The horns of Pelagia sounded again—long, low, and desperate—just as the first light of dawn broke over the smoking horizon.
The Black Trident surged through the mist, its serpent-carved prow cutting through the burning debris that littered the harbor. Theseus stood at the bow, drenched in spray and ash, his trident clutched tight, eyes burning with fury.
What he saw turned his blood to salt.
The once-proud harbor of Pelagia was in ruins. The coral piers that had shimmered like living jewels now burned in orange fire. Ships—his ships—lay gutted, their masts snapped, their crews scattered or dead. And across the docks, the banners of Thermora flapped mockingly in the smoky wind.
But worse than that—he saw the flashes.
Bolts of silver-white energy lanced across the waterfront, vaporizing walls, piercing through wooden decks as though they were nothing. The Thermoran soldiers carried weapons unlike anything of their world—long, gleaming rods that spat focused beams of light, and suits of armor pulsing faintly with veins of blue-white current.
It was not Thermora's technology. It was something else. Something he recognized.
Nova Roma, he thought. Valeria.
A cold weight settled in his stomach.
Caspian barked orders from the helm. "Raise the shields! Ballista crews, aim for their hulls—don't give them a chance to reload!"
The Black Trident's front deck flared with aetheric sigils, Pelagian sea-magi channeling waves of raw oceanic force. Bolts of condensed water burst forth, crashing into the Thermoran lines, sending armored soldiers flying into the sea.
But even as the fleet advanced, the enemy adapted. The strange metallic harnesses worn by the Thermorans flared with light, dispersing the impact of the water bolts. Then, in perfect formation, they raised their weapons and unleashed another barrage. Silver lances carved through the air, burning holes through sails and hulls. One Pelagian ship erupted in a column of flame, fragments raining into the sea.
"These aren't Thermora's weapons!" Caspian shouted over the chaos. "Who in Poseidon's name gave them that kind of firepower?"
Theseus didn't answer. His gaze had locked on the palace above—the distant column of water and fire twisting in the sky where two powers clashed. His father's power.
He could feel his father's Mystery pulsing even from here—the Neireidine tide roaring through the blood they shared. But underneath it was something else, a shrill vibration, like two frequencies tearing each other apart.
The serpent in Theseus's veins stirred violently, sensing the imbalance.
"Get me closer to the palace!" Theseus roared. "All ships, formation V! We break their line and land at the upper docks!"
The captains answered with a chorus of horns, their damaged sails pulling taut. The Pelagian fleet surged forward as one, braving the Thermoran barrage. Water exploded around them, light slicing through mist.
Theseus raised his trident and slammed it into the deck. "By the blood of the sea, by the oath of the Neireids—drive them into the depths!"
The sea itself responded. Waves rose like beasts awakened, surging forward to swallow the docks. The tide turned into his weapon, slamming into Thermoran ships and capsizing two in one blow.
The men roared, their fear drowned in the fury of their prince.
But even as he led them, Theseus's mind burned with dread. Those strange weapons, that eerie light—they bore the same energy that had radiated from Valeria Dravon Severina's armor, the same rhythm as the Leviathan that had crushed his fleet days ago.
Nova Roma was here. And if Thermora had accepted their power, their betrayal went far deeper than he'd imagined. The trident's runes pulsed hotter in his hands, and the serpent's call within him grew louder—pulling him toward the palace, toward the one battle that mattered most.
"Father," he whispered, his voice nearly lost in the roar of waves. "Hold on."
And with a surge of will, Theseus leapt from the prow of the Black Trident, landing on the sea itself as if it were solid ground—racing over the water toward the burning cliffs where Pelagia's heart still fought to beat.
****
The battle in the palace courtyard had devolved into ruin.
The once-white marble was now blackened and cracked, fountains turned into steaming craters. The air reeked of salt, blood, and scorched metal. Acastus knelt amid the wreckage, one knee pressed into the wet stone, his trident braced against the ground to keep himself upright. His robes hung in tatters; each breath came like the rasp of waves against rocks.
Nikolos loomed over him, the violet glow of his Aethertech armor pulsing brighter with every heartbeat. The pirate's grin had become something monstrous, veins of light crawling beneath his scarred skin.
"You fought well for an old tide," he sneered, raising his sword high. "But even the sea runs dry."
Acastus lifted his head, defiant even in defeat. "And yet it always returns."
Nikolos barked a laugh and thrust his sword downward—
The earth convulsed.
A deep, rolling quake shuddered through the palace foundations, knocking both men off balance. Walls cracked wider, and the remains of the throne hall groaned before collapsing inward. The shockwave sent dust and seawater geysering up from the fissures.
And then the sea answered.
A roar rose from beyond the cliffs—something primal and vast. Through the smoke, a massive shape surged upward: a serpent made entirely of living water, scales gleaming like liquid glass. It coiled through the air, casting its shadow across the courtyard.
Atop its crest stood Theseus.
He rode the wave-serpent as if it were an extension of his own body, the trident in his hands blazing with aquamarine light. His armor, slick with salt and ash, reflected the burning city below. Every motion radiated command—sea and blood answering him alike.
The serpent crashed over the palace wall, carrying him down in a roaring cascade.
Nikolos turned just in time to see the prince descending upon him, framed in white-blue fury.
"Theseus!" Acastus shouted, both warning and relief in his voice.
The serpent slammed into the courtyard, water erupting in a tidal explosion. Theseus leapt from its back mid-crash, twisting through the spray, trident spinning. He landed between his father and Nikolos, the ground cracking beneath his boots.
Steam hissed off the trident's prongs as he leveled it. "Step away from my father."
Nikolos's eye whirred, adjusting to the sudden glare. "Ah… the Serpent Prince returns." His grin widened, blood and madness glistening on his teeth. "Good. Now I can kill the heir too."
"Theseus," Acastus rasped, forcing himself to stand, one hand pressed to his bleeding side. "He's using the enemy's tools—Aethertech. Be careful. It mimics power without origin."
The prince didn't look back. His gaze locked on Nikolos. "Then I'll show him the difference between imitation and inheritance."
The serpent of Okeanos coiled around him like a living aura, its translucent body looping the courtyard, circling both men. Water shimmered into glyphs, runes spiraling outward.
Nikolos swung first, his Aethertech blade screeching against the trident's haft. Sparks of violet and cerulean exploded where they met, casting the ruins in storm-light.
Theseus drove forward, every motion guided by the rhythm of his Navigation Mystery—the subtle currents of space and flow that told him where to move before his opponent struck. He ducked low, twisted his trident, and sent a rippling shockwave through the puddled courtyard.
Water surged upward in serpent shapes that struck from every side.
Nikolos met them head-on, his Aethertech harness flaring to full power. The serpents shattered into steam against his energy field, but the force staggered him back a step—just enough for Theseus to close the gap and drive his trident into his chestplate.
The blow didn't pierce the armor, but it sent Nikolos skidding through the rubble, crashing against a toppled pillar.
The pirate coughed blood, wiped it with the back of his hand, and laughed hoarsely. "Like father, like son. Same arrogance."
"Theseus," Acastus called, lifting his trident again despite his wounds. "Together!"
Father and son stood side by side, twin relics blazing—the old king's with the deep weight of the tide, the prince's with the raw speed of the storm.
Nikolos raised his blade, Aethertech whining. The serpent above screamed, a sound like thunder tearing open the heavens. And the battle for Pelagia's heart began anew.
The courtyard had become an ocean of ruin—every breath steam, every footfall a splash of blood or seawater. The serpent of Okeanos coiled around father and son like a living storm, its translucent body gleaming in the firelight of the burning palace.
King Acastus and Prince Theseus stood shoulder to shoulder.
The old king's trident burned with steady, tidal gravity—its runes deep blue, heavy with the memory of generations. Beside him, Theseus's trident blazed bright and wild, white-blue arcs dancing along its prongs like lightning on the sea. Together, their aether resonated, harmonizing into a single, resonant hum that made the air itself shudder.
Nikolos laughed—low, cruel, mocking—but the edge of unease crept into it. "A king and his boy," he sneered, sword raised. "Let's see how long your dynasty swims against the current."
They struck as one.
Acastus moved with the weight of the deep—each swing measured, inexorable, like waves grinding cliffs to sand. Theseus darted around him, fast and fluid, his strikes snapping from angles no mortal could track, guided by his Navigation Mystery's insight into movement and flow.
Their Mysteries intertwined. The elder's dominion shaped the battlefield: every droplet of water bent to his will, every ripple strengthening his son's path. Theseus's Mystery read those ripples, anticipating attacks before they came, turning defense into offense with effortless grace.
Nikolos met their storm head-on. His Aethertech armor screamed with exertion, vents opening along his spine to release plumes of searing violet mist. His blade met the king's trident, sparks erupting, then twisted to parry the prince's strike. The clash was deafening—metal shrieking, water boiling, energy cracking the stones underfoot.
Acastus thrust his trident high and roared a Logoi command:"Thalassa Rex!"
The air obeyed. The ground beneath Nikolos erupted in a geyser of pressure that hurled him skyward. Theseus followed the burst, leaping onto a cresting surge of water, spinning midair, trident poised like a spear of lightning.
He struck.
The blow sent Nikolos crashing into a shattered column. The pirate's armor dimmed for a heartbeat, the energy conduits flickering. His chestplate was dented, cracked—steam poured from the seams.
The prince landed lightly beside his father, chest heaving. For a fleeting second, victory glimmered.
Then Nikolos began to laugh again.
"Impressive. But you still don't understand, do you?" he rasped, rising from the rubble. His silver eye glowed brighter, the lenses within it spinning like clockwork. "Aethertech doesn't just mimic power."
The harness on his body shifted with a sickening clatter, plates unlocking and folding back like an opening shell. Beneath it, a cylindrical core pulsed with radiant light—white at first, then darkening into violent violet. The air turned electric, pressure building until the stones began to hum.
"These gifts," Nikolos said, grinning with teeth bared, "make gods obsolete."
The core discharged.
A beam of compressed energy exploded outward—pure annihilation. It carved through the courtyard, turning water and marble alike into vapor.
Acastus didn't hesitate.
He threw himself in front of Theseus.
The trident of Poseidon flared with desperate light as he raised it to block the blast. The wave of energy struck like a sunbeam turned to fury. The relic screamed—its runes cracked, the steel glowing white-hot. Acastus roared, forcing his Mystery to surge one last time.
"Protego Maris!"
A barrier of liquid crystal surged around them—a tidal shield born from every drop of his will. It held for only a second before shattering.
The explosion hurled them apart. Lysandra, emerging from the corridors with her sword still slick with Thermoran blood, dove behind a broken pillar as the world turned white. The shockwave flattened what remained of the courtyard, throwing Thermoran corpses and burning debris across the palace grounds.
When the light faded, the king was still standing. Barely.
Acastus swayed, trident half-melted, its glow extinguished. His chest was scorched, armor fused to his skin. The serpent of Okeanos that had encircled the palace flickered and dissolved into mist.
Theseus dragged himself from the rubble, eyes wide with horror. "Father!"
Acastus turned to him—his expression calm despite the ruin. "The sea… endures, my son," he murmured, voice barely above the crackle of burning stone. "Now you must become its roar."
Before Theseus could reach him, Nikolos's weapon pulsed again. Another beam—smaller, but deadly—charged to fire.
Acastus lifted his ruined trident and, with the last of his strength, summoned a wall of water. It took the brunt of the blast—redirecting it skyward in a column that pierced the clouds.
Then the king's body gave out. He fell to his knees, trident splintering in his grasp, before collapsing fully.
Lysandra's scream tore through the courtyard.
Theseus froze for a heartbeat that stretched into eternity. Then something in him broke.
The serpent in his blood awakened. The sea answered his grief with wrath.
The courtyard flooded—not with water, but with power.
Nikolos staggered back as the tides themselves began to rise, drawn not by the moon but by the prince's fury. The waves roared, curling upward like the jaws of some ancient god. And at the center of it stood Theseus, his trident blazing anew, his father's blood steaming off his skin. The storm had found its heir.
The air itself seemed to boil.
Theseus stood at the center of the courtyard, chest rising and falling like a bellows, the world vibrating around him. His veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, the blue-white light of Aether and bloodline intertwining into a terrible harmony.
The sea answered his fury.
From every shattered window, from every fissure in the marble, from the harbor below—water surged upward. Waves coiled through the air, forming colossal serpents of translucent energy. They rose and twisted around him, eyes burning with the same stormfire that raged in his own.
Nikolos stumbled back, eyes wide, the Aethertech core on his chest flaring defensively. "Impossible," he hissed. "That… that's divine resonance!"
Theseus didn't hear him. His grief had turned into something primal—something that no Logoi could name.
His father's body lay still amidst the debris, one arm outstretched, trident shattered. The memory of his voice still echoed in his mind—Now you must become its roar.
And he did.
The roar that tore from Theseus's throat was not human. It was the sound of the abyss awakening—the song of ancient tides. The serpents struck as one, crashing toward Nikolos with enough force to split stone.
Nikolos met them head-on, his Aethertech flaring, his blade spinning through the water, cutting and countering—but each serpent he destroyed only split into more, striking again, harder, faster. The sky turned the color of storms.
Lysandra, half-buried under the collapsed archway, pushed herself up. Her sword was gone, her left arm slick with blood from a deep gash running from shoulder to wrist. She watched as Theseus unleashed his wrath—beautiful and terrible in equal measure.
"This… this is the blood of the Nereids," she whispered, clutching her wound. "The blood of the Titans."
Another surge shook the courtyard. Nikolos was thrown to his knees, coughing blood, his armor hissing and sparking. Yet still, he laughed—defiant to the end.
"Good… very good," he wheezed. "Let it consume you, Serpent Prince. Let your rage drown the world."
Theseus turned, eyes glowing brighter than lightning. "You killed my father," he said, voice low and trembling with power. "And now—"
He stopped. Through the haze of heat and water, he saw her. Lysandra slumped against the broken wall, blood pooling beneath her. The world seemed to tilt—his rage, his power, all of it flickering for just a moment as his heart seized.
"Lysandra!"
He sprinted toward her, the serpents of water dissolving behind him. He fell to his knees beside her, hands hovering uselessly over her wound.
"Theseus..."
"Stay with me. Please. I can fix this—I can—"
Her lips curved into a weak smile. "You came...just as I knew you would," she breathed.
Nikolos, blood running from his mouth, saw his chance. The pirate captain rose from the rubble, staggering but grinning, sword glowing with one last surge of violet Aethertech energy. He leveled it at Theseus's exposed back.
"Should've let the sea have you," he rasped.
He lunged. And then he froze. A sound—metal tearing flesh. Nikolos looked down in disbelief. A gauntleted fist had punched clean through his chest, bursting out the other side. His blade slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor.
Behind him stood a figure in silver-and-black armor, the air around her shimmering with radiant Aether. Her golden eyes glowed like miniature suns.
Valeria Dravon Severina. Commander of the Praetoria Aetherion Division.
Her voice was calm, precise—almost disappointed. "You were ordered to capture, Nikolos. Not destroy."
She withdrew her hand from his chest. Nikolos coughed once, blood and static sputtering from his mouth. He tried to speak—tried to curse her—but no sound came. His body collapsed, lifeless, at her feet.
The courtyard fell silent save for the hiss of evaporating water.
Valeria looked down at Theseus, who still knelt beside Lysandra, holding her trembling hand. The glow of his trident had faded, his serpents gone, his power spent. Her gaze softened—not with pity, but with cold recognition.
"So," she said quietly. "The Serpent Heir lives."
Theseus lifted his head, eyes still wet with tears, meeting hers. "You… you were at sea."
Valeria's expression didn't change. "And now the sea belongs to Nova Roma."
The trident in Theseus's hands flickered weakly, its final light dying. The courtyard was quiet except for the soft hiss of steam where water met molten stone. Valeria Dravon Severina stood unscathed amidst the ruin—her silver-and-black armor glimmering with the light of something far beyond mortal craft.
Theseus's chest heaved. He could barely stand, but his gaze burned. He knew he could not defeat her. Her strength was not that of any Mystique or god-touched bloodline—this was something colder, engineered, flawless.And yet, he refused to kneel.
His father was gone. His kingdom burned. His sisters…
"Enzo took them," Lysandra whispered from behind him. She was leaning against a fallen column, clutching her side, her hand slick with blood. "They're safe."
Theseus turned to her, his throat tightening. She tried to smile through the pain. "You still have a chance, Theseus. Don't waste it."
He swallowed the grief rising in his throat and nodded once. Then he turned back toward Valeria, his voice a low growl that shook the broken stones beneath his feet.
Mystery of Okeanos—Sea Serpent: Serpent's Coiling Dominion!
The ground convulsed as the sea responded to his will. The shattered floor split, and from the depths surged a dozen massive tendrils of water, each glowing faintly with bioluminescent power. The translucent coils struck out like hunting eels, wrapping around Valeria's form in a spiraling torrent.
For a moment, it seemed as if the prince had seized control of the sea itself. The tendrils tightened. The palace groaned. But Valeria only stood still within the crushing embrace, her eyes half-lidded as her armor pulsed with white light.
"Impressive," she murmured, "for something built on instinct." Then her voice hardened. "But instinct dies before progress."
The air detonated.
Aetherion light burst from her body, vaporizing the serpent coils in an explosion of heat and sound. The shockwave shattered what was left of the palace walls.
Lysandra screamed, "Go!"
Before Theseus could respond, she was at his side, dragging him toward the crumbling archway that hid the escape passage Enzo had used. The roar of collapsing stone chased them as Valeria's energy rippled outward, vaporizing everything it touched.
They dove into the tunnel just as the blast reached them. Darkness swallowed them whole.
The tunnel sloped downward into the depths of the palace cliffs, the walls slick with seawater. Theseus carried Lysandra in his arms as the passage shuddered around them, waves breaking through the cracks. She was fading fast, her breathing shallow, her skin pale as moonlight.
"Stay with me," he whispered, his steps splashing through the rising tide. "We're almost there."
"Don't… don't lie to me," Lysandra breathed, eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his. "You were never good at it."
He smiled weakly through gritted teeth. "Then don't die yet—you'll miss the chance to scold me again."
She managed a faint laugh—half sob, half sigh. "You idiot."
The tunnel opened into the sea. Theseus took one last look back at the ruin that had been his home, then tightened his grip on her. "Hold on."
He called to the ocean. The waves obeyed.
A surge of water lifted them, carrying them out into the open sea where the Black Trident waited like a ghost in the fog.
"Prince!" Enzo's shout echoed over the surf as he leaned over the rail. Caspian and the surviving sailors threw down ropes, hauling the two figures aboard.
Lysandra coughed violently as her body hit the deck, blood staining her lips. Theseus fell beside her, trident clattering from his hand.
"Get us out of here!" he roared, voice breaking. "Full sails! Away from Pelagia!"
Caspian's voice rose through the chaos. "Aye, my prince!"
The oars dug deep. The ship creaked, catching the rising wind.
Below deck, Theseus knelt beside Lysandra, pressing a trembling hand to her wound. The blood kept coming.
"You're safe now," he said softly. "You'll see the sunrise."
Lysandra's fingers found his, gripping weakly. "No… Theseus," she murmured. "Listen to me. You live. You carry the sea's memory with you."
Her eyes fluttered open one last time, their once-bright color now distant and glassy. "And promise me… you won't drown in revenge."
Her grip loosened.
He held her as the ship swayed, the salt wind cutting across the deck, carrying the scent of smoke from the burning city behind them. When the dawn finally broke, it did so over the ashen horizon of Pelagia. The Black Trident drifted on, its sails tattered but catching light.
Theseus stood at the stern, Lysandra's body wrapped in a white shroud beside him. His hand rested on the cracked trident, its runes cold and dim. He looked toward the rising sun, where the flames of his home still flickered like a wound that would never heal.
"By the serpent and the tide," he whispered, his voice hoarse with grief, "I will make the sea remember your name."
The waves seemed to answer, rolling softly against the hull—as if mourning with him. And beneath the surface, something vast and ancient stirred, drawn by the blood of kings.