Tempest Bound: The Fisherman's Lure

Chapter 3: The Awakening Below

Dull, oppressive cold opened out to Seraphine's eyes. She was buried, surrounded by cold water that pressed down hard on her and penetrated every inch of her body, so rendering her down to the bone. Shadowy figures drifted about her; although their hollow, dead eyes seemed to focus exclusively on her, they were fuzzy and vague. Every face whispered her name, their voices grittly, stinging reminder that she was far from safe, like salt on wounded flesh scraping against her head.

Her arms felt completely weighty, as though the ocean itself had twisted its currents into her bones, tying her. She sought some grasp or direction and tried to push against the water. Every step was a battle; every breath seemed impossible. She then sensed it, a horrible thing coiling and headed toward the shadows. It was simply beyond. As though some ancient power were drawing her down, down, ever deeper, the water around her looked thicker, more oppressive.

Her heart jumped, the loud, strong beat in her chest ringing against the huge, stifling quiet. Every pulse seemed to mark her ankle alight, its odd warmth becoming into a scorching heat, each beat dragging her farther into the embrace of the sea. Cold and raw, panic tore at her as she battled it; until then, she thought a lifeline thrown into the darkness was calling her.

"Seraphine; you exceed it." Don't give in; his voice sliced across the water, firm and unrelenting, and though it was faint, hardly reaching her above the muffling weight, it gave a glimpse of clarity. Her mind moved to the world above, with air and sunlight and life—a life she was not ready to say goodbye to.

Her buried under doubt and fear deep-seated connection came alive in response to his voice. She was unaware of it. Her pulse found its beat in the odd force of the mark, as if it followed ocean tides. Her thoughts flashed visions, unconnected, hazy images that progressively sharpened, cleaned. Her father was battling the waves, his face contorted in pain and his eyes ethereal. His hands held something priceless and forbidden, a little glimmer lost in the depths.

Not me; far-off, cold, regretful, his voice quietly murmured in her brain. You must arrive free.

The words stunned her; the jolt of them cut across the shroud of uncertainty in her thoughts. She clenched her teeth and drove herself to stand, even though it seemed like she was dragging herself across deep, unrelenting water. Every movement suffered, every inch gained a huge fight. Her ankle flared, its heat increasing as though it pushed her to stay and against her efforts.

Then there was a sound—a guttural growl deep and reverberating across the sea—the Guardian's presence pressing in and sending a primeval dread through her. She could see its enormous shadow around her like a predator, waiting. The horror of it fanned her desperation; every impulse within her drove her to fight, to survive.

One final, desperate shove cleared her view. Her body flew upward; the weight lifting as she neared the surface; the water lessening and thinner until at last she burst free. She gasped, a sharp reminder of life as she surfaced, lungs heaving as she scrambled onto the side of the ship, the clean night air striking her like a jolt.

She laid stretched on the deck, the earth swirling around her lungs ablaze from every breath. She started by looking at Rowan. His face was white, his eyes clouded with fatigue, but he displayed enormous relief looking at her. She could see the shadow of the Guardian under the sea, its form vanishing back into the depths, but its presence persisted, an unspoken threat lingering over her like a storm just ready to break.

She laid there, every muscle quivering with weariness, chest heaving. Her ankle tattoo pulsed with an odd warmth, like a heartbeat of its own, its cadence steady and persistent, binding her to something deep, ancient, and unrelenting. It no longer burned.

Rowan knelt before her, his expression a mix of relief and fear, his eyes gliding over her with a tenderness almost awful to see. He stayed on her ankle, and she felt the weight of everything unspoken between them—the secrets he kept she was only beginning to uncover. She was aware of He knew what the mark hid, what it meant. He understood the hazards she still lacked awareness for.

Seraphine straightened herself with every last piece of will. She fixed him directly, her keen and unrelenting look reflecting every question, every fear boiling under the surface.

" What mark is this, Rowan?" And for what then did my father die?Her voice was steady, but inside her heart hammered every beat a need for responses he had long avoided.

Rowan's eyes softened but stayed dark, burdened with memories he felt afraid to share. He exhaled softly, a gravity dragging him down as though he had been carrying this information alone for far too long. "Your father...," he halted, the words weighing on him. "He was seeking not only knowledge, Seraphine. He sought for something much more dangerous—a relic connected to the water's power.

Relic:She repeated the phrase slowly, her head struggling to process the immensity of what he was saying.

Rowan nodded with a serious look. "An antique relic spun from coral and charged with the power of the ocean itself. She says of it the Coral Crown. Legends say it can command the sea, bend it to suit. One does pay a cost, though. Nobody who asked for it has returned injured.

Thick and unrelenting between them, the words hung, each one deepening her bone's ice. From this relic, from a force both enticing and deadly, her father's wounds on his body, the shadows that had plagued his eyes, his fixation sprang from. She was now inadvertently linked to it, her destiny turned along the same dangerous course he had chosen.

"then I'll find it," she said, her voice strong and a calm resolution weaving every syllable. I have to know the truth wherever it takes. I had to find out why he set everything on line.

Rowan's face shifted to reflect a mix of respect and sadness, as though he knew the road she was about to take and the dangers involved. He valued her will even though he could not protect her from the pit she was headed toward.

Then be ready, Seraphine whispered, his voice low and tinged with profound sadness. Once you start down this road, you cannot turn back. The river remembers and does not pardon.