As Elara was preparing to depart from the temple, someone watched her — unseen.
A deep-sea stalker, thin-bodied with needle fangs and a glowing lure, hovered in the dark. One of Vaelros's watchers. Created, not born. Invisible to most, it drifted through currents unseen.
When the lure brightened, the Vision Shell in Vaelros's chamber glowed— not because it saw, but because the creature sent its signal.
He wasn't watching the girl.
He was watching through the thing that followed her.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
Vaelros leaned forward from his throne, one arm resting lazily on the carved obsidian edge. The Vision Shell floated before him, a flickering sphere of shifting mist and memory.
Inside it, the girl moved — laughing with a creature, her sigil glowing faintly gold as the temple guards prepared the way.
He said nothing.
From the far end of the ruined chamber, a white gleam moved.
Zerieth emerged in silence — a serpent of ancient make, scales the color of pale bone, eyes molten gold. His massive body coiled in slow, deliberate motion over cracked stone and vine. He lowered himself beside the throne, his head lifted, watching the Vision Shell.
The two spoke — but not in a tongue any mortal would know.
It was the language from before the fall, before the divines were broken.
"She draws attention."
"And yet no one dares stop her," Zerieth replied, voice cold and smooth.
"Not a single guardian. Not a whisper from the Thrones."
"They can't descend anymore."
"Because I tore the tether."
"Because you erased the Niraya bloodline."
The air grew colder.
Vaelros didn't blink. His gaze stayed locked on the girl.
"They should still watch. After all… it is their world they pretend to rule."
"Some do. But not openly. Even the Thrones hesitate now. You made sure of that."
The shell shimmered. Elara stepped from the temple gates.
Zerieth's eyes narrowed.
"She has all four sigils. The Sea, the Flame, the Forest… and the Feather. She shouldn't exist."
"That's what makes her dangerous." Vaelros's fingers drummed the side of his throne. "And a mystery."
"Where was she hidden all this time?"
"And why now?"
Zerieth uncoiled slightly, voice lower.
"They say she's being moved through the old courts. Passed from trial to trial. "Now locked away in temple halls."
"Stalling," Vaelros muttered. "Delaying until they understand what she is."
"Or until you lose interest."
"Fools."
A pause.
"They fear you may come for her," Zerieth continued. "And drag them into whatever storm follows."
"If they think temple walls can bind what she is…"
Vaelros leaned forward, his voice sharper now. "Then they've forgotten what I did the last time they tried to hide a Niraya."
Zerieth didn't answer for a moment.
Then, almost softly:
"The whispers were right. She's Niraya-born. But not just a remnant — something more."
"The last Niraya died long ago. I made sure of it."
Vaelros's tone was flat — but his fingers clenched the edge of his throne.
His eyes didn't leave the shell.
"And this one…" he murmured. "Wears her name and the same pink eyes."
"Coincidence?"
"There are no coincidences in the games of gods."
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
A soft, sultry hum echoed down the hall.
Not the kind meant to soothe, but the kind that wrapped around the ears like silk — meant to be noticed.
Dalila entered like a serpent in a dancer's veil, her hips swaying beneath black coral silk, silver chains tinkling softly with each step. Her voice floated ahead of her.
"The sea listens when you brood, my lord. It trembles when you stay quiet this long…"
She reached the dais, eyes gleaming.
Vaelros did not turn.
Zerieth's coils shifted slightly, but he said nothing — just watched.
Dalila came closer, mock-pouting.
"You didn't even ask what I found."
Vaelros's voice was low.
"You weren't told to go."
"And yet I did."
Her fingers played with the edge of her cloak.
"Because I care. Because I thought... perhaps, you'd want a taste."
She lifted a small crystal vial — no bigger than a thumb — sealed with coral wax.
Inside: a single, glowing droplet of light-gold liquid.
"One drop," she whispered, "is all I took. It tasted like the oldest dream. You'd like her, if you tried her."
The shell cracked.
Not the Vision Shell.
Vaelros's control.
In a blink, he rose. His hand closed around her throat, slamming her back against the edge of the dais.
The vial clattered to the ground — intact.
"You touched her?"
Dalila gasped, clawing at his wrist. Her voice broke.
"Only… a drop— I thought you'd want—"
"You disobeyed me."
His grip tightened.
"You told us not to interfere, not to harm her— I didn't! I— I saved it for you—"
Her voice was shrill now. Zerieth didn't move.
Vaelros stared down at her, jaw clenched.
"If you ever act without my word again…"
His tone was death.
"I will tear the memory of you from this realm."
He released her.
She collapsed, fins tucking close.
Still... her pride wasn't dead.
"You want her." Dalila spat. "The girl.".
"You've been watching her. You think we don't see it?"
Vaelros turned his back.
"She bears all four marks," Dalila hissed, rising slowly.
"Her blood could make you stronger than any god left — and you're letting her walk free. Why?"
He said nothing.
She waited.
Silence.
"You'll regret it."
Then she vanished — a flicker of mist and broken pride.
Only Zerieth remained, still watching.
Vaelros bent down and picked up the vial.
He opened it.
One drop fell to his palm — gold, soft, shimmering.
He stared. And trembled.
Then—
CRACK.
The vial shattered in his grip. Power surged through his skin, burning and cold and familiar.
"How…"
"How can she have all four?"
His voice shook.
Not with fear — with rage. With memory. With something breaking open again.
Everything in the chamber shook as a silent scream split the air.
Stone cracked. Shadows recoiled.
Vaelros stood alone, staring at his shaking hand.
A scream — from long ago. A lullaby. A name whispered underwater. Then nothing.
"Not again…" he almost whispered, though no one could hear him but the sea.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
Dalila stormed down the obsidian corridor, fury swirling in her wake like a torn current. Her pride burned hotter than her bruised throat.
She passed through a lower passage lined with bioluminescent carvings. From within, faint laughter echoed.
Two Veland'ir Shadows — cloaked in eel-slick skin, eyes gleaming with corruption — sat near the feeding pools of the Hadalborn.
"Did you see her? The surface girl?" one hissed, tail flicking lazily. "She's divine. I'd give anything for one night."
The other chuckled. "Our lord watches her like a relic. Maybe he wants her. Maybe she'll bear his spawn and sweet Dalila can raise them."
They laughed.
Dalila stopped. Her hand twitched.
In a blink, she launched forward. Silver-black energy erupted from her fingers.
"You want to taste her?" she roared. "Let me help."
The first Shadow barely stood before her magic slammed into him, tearing across his chest in spirals of dark light. The second drew a blade — but too late.
Dalila spun, coral shards swirling around her like a viper's crown, and flung them.
CRACK. SLICE.
The second Shadow fell with a gurgled shriek, his tail spasming.
The chamber stilled.
Dalila stood alone, breathing hard.
"You fools think she's special? A goddess to worship?" she hissed. "She's nothing. Food. Not a queen."
She stepped over the bodies and looked down.
"He'll never want you. Not when I'm still breathing."
Then she vanished into the dark.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧
The corridor still held the weight of heat, magic clinging to the stone like a ghost that refused to fade.
Blood drifted upward in ribbons — thick and metallic, curling through the water with lazy defiance.
Dalila stood over the corpses, breath jagged, silver chains torn loose across her hips. Her once-elegant hair now clung to her cheek like seaweed, tangled with sweat and ash.
The two shadows sprawled at unnatural angles. One's helmet had cracked clean down the middle, a leak of black mist still seeping from his chest. The other's face was half melted, glassy eyes locked in some final mockery.
She didn't flinch.
"Laugh at me now," she muttered. Her voice was hoarse.
Behind her, the temperature dropped.
Not with cold. But with presence.
A slithering rhythm echoed along the edges of the hall. Slow. Measured. As though the stone itself was being stroked by something older than memory.
Zerieth had arrived.
Dalila's gills flared, but she didn't turn.
"You heard?" she said flatly.
"I listened."
His voice came like a rustle through bone — ancient and silken, laced with calm that made the blood still drip slower.
"I don't need your judgement," she added, low.
Zerieth's massive form drifted into view, not swimming — gliding, as if gravity bent for him. The serpent's pale body shimmered with runes etched deep into scaled flesh, some glowing faint gold, others flickering red.
He circled the wreckage, nostrils flaring.
"There were better ways to end a quarrel."
Dalila finally looked at him, eyes gleaming like shattered pearls.
"They said he'd bed her. That he was watching her like prey. That I'd be nothing but a nursemaid to his spawn if she let him climb on top—"
Zerieth held up a clawed digit, sharp and dry.
"Enough."
Dalila clenched her jaw. "They insulted me."
"They told the truth."
That stung more than any blade. Her tail snapped once — instinct, not intent.
Zerieth drifted closer, his serpentine body coasting beside her now, his gaze still trained on the corpses.
"You know what I admire about you, Dalila?" he murmured. "You never disappoint me."
She blinked. "Then why—"
"Because I never expect anything at all."
A pause.
Her fists curled again, but she didn't strike.
Instead, she asked coldly, "Are you going to tell him?"
"I already did."
Dalila froze.
Zerieth drifted lazily through the haze, then stopped before one of the broken shadows. His tail brushed it aside with disgust.
"He said nothing?" she asked.
Zerieth's tongue flicked — tasting the air.
"He said, 'Shadows should not speak above their station.'"
Dalila laughed, bitter and dry.
Zerieth gave her a look — not sympathy. Something sharper.
"Do you know why they laughed?" he said slowly. "Because they're afraid. Not of you. Of her."
Dalila's smile vanished.
"She carries all four marks. The old blood sings in her. And you — you're a broken melody. Tuned for a different song."
Dalila snapped, "I've served longer than she's breathed! I've bled for him. I've killed for him. She walks in like some divine echo—"
"And yet he listens when she moves," Zerieth said simply. "Even when she says nothing."
Silence wrapped around them.
Then Zerieth inhaled deeply, nose nearly brushing one of the corpses.
"They're stale. But I'll take them."
Dalila stepped back.
"Don't you dare—"
Crunch.
Crack.
Gone.
The serpent devoured both with two precise, brutal motions — not gluttonous, but clinical. Like cleaning rot from a shrine.
When it was done, he wiped his fangs with a flick of his tongue.
"Waste of shadows," he muttered. "Still... even waste can be recycled."
Dalila shuddered.
Zerieth turned to her, slowly.
"If you want him to see you, stop clawing at his feet like a pet. Be useful. Be feared."
Dalila's throat tightened. "And if I already am?"
"Then prove it," Zerieth said, smiling without warmth. "Before she does."
He began to drift away, voice echoing softly:
"Pretty little surface girl... she'll unmake more than gods if left unchecked."
And then he was gone.
Dalila stood alone in the blood-stained corridor, her hands trembling — not with fear.
But with resolve.
She was still burning up with rage but said nothing and returned to her dwelling.
Inside her chambers, dark and still, a bioluminescent fish hovered in the corner — long-bodied, finned like a ribbon, its barbed tail pulsing faintly.
She extended her arm.
"Now," she murmured.
The sting came quick — clean — and the venom slid through her bloodstream like cool glass, unraveling the rage until her breath slowed.
She sank into the jellyfish-cushions lining her chamber wall. No light. No movement. Just the low hum of the sea outside and the blood still cooling on her skin.
Her eyes closed.
And in the hush between sleep and shadow—
"You wish to know the deepest secrets of the sea?"
A whisper, distant — not heard but felt, like pressure deep inside her bones. It didn't echo from the sea, or the halls.
It came from somewhere older.
Forgotten.
Waiting.
✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧