"When fear becomes a counselor, war becomes a certainty."
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The deep ocean was black and boundless — a cathedral of silence beneath crushing pressure.
In that endless dark, two empires met in the the Council of Kings, an ancient gathering place for the kingdoms of Atlantis.
The Kingdom of Atlantis — ruled by Orm Marius, its silver-armored king — and the Kingdom of Xebel, governed by the stern and calculating King Nereus, father of Mera.
Their thrones faced one another across an ancient hall of coral and volcanic glass. The light from bioluminescent eels flickered across the marble floor, painting ripples of ghostly blue.
The Conclave Begins
Orm sat, hands folded, eyes burning with quiet fury.
He looked every bit the ocean's conqueror — regal, relentless and driven by a hatred that had matured into purpose.
King Nereus broke the silence first.
" Your summons was urgent, King Orm. The seas are restless. Speak."
Orm leaned forward, his voice low and commanding.
"The surface world grows bolder every year. They poison our waters, dump their refuse into our homes and call themselves civilized. The latest tides brought proof — weapons, fuel drums, corpses of fish burned by chemical rot."
He clenched his fist, and a small whirlpool formed above his gauntlet, reflecting his anger.
"I will no longer tolerate their arrogance. The time for patience has ended."
Nereus's trident clinked against the stone. "And what do you propose?"
Orm's eyes glinted.
"War. A cleansing of the surface. The oceans will rise and humanity will drown in its own waste."
The hall stirred with murmurs from Atlantean generals and Xebel envoys alike.
The Shadow of the Surface
But Nereus was not a fool.
"War is costly, Orm. The surface has weapons beyond imagination. If we strike and fail—"
Orm cut him off.
"We will not fail. You forget who I am, King Nereus. I am the King of Atlantis. I command every current, every storm, every beast beneath the waves."
" Do not take me for a fool King Orm. You wish to become the Ocean Master. For that you need the support of at least three kingdoms. The Fishermen are cowards, the Brine are savages and the Trenches are nothing more than beasts. The deserters are extinct and no one knows the fate of Necris."
His voice thundered through the hall. "I offer you alliance, not request. Join me and together, we will show the surface what fear truly means."
He motioned to his advisor, who projected a holographic map of the upper world — vast, polluted coastlines, plastic islands, oil slicks, and shipwrecks.
"They have already declared war on us through their carelessness. We will answer."
Nereus' jaw tightened. He could feel the weight of his daughter's idealism — Mera's belief in peace — warring against his own pragmatism. But his pride, his resentment, his fear of Atlantean superiority being undermined — they all whispered the same word.
Yes.
"If Atlantis leads," Nereus finally said, "then Xebel will march beside you."
Orm smiled — slow and triumphant.
"Then the ocean is united once more."
The First Strike
Far above, at the border between deep and shallow waters, a human submarine descended — nuclear-powered, armed with experimental seismic charges.
Their mission: reconnaissance. Their mistake: existing.
Sensors flared.
Orm's lieutenant barked, "Your Majesty — intruders!"
Orm rose, his cloak billowing like ink in the water.
"Then let them be our message."
In a flash of motion, the Atlantean fleet launched. Manta drones streaked through the dark like hunting sharks.
The submarines' sonar screens went white with static. Seconds later — explosions. Hulls crumpled like paper. Dozens of lives extinguished without a sound.
Debris rained upon the ocean floor. The bodies would never be found.
Orm turned toward Nereus.
"See? They strike without warning. Even now, they probe our depths. We answer and they call us monsters."
Nereus' expression hardened. "Then let them face the storm they've summoned."
The two kings clasped forearms — the alliance sealed in salt and blood.
But then the ocean trembled.
Not from the wreckage above. Not from their warships.
It was something deeper — vaster.
A pulse, felt across every trench, every current, every creature of the sea.
A sudden shift in gravity.
The currents stilled.
The light dimmed.
And then, the sea itself parted.
From the deepest abyss to the shallowest shelf, the water split for an instant — like the hand of a god brushing reality aside.
Whales cried out. Coral cracked. Even the leviathans of the deep recoiled.
King Nereus stumbled from the force. Orm steadied himself against his throne, eyes wide in disbelief.
"What—what is this?!"
One of his generals stammered, "A... disturbance, my lord. It originated from one of the islands of the Atlantean (Pacific) ocean and— and crossed through the ocean in a linear burst!"
Orm's jaw tightened. His mind raced — his arrogance twisting into dread.
"A weapon of the surface?"
The hall shook again — faint, but unmistakable. The echo of King's leap towards the vacuum of space, his reentry bending the world's magnetic fields and pressing even the ocean to its knees.
But to Orm and Nereus — it was not a man. It was an omen.
Orm's fear turned to conviction.
"You see, Nereus? Even the heavens tremble. The surface prepares its gods to wage war on us. We cannot wait any longer."
Nereus looked upward, his eyes reflecting faint light from the surface far above. His heart clenched.
"Then the tide is chosen."
Orm raised his trident. The echo rolled through the palace like thunder.
"Let the surface drown in the fury it has awakened!"
The armies of Atlantis roared, their cries shaking the pillars of the sea.
Far above, in the void, King stood within the Watchtower — unaware that his simple act of arrival had already been misread as divine wrath.
The war of tides had begun.
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