice dropping, the memory a deep and painful "Your father had already gathered the Kaplan and Maymum Aryas. The Boğa Arya remained with King Thonan. But your father knew what was coming. He knew we were outnumbered, and that our only hope was in what would outlast us. That was why he trusted me to keep them, and to hand them to you when the time came."
Adam's hand rose instinctively, his fingers brushing against the cool, familiar shape of the Crescent Moon necklace at his throat—the Arya of Creation.
"That is also part of the reason your mother, with the last embers of her strength, poured her very soul into the wards protecting Archenland," Dirac said, his voice thick with a sorrow as deep and old as the ocean. "It was to become a refuge for the survivors, a hidden fortress from which to one day strike back. As you know, we did not lose simply because the Aktil Clan outnumbered us three to one. We lost because of Him."
Adam's expression shifted; his jaw clenched. "The Shadow's Slave."
"Aye… He far outmatched us all," Dirac whispered, the memory a phantom pain. "Your parents were the bravest of us all to have engaged him directly. Narn fell, and I had already fled with you, a precious, secret burden. But there were whispers. Whispers that Abel and Amaia Kurt had a child—the Last Wolf Tracient. Your birth was a secret guarded more fiercely than any treasure, known only to the Narn Lords and their most trusted Hands. But secrets have a way of leaking. Mercenaries, not all sent by the Shadow but eager to curry his favour, scoured the world for us. I had your godfather's help then. Azubuike Toran (the Black Panther). He would send word of bounties and hunters on your trail, and I would lead us into the wild, forgotten places. But sometimes, the net would draw too tight. The enemies would be too close. I was Hazël #17 then, and our friend Darius was #13. Remember the times I would leave you hidden, telling you I was going hunting or fishing for a long time, and you would hear what sounded like small earthquakes in the distance?" A grim, weary smile touched Dirac's lips.
Adam smiled faintly. "You mean those weren't quakes?"
"Go figure. I had to make sure the threats were… ploughed under. We lived like that for years, ghosts moving through a haunted world, until the day you finally looked at me with those old, knowing eyes of yours and asked me what had happened to your parents…"
Dirac let out a long, slow sigh, the weight of millennia in the sound. "This is just the ramblings of an old man, stirring up silt from the bottom."
"Old?" Adam countered, a gentle teasing in his tone. "Uncle, you are barely ten thousand years old. That's fairly young for a king of the deep."
"That's bold talk coming from a pup who isn't even fully three thousand," Dirac retorted, the familiar, loving banter easing the heavy mood. For a moment, their laughter, bright and clear, mingled with the chiming of the reef.
"Before I left with you and the Aryas," Dirac said, growing serious once more, "I met with my father for the last time. I feared that if he fell in my absence, the throne would be empty, and the Trident would be vulnerable. For that reason, my friend Kael volunteered to protect him, and the throne, and Aurummare, for as long as it took for me to return. But my father… he wasn't worried about that. You would think he would be paranoid, with the power the Trident represents. Instead, he was only interested in giving me this."
He lifted his right hand. The water around it shimmered, and a turquoise light gathered, condensing into a symbol that hung in the water before them. It was a rune, intricate and powerful, depicting a two-pronged trident with a central, pulsing core, bordered by twin, stylized waves.
"The Mertuna rune," Dirac said, his voice filled with a quiet, solemn pride. "The heirloom of my family, the heart of our covenant with the sea." He turned fully to Adam. "This is your mission here, my son. You can have it."
Adam floated forward, his movements reverent. He reached out, and as his fingers neared the rune, it dissolved into a stream of liquid light, flowing into his palm and settling deep within him.
"I will take care of it," Adam vowed.
A wide, relieved smile broke across Dirac's face. "Meh. I know you will. Pheeew! I must say, I feel lighter after that."
Adam chuckled softly. Their attention was then caught by a group of mer-children playing a frantic, joyful game of Sea Ball, using a glowing, gelatinous orb, their laughter like the ringing of tiny silver bells.
"Look at that. They're playing Sea Ball. Remember when we used to play?" Dirac asked, a nostalgic gleam in his eye.
"And you could never beat me, despite being centuries older?" Adam taunted, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Care to add another loss to the long, long list of your defeats?"
"You cheeky little bastard…" Dirac growled in mock fury, and then he was chasing him, the great Sea King and the Wolf Lord, weaving through the coral pillars and seagrass fields, joining the children in their game, their laughter a bright, defiant counter-melody to the sorrows of the past.
It was in the midst of this perfect, fragile joy that they felt it.
A tremor in the world's soul. A palpable, unmistakable, and violently powerful Yakit—the spark of mana that ignites before a cataclysm. It was a sensation like a thunderclap in the heart, a wrongness that screamed through the water.
"Uncle—" Adam began.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!
***
Location: The Central Swim-Through, Derinkral Capital
In the bustling, sun-dappled heart of the capital, where thousands of merfolk glided through wide, elegant avenues lined with glowing coral, life was proceeding in its peaceful, rhythmic flow. Citizens bartered at shell-markets, artisans shaped pearl and stone, and children darted after schools of glittering fish.
Then, without warning, the world exploded.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!
A section of the main public thoroughfare was obliterated. It was as if a star had fallen from the sky and plunged into the sea. A cloud of pulverized coral and rock bloomed outwards, obscuring everything in a choking, dark haze. As the silt slowly began to settle, a figure stood in the centre of the newly formed crater, a crater that was a raw, bleeding wound in the beautiful city.
It was Kashi Cartil. But it was not the Kashi they had known. He stood taller, his body swollen with grotesque, amethyst-veined muscle. His eyes burned with the light of a blood-red sun, and from his right shoulder, the monstrous, shadow-forged arm ended in claws like shattered night. He drew breath — and the air itself seemed to shudder.
ROOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRR!!!
The roar that tore from his throat was not of this world. It was a shriek of pure, annihilating hatred, a sound that vibrated through the water and into the very bones of every soul in Derinkral, a promise of pain and ending.
A flash of the amethyst arm—
SLASH!!!
Five merfolk, frozen in terror, were torn into crimson ribbons. Their lifeblood did not dissipate; it coiled through the water like a vile serpent and streamed into Kashi's flared nostrils, the dark veins on his body glowing brighter with the stolen vitality.
The response of the Mertuna army was swift and disciplined. In a heartbeat, a full platoon of the Dalga, the elite warriors, surrounded the monster, their naginatas gleaming. Their Akıntı, a captain with a face of grim stone, barked the order.
"Formation B!!! Pin him down!!!"
From the tips of their weapons, lashes of concentrated mana and crackling energy shot forth, a net of pure power designed to subdue and contain.
It was for naught.
RIIIIIIP!!
Kashi simply flexed. The net of energy shattered like glass, the backlash throwing the warriors off balance.
SLASH!!!
And the platoon was gone. Not just defeated, but unmade, their essence consumed in that same, horrifying flash, their blood adding to the monster's growing power.
Then, a new presence. A streak of purple hair and obsidian steel moving faster than the speed of light.
SLASH!!! BOOM!!!
Kael, his face a mask of cold, focused fury, drove the blade of his naginata, Gelirdalga, deep into Kashi's abdomen. He did not stop; using his immense momentum, he became a battering ram of vengeance, pushing the abomination away from the heart of the city, moving at a velocity that defied the water, a blur of protective rage.
BOOOOOOOM!!!!!
He crashed them both into a distant, barren trench, leagues away from the city walls, the impact sending a new shockwave through the deep. Kael wrenched his weapon free, floating gracefully a short distance away as debris rained down around them.
'How?!' His mind raced, a torrent of disbelief and dread. 'How is he still alive? And by the Lion's mane, why does his mana now feel like a drowning tide, far greater than my own?'
The dust cleared. Kashi stood, the grievous wound in his torso already sealing, a wide, horrifying grin splitting his face. His blood-red eyes locked onto Kael.
"Hello… Komutan."