CHAPTER 52: THE DARKNESS OF THE SEA

The Grand Halls of Submareth still smelled of blood and fear, though the bodies of Thalassaria’s slain suitors had long been cleared away.

The courtiers swam through the coral avenues with forced calm, but the whispers never ceased.

Some praised their queen’s decisive cruelty. Others nursed quiet bitterness, unable to forget how their lords and brothers had died drowning in her light.

And bitterness is fertile ground.

One such bitter heart belonged to Sarven, vassal to the late Prince of Thal’Azuul.

He had watched his master die without even the dignity of battle, snuffed out like a torch.

Loyalty had curdled into resentment, and resentment had driven him to a reckless act.

When an Ignarion merchant ship strayed too close to Submareth’s outer reefs, Sarven arranged for it not to be destroyed.

While Thalassaria’s warriors tore into other vessels with glee, this one he let slip through a gap in the blockade, dragging its trembling captain and crew into a hidden grotto.

"Go," he hissed, pressing the half-dead merchant back to his ship’s wheel. "Run home to Emberhold. Tell them what you saw here. Tell them the Sea Queen devours all who sail the Shivering Sea."

The merchant needed no second bidding. His eyes still bulged with the memory of leviathans tearing men apart. Within hours, the ship limped eastward, sails ragged but alive.

---

Veltharion Ignarion sat upon his basalt throne, the light of the Crucible burning above him.

His courtiers, dozens of Spellswords, priests, and advisors, gathered in uneasy clusters.

At the center of the chamber, a man knelt, still dripping with seawater, his robes torn.

His face was pallid, his hair crusted with salt.

He was the escaped merchant.

"My lord... forgive me,"

the man whispered, his voice breaking.

"The sea itself has risen against us. Ships vanish by the dozen. And I saw them, creatures of scale and fang, guided by a queen of water and wrath. The myths of the ancient mariners are true! The Naga live, and they have chosen us as their prey."

Gasps rippled through the Ember Court. Some laughed bitterly, trying to deny the words.

But most paled, for the merchant’s terror was too raw to be feigned.

Veltharion’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, resting a fist on the armrest of his throne.

"Blasphemy," one priest spat. "Naga are myths, sea devils conjured by null sailors to excuse their incompetence!"

"Then how do you explain the wrecks?"

another Magus snapped.

"Three fleets gone this season! Half our grain lost, our ores delayed, our coffers bled dry. If this is not sabotage, then it is something worse."

Voices clashed across the chamber. Panic edged their words. Some demanded a redoubling of warding magics.

Others argued for conscripting more ships, more men.

Still others whispered of abandoning sea trade altogether, a suggestion that bordered on treason, for without trade Ignarion would starve.

Veltharion raised his hand, and silence fell. His voice was cold iron.

"So. It is true. My son’s folly, Dawnhaven’s defiance, and now the sea itself turning traitor. The jackals laugh while the lion bleeds."

The merchant looked up, trembling.

"My lord, I swear by the Crucible’s flame, I saw her. Tall as the mast, formed of water, crowned in storm. She called herself Queen. And she swore no Ignarion vessel would pass her waters again."

The court shuddered. Even Veltharion, for all his pride, clenched his jaw.

At last, he spoke.

"Then we face enemies on two fronts. Dawnhaven on land, and the sea witch below."

He turned to his advisors, voice like fire catching dry straw. "

Find me a solution. A pact, a weapon, an alliance; I care not. But if the other Houses learn the truth of this, they will pounce. We must appear strong, or we will not survive."

But the secret did not stay secret.

Merchants carried tales faster than ships, and soon every noble hall from Caltrisse to Marvik and Delenir to Sarthrenn, all halls hummed with the same rumor: the sea itself had turned hostile.

At first, the Houses scoffed. But when trade records showed fewer Ignarion ships arriving at their ports, when prices of iron and ash-forged steel spiked, their laughter died. Whispers became fear.

"If Ignarion cannot even defend their fleets, what chance do we have?" murmured Lady Caltrisse in her perfumed chamber.

Lord Marvik shook his head grimly over a goblet of wine.

"No. This is a gift. Ignarion falters, hemmed in by land and sea alike. Let them bleed. Let us press our advantage. Raise tariffs, cut their loans, seize their contracts. They will be too busy drowning to notice the knife at their throat."

And so it began. Not with swords, but with whispers, ledgers, and edicts. Soft power pressing down on Ignarion from every side.

Yet behind every smug grin was the same cold dread:

If the Naga truly walked, if the sea was closed... then no human realm was safe.

---

The throne room of Submareth shimmered with pale light.

Strange fish glided through stained-glass windows of living coral, and the great scrying pool at Thalassaria’s feet rippled with unnatural stillness.

She reclined upon her seat of carved obsidian and pearl, her long fingers drumming against the armrest, eyes fixed on the vision dancing across the water’s surface.

The image was of Caedrion.

Not in battle this time, but in the calm of his hall, speaking to his generals, issuing orders with that strange human mixture of calculation and passion.

His features glowed in the pool, sharp and resolute, every line of him etched into her mind like scripture.

She smiled faintly. The kind of smile that chilled those who looked upon it too long.

"My little land dweller," she whispered, voice a melody of longing and hunger. "My little guppy."

The courtiers who lingered near the walls shifted uncomfortably, pretending not to hear.

None dared interrupt when their queen spoke to her phantom.

She raised one hand, tracing his outline in the water with a lover’s delicacy.

"Did you think I did not know? That my suitors would conspire, that a traitor would scurry like a rat to spare one human merchant?"

Her tone was mocking, sharp as coral. "Fools. I let him live. I wanted the humans to know. For you."

The pool rippled, showing visions of burning ships and screaming sailors, the Ignarion banners sinking beneath the Shivering Sea.

Thalassaria’s eyes gleamed.

"I let them fear me. I let them whisper of the sea queen who drowns their fleets. All so your world will quake, all so your enemies will bleed, and all so you... will look to the waters for salvation."

Her voice softened, almost tender now, though the madness still danced beneath it.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, as though confiding to a lover sitting close beside her.

"Soon, my guppy. Soon you will know how much I love you. Soon you will feel the tide pulling you to me, as it pulls all ships to harbor. Soon we will be together... forever, in happy matrimony."

She laughed then, light and silvery, but her court averted their eyes.

They did not dare share in the sound, for it carried an edge of something vast, something unmoored from reason.

The pool’s image flickered back to Caedrion’s face.

And Thalassaria whispered once more, as though he could hear her through leagues of salt and shadow:

"See what I do for you, little guppy. The sea itself bends to my will. And all of it, all of it, is yours. As am I...."