Theseus felt his blood boil as if the serpent within him thrashed against its cage. Every heartbeat carried the pull southward, a resonance that was more than instinct—it was blood calling to blood. His family. His father. Lysandra. The broken message through the coral charm haunted his ears: They've come… your family…
His grip tightened on Poseidon's trident until the runes cut into his palm. He turned his gaze back to Valeria Dravon Severina. She stood poised upon the water, golden eyes calm, radiant, unyielding. The cold certainty in them struck harder than her leviathan's cannons. She already knew. She had struck not only the fleet, but the heart of Pelagia.
The choice was no longer a choice.
His jaw clenched, his voice a roar across the storm. "Retreat!"
The word hit the fleet like a crack of thunder.
He spun, seizing Caspian by the front of his salt-stained shirt, dragging him close so only he could hear the desperate edge beneath the command. "Sound the retreat. All ships. Now. We make haste back to Pelagia."
For a moment, Caspian only stared at him, stunned—his weathered face caught between disbelief and the unspoken dread of what that meant. But then his jaw set. He gave a curt nod, eyes hard with loyalty.
Turning to the crew, Caspian's voice erupted like a cannon blast. "You heard the Prince! Sound it! Sound the retreat!"
Drums pounded, deep and frantic, the signal echoing from ship to ship. Horns blared in response, each note a raw cry of desperation. The oarsmen pulled hard, sweat flying, straining every muscle to turn their ships about. Captains shouted, their voices cracking as they fought to impose order over the panic.
The Mare Thalassion, bruised and battered, began to wheel away from the leviathan. Broken ships dragged in tow, sails straining against the wind as if even the sea wished to keep them in the fight.
On the water, Valeria watched, her expression unreadable. Her golden eyes tracked Theseus as he mounted the Black Trident's prow once more, cloak whipping, trident blazing. Then, slowly, she raised her hand, and the leviathan's cannons dimmed, silver light fading back into its armored belly.
She let them go.
But her voice carried across the waves, soft and cutting as a blade. "Run, Serpent Prince. Run to your nest. We will follow—and when you fall, so too will your seas."
The words chilled the men even as their oars bit into the waves. Theseus stood at the helm, the pull in his blood screaming louder with every stroke toward home. His chest burned with fury, shame, and dread, but his decision was made.
Pelagia was in danger.
And he would not let it fall.
The horns of retreat still echoed in the men's ears as the battered Mare Thalassion clawed its way south. Ships that could still row drove their oars into the sea with desperate rhythm, sails strained full to the wind, broken masts lashed with rope and patched with canvas. Smoke trailed behind them, reminders of the vessels already lost, the men swallowed whole.
But the sea did not let them go quietly.
Dark clouds gathered overhead, though no storm had been seen on the horizon when they began their retreat. The wind shifted, sharp and briny, turning from a tailwind into a twisting gale that snapped at their rigging. Flocks of seabirds wheeled low, shrieking, then vanished into the clouds as if unwilling to follow. Some sailors whispered it was a curse—that the abyss had marked them.
Theseus stood at the prow of the Black Trident, Poseidon's relic clutched in one hand, his eyes fixed on the restless waters. He felt the pull of Pelagia through his blood, a tether dragging him southward. But the sea was against them, full of omens and resistance, as if Nova Roma's hand reached even here.
He closed his eyes, reaching deeper.
The serpent of Okeanos stirred in his veins, and with it, the other gift—the one not of lineage, but of revelation. His Navigation Mystery. He opened his senses, not to the spray, not to the waves, but to the hidden rhythm beneath them: the currents.
And there they were. Threads of force twisting through the deep, unseen to any sailor's eye. Slow rivers within the ocean, each pulling in its own direction—some toward safety, some toward ruin. He felt them as veins in the sea's body, vibrating faintly through the soles of his feet.
He raised his trident, its runes glowing faintly as he willed the course.
"Port oars, steady!" Caspian barked, watching him. "Starboard, pull hard! He's found a current!"
The Black Trident lurched as the crew obeyed, the hull sliding into a narrow stream of water that seemed to pulse with speed. Spray rose high on either side as the ship surged forward, faster than wind alone could carry it. Behind, other Pelagian ships shifted to follow, trusting Theseus's sight.
The fleet began to move as one, cutting into the hidden veins of the sea. For a moment, speed and unity gave them breath.
But the omens persisted. Shadows moved beneath the waves, vast and slow, their shapes indistinct but colossal. The water frothed without reason, whirlpools snapping open and vanishing again like mouths. On one ship, a sailor cried out as his skin broke into boils just from touching the spray. Others muttered that the abyss was chasing them, unseen.
Through it all, Theseus stood unmoving, his eyes locked on the shifting lines of current that only he could see. His blood still screamed southward, urging him faster. He whispered under his breath, words only the sea would hear:
"Hold, Pelagia. I'm coming."
The serpent's pressure pulsed in his veins. His Navigation Mystery blazed brighter, dragging the Mare Thalassion through the maze of currents at a pace no ordinary fleet could match. But for how long could even the sea itself carry them, with the abyss behind and home ahead already in peril?
The currents carried the fleet like veins of lightning, pulling them faster and faster southward. Sailors rowed with blistered hands, magi chanted until their voices cracked, and still Theseus pressed them on. The coral charm at his throat burned like a coal, every pulse dragging him closer, closer to Pelagia.
And then—
"Smoke!" The cry came from the Black Trident's lookout, sharp as a knife.
On the horizon, black plumes coiled upward, thick and heavy, staining the sky. The closer they came, the thicker the smoke grew, until the very wind seemed to reek of burning wood and flesh.
Pelagia.
The glittering spires of coral and stone that once crowned the harbor were wreathed in fire. The outer piers burned like torches, merchant ships smoldering husks sinking in the shallows. War-cries rolled across the waves, carried on the clash of steel and the thunder of drums.
And through the haze, Theseus saw them.
Not Nova Roma's iron leviathan. Not strangers from beyond.
Ships of Thermora.
Their sails blazed with the sun sigil of King Dorian, their oars biting into Pelagia's waters as they rammed into harbor defenses. Warriors poured across the docks, shields raised, spears thrusting, setting torch to every building they touched.
For a heartbeat, disbelief froze Theseus where he stood. "No…" he whispered. "Not them."
But there was no denying it. Thermora's fleet, their supposed allies in the Mare Thalassion, were the ones attacking his home.
A Pelagian guard tower toppled into the harbor, sending stone crashing into the sea. Over the din, the cry of a familiar voice carried through the air, strained but defiant—Enzo, bellowing orders as he led what remained of the royal guard against the invaders.
Theseus's blood burned like fire, his serpent thrashing within him. Rage and betrayal churned in his chest until he thought he might explode.
Caspian gripped the rail beside him, his eyes wide with fury. "Dorian… that bastard sold us out."
The men of the Black Trident looked to their prince, fear and fire mingling in their faces. Behind them, the battered fleet strained to rally, their sails ragged, their oars cracked—but their eyes were on Theseus. Waiting.
The trident pulsed in his grip, white-blue fire sparking down its prongs as the sea itself demanded an answer. Their enemy was no longer a distant empire in the abyss. It was one of their own.
The Black Trident cut through the smoke-thick waves, the harbor of Pelagia ablaze before them. Thermoran ships swarmed the docks, their banners snapping in the firelight, their soldiers pouring into the city like locusts.
Theseus raised his trident, the runes along its shaft burning with the fury of the sea. "Pelagia!" he roared, his voice carrying across the battered fleet. "Our home burns. Our people bleed. We strike now—head on! No quarter for traitors!"
A cheer rose from Pelagia's sailors, ragged but fierce, their oars biting deeper, cannons rolling into place. The Black Trident's serpent-carved prow seemed to hiss in answer, eager for blood.
But from the flanking ships, voices of dissent erupted.
Glaucetas of Okeanos shouted across the waves, his kraken-banner snapping in the smoke. "You would drag us to your grave, Serpent Prince? Thermora is not our enemy alone—if they turn on you, they may already have struck us as well. My people must be defended!"
Poly of Nerathis spat into the sea, his eyes hard. "My men will not bleed for Pelagia's pride. If Dorian has betrayed you, then the pact of seven is broken. I will not waste Nerathis' steel on your quarrel when my own harbors may already be ash!"
Even Gerakaris of Thyrassos growled, his gold teeth glinting. "Better to return home and fortify our walls than throw ourselves against Thermora's sun."
The words stung worse than any blade. The fleet, once united by song, was fracturing before his eyes.
Caspian snarled beside him, axe gripped tight. "Cowards! The abyss is upon us and they turn tail!"
Theseus's sea-gray eyes burned, his chest tight with rage and betrayal layered upon betrayal. He wanted to curse them, to lash out—but Lysandra's warning still echoed in his ears, the blood-pull dragging him toward his city.
He lifted the trident higher, its prongs crackling as if the sea itself roared with him. "Then go!" he thundered, voice like the crash of waves against stone. "Scurry to your harbors, hide behind your walls. But know this: when Nova Roma comes, when Thermora marches on your shores, Pelagia will remember who stood with her—and who fled."
Silence rippled across the fleet.
Then, one by one, the banners of the other kingdoms turned, ships wheeling away into the smoke, fleeing for their own waters.
Only Pelagia remained.
Scarred, outnumbered, but unbroken.
Caspian spat into the sea and gave a savage grin. "Better this way. Fewer mouths to feed. More glory for us."
Theseus's grip tightened on the trident as the burning harbor drew closer, Thermora's sun-banners blazing against the night. His men rowed harder, their songs turning to guttural war-cries.
The serpent of Okeanos coiled in his blood, whispering of wrath.
"Then we strike," Theseus growled. "And we take back our home."
****
Lysandra's sandals pounded against the marble floors of the Pelagian palace, every step echoing like a drumbeat of desperation. The air reeked of smoke and blood, shouts of the dying mingling with the clash of steel. Outside, the Thermorans swarmed through the harbor, their sun-banners snapping in the firelight as they butchered citizens in the streets.
Their attack had been sudden, ruthless. One Thermoran warship had entered the harbor under the pretense of parley. Its weapon had fired before the Pelagians could even raise the alarm—a blast of searing light that tore through the first watchtower and left the city choking in flames. Now, Pelagia bled.
She broke out into the courtyard.
Beams of white light streaked across the night sky, burning arcs that seared through pillars and balconies. Chunks of stone rained down, crushing fleeing servants where they stood. Lysandra's stomach twisted as she ran past a pair of palace workers pinned beneath a slab of coral stone, their outstretched hands already still.
Ahead, in the chaos, a familiar figure fought like a storm at bay.
Enzo.
He stood bloodied but unyielding, sword clenched in his good hand, his ruined left arm bound tightly against his chest. Each stroke of his blade cut down a Thermoran warrior, their bodies scattering at his feet. His voice thundered over the din as he barked orders to the royal guards who still stood, his presence alone holding the line. And near him—Theseus's sisters, pale with terror but alive, corralled behind his shield as he fended off wave after wave.
But Enzo staggered. Every parry cost him, every swing slower than the last. The Thermorans pressed harder, smelling weakness, blades gleaming in the firelight.
Lysandra's breath caught in her throat as she saw him falter under a dual strike. She did not think.
Her eyes fell on a fallen Pelagian guard, his spear shattered, but his sword intact. She seized it, the steel cold in her hands, and the siren's blood within her stirred.
Two Thermoran raiders rushed Enzo from his blind side. Lysandra's feet carried her forward, her blade sweeping up in a sudden arc. The first raider never saw it—his throat split in a spray of crimson. The second snarled and swung, but Lysandra twisted, the steel of her borrowed sword shrieking as it found the gap in his armor. He fell, gurgling, at her feet.
Enzo turned, surprise flashing in his eyes as he saw her. Sweat and blood streaked his face, but his jaw tightened.
"Lysandra—" he rasped, cutting down another Thermoran with a brutal riposte. "You shouldn't be here."
She lifted the sword, her chest heaving. Her pearl-colored robes were torn and spattered with blood. Her eyes blazed with fury that outshone her fear.
"This is my city, Enzo," she spat. "My people. I will not hide while Thermora burns them alive."
A Thermoran captain bellowed as he rallied more soldiers into the courtyard. Enzo grimaced, setting his stance. He spared her only a glance, and in that look there was both warning and reluctant respect. The courtyard rang with steel as the next wave surged forward, Lysandra at his side.
"Where is the King?" Lysandra demanded, her chest heaving as she wiped blood from her sword.
Enzo cut down another Thermoran, his blade flashing in the firelight. "He's still in the throne room, holding the line with what's left of the guard."
"Then I have to get him," she said without hesitation. She turned sharply to the two young women huddled in the shadows behind Enzo—Theseus's sisters. They were pale, their silken gowns singed and dirtied, eyes wide with terror. Theseus had always been distant from them, too old to grow up at their side, but Lysandra knew how much he loved them. Protecting them meant protecting his heart.
She crouched low, gripping their shoulders. "Take them out of here. Use the secret passage. It will lead you to the cliffs beyond the city walls."
"What about you?" Enzo barked, his voice frayed with worry. "I can't leave you here alone."
Lysandra met his eyes, steady even as smoke and ash burned her throat. "I already sent a message to Theseus. He should be coming back soon. I'm going to secure the throne room until then."
Before Enzo could argue, the ground convulsed beneath them.
A deafening explosion ripped through the palace foundation. Stone cracked and split, fissures tearing up the marble courtyard as if the earth itself had been struck. Dust rained from above, and one of the balconies collapsed, crushing a group of Pelagian guards where they stood.
Through the haze of smoke and debris, figures marched forward. Their bodies were encased in strange harnesses of steel and brass, tubes and gears hissing with every step. Their movements were mechanical, unnatural, augmented by some technology Lysandra had never seen.
At their head strode One-Eyed Nikolos.
The scarred pirate's ruined socket was now fitted with a grotesque contraption—a bronze plate with a glowing lens that whirred faintly as it focused. He swept the courtyard with that augmented gaze, his silver tongue flicking across the jagged edge of his blade.
"Lysandra of Kymara," he drawled, his voice oily, mocking. "How dashing you look, standing there with blood on your hands. I sent your mother a message, begging her to parley. No reply. I wonder what she'll do when I send her your head instead."
Lysandra felt the fury of her blood rise, but she did not flinch. She lifted her sword, her voice cutting through the smoke. "Enzo. Get them out. Now."
Enzo's jaw worked, torn between defiance and duty. But the look in her eyes brooked no refusal. With a grunt, he sheathed his blade and seized Theseus's sisters by the arms. "Come," he growled, pulling them toward the inner wall where a hidden archway waited—the secret passage Theseus himself had prepared years ago for a moment just like this.
Nikolos sneered, raising his blade to signal his men. "After them!"
But Lysandra was faster.
Her lungs filled, her throat thrummed, and she opened her mouth. From deep within her bloodline, the mystery of Kymara surged forth—the Siren's Song.
What left her lips was no melody, but a howl of pure resonance. A sonic scream ripped across the courtyard, visible waves of force bending the air. The Thermoran soldiers nearest her convulsed, their helmets rattling, eyes bursting in wet sprays before their skulls split like overripe fruit. Gore and brain matter splattered the cracked marble.
The remaining men staggered back in horror, clutching their ears as blood poured between their fingers.
Nikolos stopped in his tracks. His silver eye whirred, focusing, narrowing on her with predatory interest. The smirk that pulled at his mouth was gone, replaced with something colder, sharper.
He licked his blade again, slower this time. "So. The Princess of Kymara is more dangerous than I thought."
Lysandra's sword arm trembled, her throat raw from the scream—but her golden eyes blazed with defiance as she squared herself against him.
"Come and find out," she spat.
Nikolos took a single step toward her, his silver eye whirring, blade raised. And then—
The palace shook as if the sea itself had slammed against its walls.
The entire front of the throne hall exploded outward in a thunderous blast, marble shards and flaming beams crashing into the courtyard. Thermoran soldiers screamed as they were hurled through the air like broken dolls, their bodies tumbling across the cracked stone.
Through the smoke came a roar—not of men, but of water.
A great wave surged out of the hall, coiling high into the air. It was no ordinary tide—it was serpentine, a crest shaped into the scaled form of a great sea beast, its eyes glowing with tidal fury. And riding its back, his trident raised high, was King Acastus of Pelagia.
His grey hair streamed wildly behind him, his once-regal robes tattered and stained with blood and gore. Cuts scored his arms, and his face was smeared with ash, but his stance was unbowed. The runes carved into his trident blazed, spilling light into the smoke like fire under water.
Lysandra froze, awe seizing her chest even as relief cut through her fear.
King Acastus's eyes locked on Nikolos. The old king's gaze was fury distilled, a storm contained only by the lines of his scarred face. It was not the rage of a man surprised in battle, but of a sovereign betrayed by one he had called brother.
Dorian, the name seared through his thoughts like molten iron.
With a guttural cry, he thrust his trident forward. Aether surged through the relic, spilling into his veins, augmenting his body with strength that defied his age. He drew upon his Neireidine Mystery, and with a Logoi command spat like thunder on the wind, the serpentine wave sharpened into a monstrous jaw of water. The maw gaped wide, fangs of foam crashing forward with enough force to crush stone.
"Klydon Serpenta!"
The watery beast lunged, its teeth closing around Nikolos with the weight of the tide.
Lysandra stumbled back, shielding her face from the spray, retreating to the edges of the courtyard as the full weight of the King's Mystery tore through the enemy lines. Thermoran soldiers were swept away, their armor ripped from their bodies as they were drowned in midair.
But Nikolos did not fall.
When the spray cleared, he stood amidst the wreckage, his armor hissing and glowing with strange lines of light that pulsed along the strange harness bolted to his body. His silver eye gleamed unnaturally bright, and in his hand, his sword burned with a crackling violet glow.
He spat blood, but his grin widened. "Impressive. But your gods-given serpents won't bite me, old man."
A hum rose from his apparatus, the metallic contraptions glowing hotter, their vents releasing a scream like tortured steel. He had withstood the King's Logoi with a power not born of sea or sky, but of something alien—cold, mechanical, invasive.
"Aethertech," Nikolos sneered, lifting his sword so its violet edge lit his scarred face. "A gift from our new patrons. Stronger than your old myths. Stronger than your dying gods."
The air vibrated with the clash of two worlds—Mystery and Aethertech—each testing the other's weight.
Lysandra's knuckles whitened around her sword hilt. For the first time, she felt a chill worse than fear: the possibility that Nikolos was right.
The courtyard split into chaos as king and traitor met.
Acastus struck first, his trident whistling through the smoke, runes glowing like submerged lightning. The weapon crackled with the force of his Neireidine Mystery, each thrust shaping the water into fanged serpents, striking from angles impossible to follow.
Nikolos met them with Aethertech. His silver eye flared, calculating every arc, every strike before it landed. His blade—no longer just steel but fused with violet aether—slashed through the serpents, cutting their forms apart like paper. His harness pulsed with each movement, pistons and vents flaring, his swings carrying monstrous weight. When trident and blade clashed, the stone beneath their feet cracked from the pressure.
"Your age is over, old man," Nikolos snarled, driving forward with a shoulder-check that would have shattered bone if Acastus hadn't dissolved into water for a heartbeat, reforming a step away.
"Traitor," Acastus spat, his voice a low growl. He spun his trident in a sweeping arc, unleashing a Logoi command. The ground beneath Nikolos liquefied into a whirlpool, sucking down rubble, corpses, even armed soldiers. The watery vortex rose up in the shape of another serpent and snapped shut around the pirate captain.
Nikolos roared, the Aethertech harness screaming in reply. Violet energy exploded outward, shattering the serpent's jaws, turning water to steam. He lunged from the mist with inhuman speed, blade carving a gouge through the marble floor as he bore down on the king.
Their duel tore the palace apart—Mystery roaring like the sea, Aethertech answering with unyielding steel.
On the edges of the carnage, Lysandra moved like a storm given flesh. Her sword flashed silver in the firelight, her siren's Mystery humming in her throat. Two Thermoran soldiers broke from cover to flank her; she turned, opening her mouth, and her voice lashed out like a blade of sound. Their skulls cracked under the resonance, bodies twitching before falling limp.
Another came at her with an axe, and she slipped low, her sword thrusting clean through his gut. She ripped the blade free in a spray of blood, already pivoting to catch another attacker across the throat.
She fought with elegance born of training but fury born of blood. Every strike was for Pelagia, every scream for her people. The courtyard stones grew slick with the bodies of Thermoran raiders, their strange gear hissing uselessly as they fell silent under her blade.
Still, her eyes kept darting to the center of the battle—where her king fought Nikolos. And every clash told the same story.
Nikolos was stronger. Faster. His Aethertech-enhanced body struck with a power that would have broken men half his age. Acastus, even with the serpent of Neireus roaring in his blood and the Poseidon relic burning in his hands, staggered more with each exchange.
The king's trident locked against Nikolos's blade, the strain evident in his arms. Sparks hissed between them as water and violet aether ground against one another.
"Your line ends tonight," Nikolos hissed through bared teeth. "Pelagia will bow, and your son will drown."
Acastus's answer was a roar as he twisted his trident, sending another serpent surging forward. But the grim truth was already pressing in—the tide of strength favored the traitor. And Lysandra, cutting down the last of the Thermoran soldiers near her, knew it. The king could not hold forever.