The sea welcomed them with silence.
Not the gentle kind that followed dusk, but the vast, watchful quiet that lived beneath the waves—a silence that seemed to listen back.
After days descending from the Storm Peaks, Ethan and his companions reached the coast of Eryndor. The shoreline stretched endless under a gray horizon, waves rolling in slow and heavy, as if even the ocean feared what slept beneath.
Ashen stood at the water's edge, the hem of their cloak soaked in salt. "The Deep Vein lies far below this bay," they said. "The Guild drowned it, thinking they could bury what they couldn't control."
Lyra hugged her arms against the wind. "And we're supposed to wake it?"
Ethan's gaze swept the ocean. The air felt dense here, humming with restrained energy. "If it's the next god, it won't stay asleep much longer."
Shadowfang crouched behind them, wings folded, eyes reflecting the dull gleam of the waves. The dragon's low growl trembled through the sand.
Ashen turned toward Ethan. "The Leviathan of the Abyss—Azeroth, the Voice Below. Its power governs the tides, memory, and sleep. To awaken it, you must reach its heart."
Ethan frowned. "And where is that?"
Ashen pointed toward the horizon, where dark storm clouds sat unmoving. "Beneath the Trench of Whispers. The deepest wound in this ocean."
---
They prepared in silence.
Ashen drew sigils across Ethan's armor—lines of silver that shimmered faintly. Lyra adjusted the seals on her gauntlets, each inscribed with glyphs to resist pressure. Shadowfang dipped his wings into the surf, steam rising where flame met sea.
As the tide pulled back, Ethan felt the rhythm again—the heartbeat of the world. Only here, it was slower. Vast. As though the ocean itself was a creature dreaming beneath him.
"Remember," Ashen said, voice carried by the wind, "the deeper you go, the older the world becomes. Words mean little there. Only will survives."
Ethan nodded once. "Then will it be."
He stepped into the water.
---
The descent began.
At first, the light still reached them. Schools of silver fish darted through shafts of sun, vanishing as the surface blurred above. Then came the blue—deep, endless, heavy. The kind of blue that ate light and sound.
By the time they reached the first Vein Gate, even Shadowfang's fire was a dim halo.
The gate was carved into a cliff of obsidian coral, runes etched into its surface like veins. In its center, a massive sigil pulsed faintly—a circle within a circle, glowing with soft indigo light.
Ethan placed his palm on it. The sigil flared.
A voice whispered—not in words, but in pressure, a vibration that resonated inside his chest. Who knocks upon the dreaming gate?
Ethan's voice was steady. "Ethan Veyra, Hunter of the Unbound."
The water around him trembled. The Unbound have no place in dreams.
"Then let me wake you."
For a heartbeat, the ocean held still. Then the sigil split open, revealing a passage spiraling downward into pure darkness.
Lyra's voice quivered through the communicator rune. "Ethan… I don't like this."
"Neither do I," he admitted. "But we go."
---
The passage wound endlessly.
Here, light didn't exist. Only the faint glow from their runes kept the blackness at bay. The walls seemed alive—breathing, pulsing with slow rhythm. Sometimes Ethan thought he saw faces, shifting within the coral, watching as they passed.
Whispers echoed faintly. Not words—echoes of memory. A child's laughter. A warlord's scream. A mother's lullaby.
"The Leviathan dreams of all who've drowned," Ashen said quietly. "Every death by water becomes part of its song."
Ethan's hand tightened on his sword. "Then it remembers more than any god should."
---
The tunnel widened suddenly, spilling them into an abyssal chamber so vast it felt infinite. The ceiling was lost in darkness. Pillars of bone and coral rose from the depths, each covered in glowing sigils.
And at the center of it all—floating in stillness—was a sphere of light the size of a fortress, pulsing with deep blue luminescence.
"The Heart," Ashen breathed. "That's where it sleeps."
The current grew stronger as they approached. Ethan felt the pull—not physical, but spiritual. Like the ocean itself wanted to draw him in.
Lyra gritted her teeth. "That's not current—that's intent."
Shadowfang's wings beat furiously, keeping them steady. Ethan could feel the dragon's unease through their bond—an echo of warning.
Ashen's voice cut through the current. "Ethan. If you reach the Heart, it will test you. The Leviathan guards the memory of the world. To wake it, you must give it something of your own."
He frowned. "What does that mean?"
Ashen's gaze was distant. "It will take a memory you cannot bear to lose."
---
Ethan swam forward.
Every motion felt heavier now. The closer he came to the Heart, the slower time seemed to move. The light deepened, blue bleeding into violet, until it was almost black.
He reached out—and the moment his fingers brushed the sphere, the world collapsed.
He was no longer underwater.
He stood in his village again. The same burnt rooftops, the same smell of smoke. He heard his mother's voice calling his name from the fire.
> Ethan… you promised you'd come back.
He turned. She was there—untouched, smiling. The memory he'd buried a thousand times.
He knew what this was. The Leviathan's dream.
> Do you wish to remember? the ocean whispered.
His chest tightened. "No… I wish to move forward."
> Then forget.
The ground trembled. Water rose around him, swallowing the village, swallowing her.
He screamed—but the sound made no ripple.
When he opened his eyes again, he was floating before the Heart, tears mixing with saltwater. The glow had changed—no longer blue, but silver.
Lyra's voice crackled faintly through the rune. "Ethan? What happened?"
He swallowed hard. "It took something from me."
Ashen's eyes were solemn. "That's the price of waking the sea."
---
The sphere pulsed faster. The currents shifted. A sound began—low, resonant, deeper than thunder. It was a hum, then a chant, then a song.
The Heart cracked.
From its depths, a shape emerged—vast and terrible.
The Leviathan uncoiled like a continent being born. Its body was a tapestry of light and shadow, scales that shimmered like galaxies, eyes the size of moons. Each movement bent the sea around it, turning water into mirrors.
It spoke, and the world trembled.
> Who has stolen my silence?
Ethan floated before it, barely a spark in comparison. "Ethan Veyra, Hunter of the Unbound."
> You wake what should sleep. You tear open the wounds of the world.
"I mend them," he said. "One by one."
The Leviathan's eyes narrowed. > You offer defiance where none is needed. Why should I rise again?
Ethan's grip tightened on his sword. "Because the Guild stirs the others. The Oath will rewrite everything. You're part of the balance, whether you wish to be or not."
> Balance, the Leviathan murmured. A word used by those who fear the abyss.
Lightning flared within its chest. The pressure crushed him, bones creaking.
> Prove your worth, Hunter. Show me the song of the Unbound.
---
He raised his sword. But down here, sound carried differently.
Instead of steel, he drew upon rhythm—the same resonance he'd learned in the mountains. The pulse of the storm, the heartbeat of the earth, now joined by the ocean's ancient tempo.
Shadowfang's roar echoed through the depths, fire turning to molten gold even underwater. Their bond flared—two souls syncing perfectly.
The sea sang.
Currents turned into music. Every movement of Ethan's blade painted ripples of light. The Leviathan's hum deepened, rising in harmony, until their songs collided.
The ocean exploded into brilliance.
When it cleared, the god loomed closer, its massive head lowering until one golden eye met his.
> You carry the storm's rhythm.
Ethan nodded. "And the world's breath."
> Then you are no longer merely Hunter.
It blinked slowly, ancient power radiating through the water.
> When the heavens burn, call upon the depths. The sea remembers its own.
And with that, it vanished—its form dissolving into light that rose toward the surface like stars ascending.
---
Ethan drifted in the silence that followed. The water no longer pressed. The sea had grown still—peaceful.
Lyra swam to him, gripping his shoulder. "You did it again."
He managed a weak smile. "Maybe."
Ashen's voice was calm but heavy. "Two gods awakened. Four remain. And with each, the world grows louder."
Ethan looked upward, toward the faint glimmer of the surface far above. "Then we'd better learn to sing faster."
The Leviathan's song still echoed in his chest—slow, endless, mournful. And for the first time, he realized: the world wasn't just waiting to be saved.
It was waiting to be heard.
---