Returning to Greymore was out of the question; by now, it would most definitely be crawling with members of the family returning from abroad. I led my squad south toward the branching splinter of the Magdruim Mountains, the continent-spanning ridgeline. The main line ran vertically across Velhiem, splitting the continent in two. Branching spurs jutted outward, as if they were ribs extending from a spine.
The Heart's Quagmire may have originated from underground water, but it still connected to the ocean through its many twisting waterways. It was this connection I sought, and I was currently following the flowing current. The ocean's scent drifted on the breeze, tugging at me ever so slightly.
A delta-like opening in the swamp soon appeared, littered with small islands. The beauty and contrast of the scenery were shattered by a sight that sent a shock through my body. Upon the largest island, easily dwarfing me in size, sat an Awakened Beast—one just as unique as myself. Once a humble death-attuned bullfrog, it was now an Armored Swamp King, nature's own life-and-death–bound sovereign.
This beast was the ruler of the swamp, and it sat upon that island with its eyes closed, sunning itself. It never stirred as we approached. Worry seeped through the ranks of my squad as I headed straight for it.
A single eye opened, and the squad froze. A slow, deep croak followed, rooting Natasha and Thark in place. But I continued on, stopping only when I stood within arm's reach of the majestic beast.
Its second eye opened as it slowly rose, confirming that it towered over me. Another, louder croak escaped it, its throat swelling in an aggressive display, as if testing my resolve. I didn't flinch. I stared it in the eyes and flared my essence, meeting its challenge head-on.
A croak-like laugh escaped the beast as it lay back down, returning to sunning itself. The spell that had hung over my squad lifted, and we began heading toward the ocean once more. I was about to follow the crew beneath the waves when a pink blur caught my eye.
The toad's slimy tongue wrapped lightly around me, coating my torso in its mucus. As suddenly as it had appeared, the tongue withdrew, and another creaking laugh followed me into the ocean's embrace. I walked beneath the waves, confused, until a tingling sensation erupted along my back. A Beast Contract with a Swamp King would drive most Shardcasters into envy if they ever discovered it.
Once I was beneath the waves, striding upon the sand, I felt the stress I had carried fall away. Even if they were following, I was in his element now—nothing in the ocean could truly harm me. Off in the distance, floating above the sand, the Deadwood sat submerged and anchored.
The squad had turned the return trip into a race, apparently. The new senses of awareness still brought fits of awe to me in these fleeting, random moments. Thark and Natasha decided to stay by my side—one because he was rather dense, the other because she was enjoying the moment just as much as I was. We continued our slow approach, admiring the vast diversity of ocean wildlife.
The Deadwood's deck greeted me with an unusual sight: the crew who had stayed behind were swarming the returning squad, a stormfront of emotion rolling off them. Relief flickered first, sharp and bright. Envy crackled at the edges. But pride stood tallest, rooted deep and unashamed. At the heart of it all stood the winner of the impromptu race, basking in the center of the excitement like a banner planted after conquest.
The charged atmosphere dimmed a shade when I stepped onto the deck, not silenced, only tempered, as if the crew had been holding their breath for my inspection before celebrating too loudly. The winner's new form seized my attention at once. Where the original body had been broad and heavy with mass, this one had adapted into something leaner and more deliberate, as though the excess had been carved away to reveal an almost feminine silhouette beneath its frame.
Stopping before them, I ran my essence through their frame and marveled at the subtle adaptations that had been made. Nothing I had crafted was destroyed, only repurposed, streamlined into a more compact, agility-driven form where every former excess now fed precision instead of brute force.
The slender crewmate before me, unmistakably female now, stood at attention. Hope radiated from her in quiet waves, bright and steady, as if she awaited not praise, but purpose.
An almost fatherly smile tugged at my lips as I declared, "Well done, Flow." The first sounds one of my creations had ever made tumbled from Flow's throat in an excited jumble, a cascade of ineligible noises that somehow mirrored the rhythm of the emotions she radiated.
"Now, prepare to set sail," I commanded the crew. "It's time I finished my Foci," I added, striding into the depths of the Deadwood, the ship's pulsing heart waiting to receive my touch. Behind me, the crew erupted into a storm of noise and excitement, laughter and gibberish ricocheting off the timbers. Flow bore the brunt of the lighthearted ribbing, a grin tugging at her lips as the crew busied themselves preparing the ship.
By the time I reached the Deadwood's heart, the crew had already stowed themselves below deck, the ship poised and ready for its underwater voyage. Natasha followed close behind, while Thark made his way to the crew's quarters. Natasha and I arrived at the core together, our hands meeting the pulsing heart of the ship in unison.
The Deadwood shivered beneath our touch, her timbers groaning as she responded. Slowly, deliberately, the ship began to rise, then twist, her hull turning until the masts nearly brushed the sandy floor below. Inside, everything remained steady, as if the ship itself were holding us upright through the motion. An awareness bloomed within her, stretching and awakening from a long slumber, her excitement at our touch tangible and electric.
Removing my hand and heading toward my lab, I called over my shoulder, "Back to the island." Natasha's sharp, "Aye, Captain," echoed behind me as I departed, ready to continue my experiments.
I felt the Deadwood shift once more. This time, the vines wrapped around her masts uncoiled, writhing like a tentacled creature, propelling the ship forward with surprising speed beneath the waves.