The reflection of the sun’s light cast countless rays amid the silvered halls of the floating palace as Jorrus Faultspire, 2nd Praetor to his Majesty Emperor Gaius Starwind walked across the smooth stone floors of the floating palace towards the Consol room. Jorrus was pushing forty, with tinges of gray flecking both sides of his hair and his beard, which was immaculately groomed as any high-ranking officer under his Majesty’s Service would keep it. His metal-backed boots clacked loudly against the stones as he rapped the wood and iron door that led into the chamber of the Consol. The floating capital city of Galma was exquisite in its own right, but the size and immaculate detail of the Floating Palace stretched beyond the city as well. High aqueduct walls surrounded the palace, water rushing up and down the thick stone walls, creating a neverending cascade of mist and rainbows around the white walls of the palace. The halls were less grandiose, especially in the small chambers where the Consol met. These were halls for important business, not grandstanding and fancy feasts. A place where real diplomacy happened.

“Come in Praetor,” a gravely old voice from beyond the wood called, slightly muffled by the thick door. Jorrus, always a dog of the Empire, did as he was told.

“My lordships,” he began, as he stepped into the center of the room; face to face with a large arched table with seven figures sitting at it. He knelt down to one knee, his red cape dragging against the dusty floor and he lowered his head, removing his silvered helm and caressing it against his chest.

“Rise, Praetor. We have much to discuss with you.” The man sitting in the middle, the oldest member of the Consol and the emperor’s uncle, Delphus Starwind stared at Jorrus with wizened grey eyes. “We have heard your expedition into the Lost Sea was successful. And yet you have brought no treasure or key with you.” The elderly man crossed his gnarled hands together. “What did you find in the cursed locker?”

]“Only riddles, my lordship. But riddles which speak about the lost city, and its treasures beyond.”

“Riddles need answers, Praetor. We pray that you have some.”

“With time, I belie-”

“We do not have the luxury of time, Praetor!” The old man rose in his chair, shaking with the rise of his voice. He slammed his ancient fist against the wooden table, shocking some of the younger members of the Consol. “Right now endless Divers search for Gaea, aiming to be the ones who will plunder its secrets and treasures. The man who finds the lost city will have the power of the gods, as the old texts say.”

“Yes your lordsh-”

“I am not finished, Praetor.” The old man sat back down. “Secrets weapons to destroy any army. The power to harness the sun and moon. The power to staunch even death itself…” Delphus starred Jorrus down, and at that moment the Praetor who had fought in countless battles, seen the most horrifying monsters of the deep, and had led countless men to their deaths suddenly felt very afraid.

“You will answer these riddles, or we shall find a Praetor worth more than war medals. After all, Praetor Alexia has not failed us in her investigations of the North.”

“Y-yes my lordship.” Jorrus tightened his eyes and tried not to feel the heavy burden of shame now cresting above his shoulders. He was beginning to understand his father’s words when he had become a member of the Palace Guard fifteen years ago. The burden of duty may one day become a noose around your neck, my son. Be careful you do not let it become too tight, nor lose your footing. He was now feeling as if he was on a precarious ledge, and this noose of duty was squeezing too tight for him to breathe.

“You don’t have a chance against me, foul beast!” The young man spun a large, awkward blade around in his hands, facing off against a foul, three-headed creature. The blade shone with a bright light against the hot sun, reflecting off its carefully crafted metal. The thin blade curved upwards, like a normal saber, but the tip of the blade was different. Instead of a solid tip, it curved back into a sharp tip like a harpoon’s. The blade itself seemed to be an oversized fish-hook, albeit one with quite the sharp edge. The man charged forward, his mop of shaggy brown head blowing back as he spun the blade in a wide slash; carving off one “head” of the beast.

A thick brown coconut head flew into the air, and was then pierced by the tip of the blade. “Ha!” The man bellowed, grasping the fruit and pulling it from the blade. He took a swig of the bitter milk, then smiling, turned to his young onlookers, grinning like a madman. “See? I TOLD you I could do it!”

Mala, a young dark-haired boy laughed. “Wow Mar!” He said. “You were like the old heroes from Chief Talu’s legends!”

“Oh, i’ll be better than a bunch of dusty old heroes!” Marlowe turned back to the now two-headed coconut beast, running towards it. “It’s time for my finishing move!” He bellowed, before tripping on an outstretched vine, sending him careening through the air and into the dirt, at the straw “feet” of his beast. His sword landed with a loud clang near him.

“Annnd Mar is killed by the beast.” Mala muttered, shaking his head. “You always screw up your moves by yelling them out!”

“Thanks Mala,” Marlowe muttered with thick embarrassment in his voice as he pushed himself off of the sandy ground. He brushed off flecks of thin grass, dirt and sand from his blue shirt, and knelt down to pick up the fisherman’s saber, placing it firmly back in its leather sheath.

“Why do you practice all the time anyways? Do you want to be a Diver or somethin’? There’s nothing worth Diving for in the southern seas, that’s what Chief Talu says!”

“I don’t care about what’s in the Southern Seas,” Marlowe muttered, picking up one of the coconut “heads” from his false-monster. “There’s a huge world out there, ready to be explored!”

“But...doesn’t everyone already know what’s in the seven seas?”

“No! That’s the exciting part. We’ve lived on the seas for thousands of years, right? But there’s still so much that’s unknown to people!”

“How can people NOT kno-” a loud boom erupted over the island, and a huge gust of wind nearly blew the children off their feet. This was not the first or second big explosion they had experienced this week. Ever since the huge storms appeared over Gullspire Rock, every day large thunder claps, accompanied by gusts of wind and even minor earthquakes shaking the small island. The children on the island were terrified of the once quiet rock in the far distance now creating such a cacophonous display; any many of the village elders moaned that a new calamity was coming; that Mother Ocean was unhappy with their sacrifices to her name and she would now destroy their peaceful home.

During the first week, Chief Talu was calm. “It’s fine,” he began, talking to many of the frightened people at a Chief-meet. “It is simply a storm, it will blow over as soon as the breezes come.” But many breezes had followed in the days thereafter, and the storm continued to circle around the rock. Windward Island was a moderately sized island in the Southern Seas, and they were known in the local islands as a wonderful place for Krayfish spearing and for their various fruits. Every year they even hosted a Krayfish Spearing contest; something that Talu had told Marlowe of when he was younger. His mother had been a champion in the contest for many years before meeting his father, and the necklace he wore was a symbol of her skill. The island itself was roughly fifteen miles in acreage, and the village was built around the natural curved bay of the island, where their “port” was found. The port was small like many of the village ports, big enough to handle a monthly visit of skiffs and barges from the other island and the occasional merchant vessel, but nothing so grand to bring in visitors from too far.

“Let me take a small skiff out there, Talu!” Marlowe had fussed in the days after. “If it’s too dangerous, I can turn around. But there could be something there causing this storm!” Marlowe had spent much of his youth sailing a small skiff, and he’d traveled around Gullspire Rock countless times. But now it seemed to an alien; the font of a grand adventure wrapped around a dangerous cloak of a storm.

“Don’t be suicidal, boy,” Talu muttered incredulously. “Even our sturdiest fishing boats would be torn apart in a storm like that.” After a few more days of no changes, Talu sent a gull with a request to Sun’s Rest, the largest island in the southern sea and the home of the local Diver’s guild.

An odd storm has appeared near Windward Island. It is unnatural and may be caused by some ancient device. Windward Island hereby requests any divers brave enough to travel to Gullspire Rock and to end this unnatural storm. Payment: 500 shelma, plus any artifacts found... It was a pittance of a job. In the Imperial Sea, 500 shelma was the reward for slaying three Razorshark or finding some trifle in a dive. And the southern sea was not a place well known for its treasures. This was the most shallow of all the seven seas; the only sea without an immortal Leviathan stalking its waters for unwary divers. Talu knew they would not get many who would brave the trip.

It was the third day in the season of Meera, and in the distance, a singular ship had set off to complete the mission that the small town had sent for. The thunders bellowed and the skies darkened, but the small diver ship, The Sharkfin, pressed on into tumultuous seas and straight into danger. It’s captain, Himund Gale, would have it no other way.

”ALL HANDS, BRACE!” Another wave slammed into the side of the Sharkfin, and Himund Gale felt his giant frame rocked by the crashing sea. He’d lived through forty-seven years and had never once in his life seen a storm like this. Then again, he’d made a good living for the past few years avoiding such dangerous waters. After all, he’d owed it to his young ward to make sure he’d actually make it to become a true diver, and with that eventually set off on his own ship. A five hundred shelma job should have been easy.

This was anything but.

”Patch!” Even with the explosions of thunder around them, Gale’s voice seemed to carry to every nook and cranny of the ship. With his call, an older-looking man poked his head up from the lower decks.

“What?”

”How’s the aether engine holding?’

“She’s straining against these waves cap’n! The ship can’t handle this much abuse!”

Gale looked upards towards the spire of stone that was Gullspire Rock. They were close enough now. A little further and-

The ship came to a halt. The whipping winds and roarings seas began to die down. The ship seemed to slowly move forward, as if it was caught in a thick syrup. Behind them; in fact, all around them in a perfect circle, the crew could see the roaring waves and storm.

But not here. Was this the eye?
”Patches,” Gale said, taking a deep breath. The ship had held. Thank the Mother Ocean. ”Lower the anchor and prepare the tethers. We’re getting ready to dive.” He looked around the ship to it’s young crew, a motley crew who he’d picked up over the years. Some were born into the world, others were brought to it by providence, while some simply sought out the adventure.

Gale grinned looking them over. ”It’s time to get to work my little tadpoles. Go below and get your gear together. We dive in ten minutes.” Several of these newbies he’d picked up days ago, between Callas and Sun’s Rest. This would be the proving for them; if they could work as a team of divers. Even if their payment would probably be spent on food and fixing the ship, this would be good practice for them. Hopefully.

Slowly straightening from where she'd braced, Tella let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

She'd never seen anything like that before. Sure, she'd had lessons in storm sailing. Of course she had. But the storms in the Imperial Sea were tame squalls compared to the utter madness they'd just flown through. Hands shaking on the railing, she leaned over the gunwale, squinting at the storm that screamed behind them as her eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden bright sunlight. The thunder, though no longer deafening enough to crack the skies, was certainly still loud, and she could see the muted flash of lightning within the clouds every other second. Yet now the water was calm and placid as she'd ever seen it. Little waves rocked the boat gently as all the speed went out of it. She turned her head to follow the line of the storm. It really did ring the rock, didn't it? She sucked in a breath as she realized that, with no break, they were going to need to punch through it again to get out.

With a slow shake of the head and a resolution to not cross that bridge 'til it came to it, she left off her storm watch. Running her hands through her hair to try and get some of the rainwater out of it, she cracked her neck, then hurried to do as Captain Gale ordered. As she reached the stairs to the lower decks, she paused a moment with her hand on the door jamb and took a long, slow breath to calm her still-racing heart. Then she plunged down into the dark.

Still instinctually afraid of an officer berating her for moving too slowly, she nearly ran through the lower decks, only slowing when she arrived where their belongings were stored. With a careful hand, she unhooked her earring, placing it delicately beside her saber. Snatching up her rebreather, she gave it a few puffs to make sure it was clear before she hung it around her neck in prep. Her knife went on her belt next, slid around to the back. Never knew when you'd need to pry something open, cut an entangling rope or weed, or stab something that was giving you trouble. Giving everything one last once-over, she removed her low boots, shoving them in with the rest of her things and slipping on a pair of lightweight shoes much more suited to swimming. Wouldn't do to cut her feet down there, after all.

Then, with a sigh, she propped herself against the wall. Leaning her head back, she stared at the ceiling. It still didn't feel right. It still didn't feel natural for her to be here. She still didn't belong. She stuck out, and she knew it. She'd been working for divers—as a diver, she reminded herself—for two years. Mostly in Makrus as an acolyte, but two years nonetheless. But it still wasn't enough. Two years wasn't enough to clean the Imperial stink off. And perhaps no amount of time ever would be. In the brief quiet before the rest of the crew arrived to reclaim their things, punctuated only by the creaking of the wood and the gentle hum of the aether engine, she closed her eyes and muttered to herself: "What the hell is wrong with me?"

As the storm began to settle around them and the Sharkfin came to rest, Kaitha, like plenty of the other crew members, stared up at the patchy break in the clouds. Blessedly, the sun had not vanished from the sky to leave the world bleak and gray forever; the rays that touched the ship were warm and welcome. Tonight the moon would be beautiful—“dark days, bright nights,” as the saying went.

Something to look forward to, anyway.

Orders were given and Kaitha made her way giddily down belowdecks. The dark here was much starker than it had been outside, even in the guts of that awful storm, and unlike the sunlight that warmed her skin and sank down, this brought her a warmth that radiated from within. She smiled, bouncing in each step with all the grace of a feather on the wind until she found the storage. Others were here, a young man and woman. Crus and Tella, who, Kaitha believed, was imperial. She hadn’t been so vocal about it yet though, so for the time being she was given a pass.

“Pardon~” she hummed, slipping past them with water’s own fluidity to find her things. She doffed her habit’s cap and overcoat, but left the shawl and waist-coat on over the rest of the outfit. Choir habits were designed for diving, which made traveling much easier.

Well, mostly. She did have one bit of luggage that could be cumbersome now and again.

As she retrieved her Bo Saw, she couldn’t help but overhear Crus and be just a little intrigued. Seasickness? A diver? Hopefully not, what a dreadful affliction to have in a profession like this. Or any profession, really. Frankly it might as well have been called ‘worldsickness.’

“Think it might be more that the sea’s sick of us.” She flashed a grin, and tried to remember that showing too many teeth put people off. Quickly, she gave the blade a test-revving, happy to see that it hadn’t been damaged in all that rattling. “Luna’s luck we’ll be out of here before it finds a remedy.”

---

Marina Watercrest smiled widely at the crewmate who had challenged her to three sets of Maker’s Grace. The cards on the table plain for them to see as the sound of the ocean hammered against the hull.

“This is what you get, you know.” The young woman smiled, “For dueling one of the greats.”

The older man groaned before nearing a laugh. He hadn’t interacted with the diver much, but the girl’s gall and confidence nearly set him off. That was before the cards spun off the table as a particularly strong wave had tucked itself against the ship. Were they nearing their destination? That accursed storm? Must’ve been. Marina could hear the yelling, faint as it were through the ship’s floorboards. She supposed it was now where the real fun began. The real adventure. It would be like her travels before when she left the Imperial Sea but as a girl seeking to find her way. She had failed, triumphed, and then failed again. She was hoping in this venture it would be a return to greatness.

She smiled as she scooped up the shelma from the table, standing from her seat that she had barely kept upright when the ship braced against the waves. It was always fun for Marina to taunt and gloat, much like she had done at the academy.

She brushed off her cloak, “Alas, I would love to continue robbing you blind, but I must dive.”

The crewman began to mumble unpleasantries as Marina pranced out of the room and toward her belongings and the area where she and the other divers would convene.

The thrill of the dive was something else and while Marina had not interacted with any of the other divers, with her rebreather on she could still feel a sense of camaraderie, a sense of belonging. One of the other divers in particular did remind her of someone, though she couldn’t quite place it with their own rebreather on and the fact they had not run into each other during the voyage into the storm. It would be a familiarity that she would press on at another time, but for now, she was getting ready. The diving chamber was not as nice or as shoddy as other ones as she had been in, a delightful middle ground. She stretched her legs as conversation began and continued, mostly idle comments, things that weren’t terribly interesting or fun. She jumped up and down, getting the blood flowing and muscles ready while smiling inanely underneath her diving gear.

One of the women talked of Luna and Luck and Marina looked slightly in her direction.

“Luck isn’t in the equation, my love.” Marina looked toward the diving platform that was sealed shut with a dark temptation growing in her chest. Her eyes widened and there was a glimmer in them that could be seen by anyone who looked at the purple-haired diver. “If you listen carefully, you can hear the terror of the tides. Isn't it wonderful?”

Tella looked quickly down at her feet as Marina entered the diving chamber with her typical flair for the dramatic.

She hadn't been too fond of Marina for longer than she cared to think. Being neck deep in devotion and propaganda to the Imperial cause had the lovely little side effect of her deeming anybody that had left as a 'coward' and a 'deserter' and 'unfit to lick the Emperor's boots.' Of course, she thought different now; she'd gained a great deal of perspective recently, after all, or she certainly wouldn't be preparing to drop from a Diver vessel.

But still. The pure embarrassment over her former steaming, simmering resentment had her looking at the floor whenever the fellow 'Imperial' was around, and very pointedly avoiding most contact with her. Still...she'd been looking back on her days in the Academies more often recently, at the people that she'd known and the bridges she'd burned, and she found herself profoundly missing Marina. It had been years since they'd known each other. Eight since they'd talked? She remembered them being fairly good friends once upon a time.

But then again, she thought bitterly, she was a very different person back then. The Tella of today was a shattered shell of her old confidence, especially in her headstrong adolescence.

Still. As silly as it was, as burnt out the embers of that ancient friendship were, Tella missed her. And hearing her again, recognizing that same cadence even now, only made her miss Marina more. And so, as she made one last check of everything, she raised her eyes shyly from the floor. Her voice trembled slightly when she started, but as she continued, it steadied out:

"If the sea really was sick of us, then we'd have all sunk to the bottom long ago, no?" A deep breath, and she finally brought her eyes up to Marina's soft violet ones. Not entirely sure what to say, she fumbled some over her words, but kept speaking. "The tides may bring terror, but they—Mother Ocean also brings hope too, right? And joy. And...forgiveness as well. And we should thank her for that."

Contradicting Marina in that particular way would probably get her labeled as a wet blanket, which was...well, certainly not conducive to rekindling any faint embers of the friendship that she remembered.

But she'd at least talked to her. And that was a start, right?