The sea doesn't forget its Sovereign. And when the deep is wounded, it doesn't scream, it calls me.
The closer we sailed, the more the sky darkened. Not with clouds but with something thicker. Heavier. The kind of shadow born from deep magic long buried, the kind that drips with rot and whispers in forgotten tongues. The waves crashed violently against the outer reefs of the Pearl Castle; their crests twisted with black foam and flickering veins of sickly green light.
And amidst that chaos, I saw them. Thalia stood at the edge of the rampart, her trident glowing like starlight struck into steel, throwing arcs of sea magic at the monstrous tide that threatened to devour the walls. Beside her, Lysander, cloaked in storm and lightning, called the wind to keep the castle from crumbling beneath the siege.
