Aelius was nowhere to be found.
At first, it didn't feel real. The palace echoed with the same ancient songs, the courtiers swam with their usual grace, and the ocean moved on, unaware. But to Caelum, everything felt off. Too quiet. Too still.
He called for Aelius once—twice—then a third time. No answer. That had never happened before. Aelius always came. Always.
A chill crept into Caelum's chest. He tried to dismiss it. He's probably off gathering kelp scrolls… maybe tending to the star orchids again. But that familiar, comforting logic unraveled quickly. Aelius never left without a word. Never stayed gone this long.
Days passed. Caelum grew restless. The palace felt larger, emptier. He wandered the halls aimlessly, eyes searching corners where Aelius used to linger. He imagined hearing his voice, soft and amused, calling him "Your High Vanity" like he used to when they were alone.
But the voice never came.
When he could no longer bear it, he searched. Personally. Tirelessly.
He donned his enchanted blade, Mourndusk, its sapphire hilt humming against his palm. With it, he could shift form—become swift as a seadrake, small as a reef eel, able to slip through ancient ruins and hidden crevices. He searched the coral forests, glowing blue under the moon tides. He dove into the trenches where the ghosts of sirens whispered in dreams. He sang into the deep, his voice echoing through the gloom, hoping Aelius might answer back.
But there was nothing. Just silence. As if the sea itself had swallowed him.