CHAPTER 53: THE SEA REMEMBERS

The chamber was carved into living coral, walls glowing faintly with bioluminescent algae.

The throne was empty now; their queen had withdrawn to her private sanctum, leaving only her most trusted nobles and generals to speak in hushed tones.

They stood in a circle, voices lowered though they all knew Thalassaria’s ears could reach anywhere if she willed it.

The weight of her recent words, her fawning over a human, still hung heavy like a net dragged through the sea.

Lord Kaelthys, an elder general with scars along his scaled jaw, broke the silence first.

"She knew. She knew of the traitor and let him act. She wanted the humans to hear of us, to see our hand in the Shivering Sea. This is not strategy, it is obsession."

A ripple of unease spread among the gathered nobles.

Lady Seralyth, high priestess of the Abyssal rites, folded her arms, the glow of her leylines dimmed in agitation.

"Obsession, yes. But with what? With him. With this Dawnhaven lordling. Do you not see how she gazes into that pool? How she whispers to his phantom like a lovesick maiden? We are ruled by a queen, not a girl swooning over her first crush."

Murmurs rose. None dared speak ill of their queen too loudly, but Seralyth had voiced what they all feared.

A younger noble, Prince Zhaelyr, leaned forward, voice sharp with bitterness.

"If this continues unchecked, we may yet see our great Queen gamble all of Submareth for the sake of some land-dweller. Already she risks war with the Humans’ strongest house, Ignarion. Now she risks scandal with the Elves as well. Where does it end?"

Kaelthys slammed his trident against the floor, silencing the room. His eyes burned, but his voice when he spoke was low and thoughtful.

"You speak as if she does not know the risk. But have you not considered? She wants this. She courts danger as one courts a lover. Every time she sharpens her blades, it is because she already knows the outcome. Do not mistake madness for blindness. She has ruled longer than any of us have lived."

The room fell into uneasy quiet again. Until Seralyth’s voice, softer now, posed a question none had dared speak aloud for centuries.

"If we wish to be technical," she said, gaze drifting to the carved ceiling above,

"our people’s grudge was never against all mankind. It began with the Crucible. With those who first wielded its fire against us. It was Ignarion, their blood, their flames, that burned our kin. That drove us to the sea."

A haunting silence, then she began to speak once more.

"But after millennia, we widened that hatred to every human who set foot on a ship, every Table of Contents who raised a sword, every settlement that dared touch the coasts. Was that justice? Or merely lashing out at what we could reach, while failing to reclaim what we truly lost?"

The question struck the chamber like a spear. For a moment, no one moved.

One of the elder counselors hissed. "Careful, Seralyth. To question the foundation of our war is near treason."

But Kaelthys only shook his head. His voice carried the weight of centuries.

"No. It is truth. We have fought shadows for too long. The humans know nothing of the Abyss, of the war their ancestors waged upon us. And yet we drown them, because we cannot strike at the ones who wronged us. The Queen knows this. Perhaps... perhaps that is why she fixates on this Caedrion. Perhaps she sees in him a chance to break the cycle. Or perhaps she merely sees in him what she has denied herself for eons: a partner."

The nobles exchanged g

lances. Some looked horrified, others merely resigned.

Prince Zhaelyr sneered. "Or perhaps she is simply mad. And when the sea turns red with our blood, we will know it was her heart, not her wisdom, that doomed us."

His words lingered, poisonous, but none dared voice agreement aloud. They all knew: to stand against their Queen was to invite a death more terrifying than any Ignarion flame.

The foolish suitors who had been enraged by the fact she lusted for a human partner had already suffered such a fate.

Still, the treasonous thoughts lingered still among those who remained.

And in the silence that followed, they each wondered: were they servants of a goddess... or prisoners of her love-drunk delusion?

The nobles had dispersed, each swimming back to their estates with doubts coiled like eels in their hearts.

They thought themselves unseen, unheard, safe in the shadows of their whispers.

But Thalassaria sat upon her throne of living coral, a chalice of Dawnhaven wine in hand, her eyes reflecting the infinite glow of the abyss.

A faint smirk curved her lips as she let the glass tilt and roll the crimson liquid across her tongue.

Did they really think she was blind? Deaf?

The fools.

She was the sea. Its currents sang to her veins, its tides echoed in her pulse, its endless weight pressed in on her bones as if she were its chosen vessel.

Every word spoken beneath her waves belonged to her.

Every ripple, every vibration of a voice carried itself across fathoms until it was hers to savor.

She knew their dissent before they themselves knew it in their hearts.

This was how she had known about her failed suitors, and their plots for their petty ’veangeance.’

She had shattered their fragile egoes and they plotted to overthrow her.

And now another crop of potential rebels had arisen.

"Fragile little courtiers," she murmured aloud, her voice a velvet ripple through the chamber.

"They speak of rebellion as if I were some dim monarch of the land, bound by walls and deafened by stone. They forget who I am. I am half the sea itself. Their plots are no more secret to me than a drop of rain is hidden from the ocean."

Her smile widened, cruel and serene all at once.

"They think me irrational, obsessed. Perhaps they are right. But obsession... obsession is merely clarity sharpened into purpose. Ten thousand years I have watched this world change, ten thousand years I have waited for the one who could break these chains. The humans forgot what they are. My people forgot what they could be. But I... I have never forgotten."

She rose, and the water about her throne stirred, curling upward like loyal serpents. The chalice hovered in her palm, spinning in a slow spiral as she whispered.

"I will use their dissent. I will bend it, twist it, until even their fear becomes a weapon. They think their mutterings weaken me? No... they strengthen me. With each doubt they sow, they remind themselves of what they lack. And what I alone can provide: vision."

The scrying pool shimmered at the foot of her throne, and his image surfaced again, Caedrion, the land dweller, the little lord who had shattered an army ten times the size of his own.

She watched him with rapt hunger, her teal leylines shimmering like a storm about to break.

"My little land dweller... my little guppy..." she whispered, voice dripping with possessive tenderness.

"You march again to war, unknowing, unseeing, unaware of how deeply I already belong to you. You fight alone, but I... I will help you, even if you never ask it. Even if you never know it."

Her grip tightened on the chalice, claws dimpling the silver.

"I let the humans discover us. I let their fear of the sea grow teeth again. All for you. So that when you look out across your horizon, you will see me waiting. You will know that even the ocean itself has bent to your cause."

The wine swirled one last time before she downed it whole, the coral throne humming with the resonance of her leylines.

"Soon, Caedrion. Soon you will understand. You are the man I have waited ten thousand years for. And when this age of ash and flame ends... it will be you and I who stand above it all. Together. Forever. Now go my love... Go forth and conquer... I’ll be waiting right here for you. To greet you as my King, when you come to find me."

The sea outside the palace roared in answer, waves striking the cliffs like the heartbeat of a goddess.