The mana in the air grew thick as Kaelen knelt by the academy's moonlit reflecting pool, eyes shut tight, breath shallow. Azure strands of water arcanum coiled around his fingers, dripping upward in slow spirals as if gravity no longer applied.
"Calm… focus. Let the current carry, not crush."
Master Liraen's voice echoed in his memory, but Kaelen struggled. Ever since the skirmish in the Cascade Field Trial, his control had begun to waver. Water responded — too quickly, too violently. A simple summoning technique now felt like uncorking a whirlpool.
His aqua spell — Hydralith Bind — had shattered a practice dummy in the morning drills. Not cracked. Shattered.
"You're overcharging again," muttered a voice behind him.
Kaelen glanced back. A lean girl with cobalt hair tied in a long braid approached, a scroll clutched to her chest.
"Ardena," he greeted, brushing the stray wisps of mana from his sleeve.
She knelt beside him. "You're tapping deeper than the first two Vein Layers. That much is obvious."
Kaelen frowned. "But I haven't trained past the Second Tide."
"That's the problem," she said with narrowed eyes. "You're skipping ahead—like your body remembers how to channel more… but your mind doesn't."
He looked back at the water, its surface strangely still.
Then why does it feel like something's waiting down there?
That night, Kaelen couldn't sleep.
The academy's dorms were quiet, other students buried under sheets or spellbooks. But in the stillness, Kaelen heard something again. A murmur. Not outside — inside.
A whisper beneath the heartbeat.
"Unshackle… the Deep stirs…"
He sat up, heart pounding.
It wasn't the first time he'd heard it. The same voice had stirred faintly during his duel with Marrec, the same echo when he fell into the river back in Kethralis Marsh. Always when he was near large bodies of water.
This time, he didn't run from it.
Kaelen slipped on his coat, summoned a veil of mist around his steps, and exited into the academy courtyard.
He walked alone to the forbidden side of the reflecting pool — where the stone cracked downward into dark, disused tunnels that once channeled leywater from beneath the mountains. It was said to be sealed. It was said to be dry.
But Kaelen knew better.
With a slow breath, he opened his hand. Water formed in the air, not from nearby moisture—but from nowhere. The droplets shimmered black for a moment before reverting to blue.
He descended the broken path.
The tunnel was cold. Damp. And alive.
Strange runes hummed faintly along the walls — not written in Arcana Glyph, but something older. They pulsed with a rhythm that matched Kaelen's heart. Or… was it the other way around?
The further he walked, the louder the whisper became.
"Abyss is not chaos. Abyss is origin."
The path ended in a circular vault, a pool of black water at its center. No torches. No echoes. Just darkness that clung like breathless weight.
Kaelen stepped forward.
The water rippled. Not from his footfalls — but as if it recognized him.
Something rose from within — not a beast, but a figure. A reflection. His reflection. But its eyes glowed a deep violet, and its hair flowed like ink underwater.
"Aqua Arcane… the outer skin," the reflection said. "But within you lies Abyss. You feel it, don't you? That you were never meant to ride waves… but drown stars."
Kaelen recoiled. "Who are you?"
The reflection smiled. "Not who. What you buried."
Suddenly, Kaelen's body convulsed. Power surged up his spine — cold, overwhelming, ancient. His aqua arcanum flared, but something foreign merged with it. The water turned dark — deeper than night.
He saw images.
Vast oceans swallowing cities. Titans of abyssal essence rising from the Mariana Rifts. A throne carved of black coral and voidstone.
His reflection stepped closer.
"Awaken the Third Vein. Let the Abyss answer."
Kaelen staggered back. "No… not yet. Not like this."
He clutched his chest, forced his breathing to slow, and unleashed a pulse of water arcanum. A geyser of silver-blue mana exploded from his core, cleansing the black for a moment.
The chamber shook.
He collapsed on the floor, panting. The reflection had vanished. The water was still.
But the mark remained.
A faint sigil — coiling like a spiral whirlpool — had formed beneath his collarbone.
And now he knew: he couldn't ignore it much longer.