Tempest Bound: The Fisherman's Lure

Chaptr 13: Chains of the Abyss

The Abyssal Trench yawned out before them darker and deeper than any region of the sea Seraphine had ever known. Every emotion in her drove her to flee, to turn from the depths seeming to pulse with an ancient, awful life of their own. Benevolent behind her fear, though, was a suppressed, strong need—a sense that this place had the answers she had been seeking all her life.

When the Horizon's Call hovered close, Seraphine first completely observed the ruins. Half buried in the sea, the Sunken Citadel loomed with its vast architecture wrapped in dark, shifting tendrils of seaweed. Every strand of the seaweed wriggling in the water seemed to have a mind of its own, unlike any she had seen. She was almost awake.

Rowan turned to face the citadel, astonishment mixed with terror. His voice almost audible, he murmured, "This place... it's old." It has hefty feeling. Like it loads all the secrets of the ocean.

Not sure her voice would come, Seraphine nodded. The air seemed weighty, loaded with an intensity that was both horrible and sedative. Every sensation in her yelled that she was trespassing on hallowed ground inappropriate for mortal souls.

Her ankle throbbed, though, with a small warmth like a consoling whisper. Looking down, she noticed the symbol flickering slightly, bathing the black sea in an ethereal radiance. The seaweed altered, tugging back as though in awareness, creating a road directly into the citadel.

Silent up until now, Amara moved forward to focus on Seraphine's ankle. "The ocean has granted you passage," she continued, her voice nearly reverently respectful. "Your mark functions like a key. an emblem of the ocean's benevolence.

Her pulse pounding, Seraphine gasped hard and staggered forward warily, fixed on the dark citadel entrance. The seaweed parted more with every step to disclose more of the road, as if beckoning her farther into its secrets.

Rowan stood close at her side, his countenance wary as he peered about. His eyes darting over the shifting shadows, "this place feels... alive," he muttered. "as though every one who has passed through remembers every soul seeking its secrets."

Though the thought made Seraphine shudder down her spine, she willed herself to keep going. Her will is really strong. Her father's legacy resided inside these walls just waiting for her to discover; she had traveled too far to turn back now.

Their cautious and careful motions across darkened tunnels paved with ancient stone lead inside the citadel. Complicated glyphs carved on the walls faded with age but still pulsed with a dim, horrible brightness. Every tattoo seemed to pulse deep inside her, like the whisper of a half forgotten language she almost understood.

As they fell, the temperature seemed to drop; the water grew colder, heavier as though the weight of eons were descending upon them. Ghostly shapes in the darkness like silent sentinels on the margins of her sight, with hollow and empty eyes wandered across. She shuddered, resisting the want to stare closer to these restless beings.

Rowan's palm grounded her; his presence was a steady comfort among the horrible silence. "Stay close," he ordered in a cool but firm voice. This is testing us here.

Amara walked with calm assurance, facing ahead and her face was not clear. Her eyes gleaming with knowledge Seraphine could not start to grasp, she appeared almost at ease inside these dark confines. She seems likewise connected to the secrets of this ancient site.

They arrived in a big chamber submerged in darkness with a ceiling so high above after what felt like hours of rambling through the dismal halls. In the midst was a stone tablet half-buried in layers of coral and algae, its surface softly shining as though in response to their presence.

Approaching the tablet slowly, Seraphine's fingers shook as she reached out to feel the ancient, cool stone. Her ankle flared with a mark, and she felt a strange bond between the old words etched into the stone and herself. She got energized.

Rowan walked up to her, his gaze reading the inscriptions. "This... it's about the Coral Crown," he remarked in an amazed whisper. "It tells of its intent and manufacturing."

Amara turned over the iPad and her voice grew polite as her eyes softened. "The Coral Crown was shaped by the ocean itself, a force carrier. Designed to link the mortal with the eternity, such power calls for sacrifice.

Seraphine's hands traced the lines of writing, the old words showing up for her like a story murmured in parts. "To wear the Crown... is to become part of the ocean," her voice nearly audible remarked. The power of the ocean passes through its bearer but at a cost—a cost of self, of soul.

Rowan absorbed the words, his face darkened and his manner became austere. The Crown does not only grant power then. One has to pay back something. It pushes the user towards oceanic will.

Amara nodded, her eyes remote as though she was remembering events from a time long ago. It is a contract, one not breakable. Although the wearer loses some of her self, doing this gives her enormous strength. The ocean is constant in its requirements; it always gathers its due.

A shiver came over Seraphine as she remembered her father's warning—his dying words reverberating in her head. Claiming him, the Coral Crown sent him somewhere she could follow after chaining him to a fate he could not escape. She was on the same road and faced the same choice now.

What if it takes me, too? She whispered, her voice laced with both will and horror. "What if I can't buck its draw?"

Rowan's hand tightened on her shoulder, his gaze steely with defense. "You won't be alone facing it whatever goes on. Let it not claim you.

Amara turned her gaze to Seraphine, a flutter of respect obvious in them. "The water chose its carriers pretty deliberately. It checked your will and phoned you here. Recall, though, that the road the Crown travels is one of sacrifice. More than you could know will be expected of you.

They went silent as the weight of the ocean's demand settled over them reminded them of the price they would have to pay for the answers they sought.

As they left the chamber, the stillness dropped more; the shadows crowded in about them like a live thing. Soft and melancholic, a faint song began to waft across the lake, weight of loss seeming to seep into the very fortress stones. The music drew at Seraphine's heart, yearning she couldn't define that related with her own hopes and concerns.

Then she saw her—a shadow-covered woman with seaweed-like hair, ancient anguish gleaming in her eyes. Lysandra, the Siren Queen, stood glaring fiercely at Seraphine across the quiet before them.

Who challenges to search the Coral Crown? She tuned; her voice echoed badly. "Do you know the cost your soul will pay? The fee it requests?"

Breath seized in Seraphine; the weight of the Queen's words dropped over her like a shroud. She felt the weight of the Crown, the promise of power shadowed with curse. Her trip was far from done, she knew as she met Lysandra's look, and it would try her in ways she had not yet thought about.