The Ascended — Chapter no 30

Chapter 30

Hydrathis

THE HEAT BORE DOWN ON US AS WE GATHERED AT THE EDGE OF A VAST lake. A shimmering expanse of water stretched to the horizon, too still to be natural.

"This is insane," I muttered, squinting.

Marx stood beside me, arms crossed over her chest. "Worried already, Morvaren? And here I thought you were getting comfortable with near- death experiences."

"I'm concerned with whatever lives in that lake."

She scanned the crowd, her eyes narrowing. "Where's your brother?"

Thatcher caught my eye from where he stood at the water's edge, his expression grim but determined. He made his way over to us, nodding briefly to Marx. "Everyone's tense. Whatever this trial is, it's got people scared."

"Good," Marx said. "Fear makes people stupid. Gives us an advantage."

I was about to respond when someone approached our small group.

Kyren. His face was drawn with exhaustion, but his eyes were alert.

"Any idea what we're in for?" he asked, his posture tense.

I exchanged a quick glance with Thatcher. We barely knew Kyren, but he'd proven himself capable in the Hunt.

"Probably as good an idea as you." Thatcher responded. "There was no time to prepare, but at least we're all at the same disadvantage."

The center of the lake erupted—a geyser of water twisting upward in a violent column. It rose nearly sky-high before coalescing into a vaguely

recognizable form. Thalor hung suspended above the water's surface. His skin rippled like a disturbed pond, blue-green scales flashing beneath translucent flesh. Water dripped from his fingertips, but never reached the lake below—each droplet freezing in midair before shooting back up to rejoin his body.

"Welcome, survivors." His voice crashed over us, resonating in my chest cavity until I could barely breathe.

The air beside him shimmered, distorting the crystal sky before materializing into another figure that must have been her. Sylphia. She hovered beside Thalor, her silver hair whipping around her face though no breeze touched us on the shore. Where he seemed solid despite his liquid nature, she appeared insubstantial—more suggestion than physical form, edges constantly blurring.

"The city of Memorica awaits," she said. "Ancient and patient in its depths."

"Each contestant must find three keys to unlock the Siren's Archive,"

Thalor continued.

Light coalesced in his palm, forming a crystalline teardrop that rotated slowly.

"Memory keys," he said, "which preserve the final moments of those who came before."

The first key dissolved as a second formed—this one shaped like a conch shell.

"Echo Keys, which carry the sounds of consequence."

The third key materialized—a perfect sphere that emitted streams of tiny silver bubbles.

"Whisper Keys, which hold the confessions of the drowned."

"Not all will find what they seek," Sylphia's cold voice sliced through my thoughts. "The keys are limited. Fewer than those who stand before us."

A ripple of tension swept through the gathered contestants. Limited keys meant some wouldn't survive—maybe many wouldn't.

Beside me, Kyren swore under his breath. "We need to move fast," he whispered. "We’ll each require our own set. That's twelve keys between the four of us."

I nodded grimly. The math was simple and brutal.

"You'll need these," Thalor said as shadowy attendants moved among us, distributing waterproof packs.

I opened mine to find three crystal containers, each with an intricate locking mechanism. They looked fragile, though I suspected they were anything but. Running my thumb along the smooth surface of one, I watched iridescent patterns ripple across its depths.

"Place each key within its container," Thalor instructed.

And then the water around him began to churn.

"The lake knows what lies beneath your masks," he said, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated in my bones. "Just as it knew the truth of those who came before."

Sylphia drifted closer. "What you've kept inside may become your greatest threat."

"Find the three keys, reach the Archive," Thalor concluded, "but remember—the waters of Memorica do not merely reflect what you are.

They release it. And Memorica does not forgive those who hide their nature."

The words hung in the air with an ominous weight I couldn't quite place.

"Approach," Sylphia commanded, gesturing toward the water's edge.

I hesitated, but all around me, contestants moved forward as if pulled by invisible threads. Knees trembling, I forced myself to join the line forming at the shore.

One by one, we waded into the shallows. The water felt wrong against my skin—too thick, almost gelatinous, and far colder than it should have been under the harsh sun.

When my turn came, Thalor descended until he hovered just above the water before me. Without warning, he pressed his thumb against my throat.

Pain exploded outward from the point of contact—a cold fire that spread through my neck and into my lungs. I gasped, clawing at my throat, but the sensation had already faded, leaving behind a strange weight in my chest, as if my lungs had been filled with something denser than air.

"The breathing enchantment will activate once you're fully submerged,"

Thalor explained, his massive face uncomfortably close to mine. I could see my own reflection in his pupils, distorted and tiny. "Resist, and you drown."

"What happens if the enchantment fails?" someone asked—a tall woman whose name I'd never bothered to learn.

Sylphia's smile was a knife-slash across her face. "Then you join Memorica's permanent residents."

"And how long do we have?" asked another contestant.

"Until the depths become too much to bear," Thalor replied, drifting back to the center of the lake.

The pressure in my lungs increased, making each breath slightly painful. Whatever they'd done to us was already working.

I found Thatcher in the crowd. He reached for my hand, and I grabbed his, drawing strength from his solid presence.

"Together?" he asked.

"Always," I replied, and I felt the certainty of our connection. Whatever came next, we would face it as we had everything else—side by side.

The roaring grew louder, and I realized it wasn't just in my head. The lake was moving.

Thalor raised his arms, and the water before us began to rise. A wall of it towered twenty, thirty, fifty feet above us, suspended by divine will. A tsunami frozen in the moment before destruction.

My throat closed. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even scream as the massive wave hung over us.

"This city drowned," Thalor said, his voice booming across the expanse.

"But why?"

And then the wave fell.

It raged against me, crushing the air from my lungs as it swept me off my feet. The world disappeared into churning darkness. Water filled my nose, my mouth, my eyes. I tumbled end over end, unable to tell up from down as the current dragged me deeper.

The pressure against my eardrums intensified until I was certain they would burst. My lungs burned, desperate for air, but there was only water around me, invading every sense.

Don't breathe, I ordered myself, fighting against primal instinct. The enchantment. Wait for the enchantment.

But panic won. My lungs seized, and I inhaled reflexively, expecting the searing pain of drowning.

Instead, the mark on my throat flared with cold fire, and the water changed into something my body could process. The burning in my lungs subsided.

I forced myself to take another breath. The sensation was strange—like breathing liquid silk that somehow didn't kill me. It felt wrong on every level, but it was keeping me alive.

Gradually, the violent currents subsided. I oriented myself. Above, the surface was a distant, rippling ceiling of light. Below, the drowned city spread out in all its impossible architecture.

I twisted in the water, searching desperately. The city stretched in every direction, a labyrinth of coral and crystal and pearl. Other contestants were visible as distant specks, all dispersed above the city like me. I looked for any sign of my allies but no one was close enough to recognize.

The breathing enchantment kept me alive, but it didn't stop the rising tide of terror. Had the enchantment failed them? Were they— Here.

Thatcher's voice sliced through my panic.

Where? I demanded, still spinning in place.

Look up. To your right.

I twisted again and finally spotted him—a dark figure silhouetted against the surface, maybe a hundred yards away.

Relief crashed through me with such force that I nearly blacked out. I stayed in place, watching as he swam toward me with powerful strokes.

Growing up in Saltcrest had made us both strong swimmers, but underwater movement was still different from navigating shallow ocean waves.

Thatcher adapted quickly. He eventually reached me, colliding with me in a tangle of limbs before we sorted ourselves out.

His hair floated around his head like dark seaweed, and the breathing enchantment on his throat pulsed with blue light.

Any sign of Marx or Kyren? He asked as we examined our surroundings.

Nothing yet, I replied. But we need to start looking for keys. Remember what they said—limited supply. We can try to find the others while we search.

If they survived the plunge, he thought grimly.

Marx did. She's too stubborn to die, I sent.

At least we have an advantage—not many contestants grew up hauling

fishing nets and diving for oysters.

Right.

Memorica was a vast underwater metropolis that had clearly drowned ages ago. Towers covered in living coral spiraled upward, their surfaces embedded with pearls that glowed and shimmered.

Schools of fish darted between structures, their movements synchronized as if they shared a single mind. In the distance, what looked like a massive amphitheater rose from the seabed.

Thatcher pointed toward the far edge of the city, where the structures ended abruptly at what appeared to be an underwater cliff. Beyond it, the water darkened to impenetrable blackness. Perched at the very edge stood a building unlike the others—a massive structure that was far more decorated than the rest.

The Archive, I realized. Our ultimate destination.

But first, we needed the keys. I scanned our surroundings, trying to formulate a plan.

There, Thatcher pointed to a large plaza between two temple-like structures. That looks like somewhere important things would be kept.

Worth a try.

And we began racing toward it, letting instinct take over. Our bodies knew how to cut through water efficiently, how to conserve energy, how to read the subtle shifts in pressure that signaled changes in the environment.

We'd covered about half the distance to the plaza when movement caught my eye—a flash of silver darting behind a coral column. I grabbed

Thatcher's arm, pointing.

What was that?

Something huge. And something we do not have time to deal with, he

sent down the bond.

Keep moving. Just be alert.

We approached the plaza more cautiously now. It was circular, surrounded by towering columns of crystal that cast prismatic light across the open space. In the center, floating about six feet off the ground, were two crystalline teardrops—identical to the memory keys Thalor had shown us.

Two of them! I sent, unable to believe our luck. That's too easy.

Maybe, Thatcher replied. But we need them regardless.

Could be a trap.

Most definitely. Question is—what kind?

We circled the plaza, staying close to the columns as we looked for any sign of danger—guardian creatures, trigger mechanisms, other contestants lying in wait. But there was nothing. Just the keys, rotating slowly in the center.

I'll go, I decided, pulling one of the containers from my pack. Cover me.

Be careful, Thatcher warned, positioning himself to watch all approaches.

I swam toward the keys, every muscle tensed for an attack that didn't come. As I drew closer, I noticed something strange—images flickering within the crystals' depths, too fast to identify. They created a hypnotic effect, almost pulling me forward against my will.

My fingers closed around the first key, and the world exploded.

Not in fire. Not in destruction. In memory—though clearly not my own.

Young hands. Trembling, ink-stained fingers. Watching an older man in deep turquoise robes accept a heavy purse from a hooded figure. A sealed scroll changed hands.

Reality twisted. A new scene. The same ink-stained hands frantically burning parchment as bells tolled overhead. Water seeping under the door.

Rising. Rising too fast. A final prayer to Thalor dying on drowning lips.

The sensory assault was so unexpected, so visceral, that I gasped, water rushing into my mouth and being processed by the enchantment. I had lived someone's death.

Thais! Thatcher's mental voice cut through the flood of images. What's wrong?

I couldn't answer, couldn't form coherent thoughts as the memories

continued to assault me.

The key, Thais.

The key. Right. With tremendous effort, I wrenched my focus back to the present. The key was still clutched in my hand, its surface now pulsing with light.

It shows memories, I managed, my mental voice shaking. Memorica's memories. Its death.

Put it in the container, Thatcher urged. I'll get mine now.

My hands trembled as I placed the key in its crystal sphere. Even contained, the key continued to pulse, images still visible within its depths but no longer overwhelming my senses.

Be careful, I said, securing the container in my pack. It's… intense.

Thatcher nodded and began swimming toward the second key, moving with deliberate caution. I watched as he approached, noting how his movements slowed the closer he got, as if pushing through invisible resistance.

When his fingers finally brushed the surface, his body went rigid. His

eyes widened, then glazed over.

But something was wrong.

Thatcher's expression transformed into one of pure horror. His mouth opened in a silent scream, bubbles escaping from between his lips. His body convulsed as if trying to pull away from whatever visions the key was showing him, but his hand remained locked onto its surface.

Thatcher! I called through our bond. It's not real. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real!

He gave no indication he'd heard me. His face contorted further, agony etched into every line. What was he seeing? What memories had the key chosen to show him?

That's when I noticed it—a dark shape forming in the water behind him, coalescing from nothing. At first, it was just a shadow, a distortion in the water. But with each passing second, it took on a more defined form— sleek, predatory, with fins and teeth and malice.

I started swimming toward him, intending to break his connection to the key, when something moved in my peripheral vision. I turned to find a creature materializing beside me—a shark with scales like black metal.

What froze me in place weren't its rows of teeth or powerful form, but its eyes—indigo eyes identical to my own.

Thatcher, I tried again, fighting to keep my voice steady. You need to let go of the key. NOW.

This time, something got through. He blinked once, twice, then wrenched his hand away as if it had burned him. The key bobbed in the water, momentarily forgotten as he spun around, coming face to face with the creature that had formed behind him.

Don't. Move, I sent, freezing in place myself. We're being circled.

Both creatures were swimming in slow, deliberate patterns around us.

They maintained perfect distance, their movements synchronized like a carefully choreographed dance. The one close to Thatcher was different from mine—larger, with armored plates running down its spine, but the eyes were the same. Indigo.

They came from nowhere, Thatcher sent, his mental voice tight. One second nothing, then…

A scream tore through the water—distorted but unmistakable in its agony. I inched my head in the direction. There was a contestant maybe

fifty yards away, surrounded by a different monster. A massive, slime-green serpent with a spine-covered back had wrapped itself around him.

The contestant thrashed wildly, his terror evident even at this distance.

With each panicked movement, with each bubbled scream, the serpent grew larger, its spines elongating and sharpening.

Then, with horrifying suddenness, those spines plunged inward.

The water clouded with blood.

The contestant's struggles weakened, then stopped altogether. The serpent began to lose definition. Its form wavered, edges blurring, until it simply dissolved back into the water. Like it had never been real at all.

Gods, I breathed. It was his fear. His panic made it stronger until…

Until it killed him, Thatcher finished grimly.

The realization crashed over me. Thatcher, your creature—it only formed after you touched the key. After you saw whatever memory it showed you.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "The waters of Memorica do not merely reflect what you are. They release it." He quoted Thalor's warning.

They're manifestations of our emotions. And they're feeding on them.

So if we control our emotions…

We control the manifestations.

We both closed our eyes, hand in hand. I pictured the calm waters of Saltcrest at dawn, the rhythmic sound of waves against the shore, the familiar weight of an oar in my hands. Gradually, deliberately, I slowed my breathing, my heartbeat, pushing away the panic that threatened to consume me.

When I opened my eyes again, the creatures were fading—becoming transparent, then translucent, then nothing more than ripples in the water.

It worked, Thatcher sent, relief evident in his mental voice.

For now, I cautioned. But we need to be careful. Any strong emotion could bring them back.

I have a feeling it won't be the last time we see those, he said, reaching for the memory key again—this time prepared for its effects.

With swift, efficient movements, he placed it in his container and sealed it tight.

What did you see? I asked, noting the lingering horror in his eyes.

Thatcher's face was ashen, his hands trembling slightly. I was… I was a mother. I felt everything she felt. She was putting her children to bed,

singing them a lullaby. Then the walls began to crack. Water exploded through the windows.

He had to stop, closing his eyes against the memory.

She tried to reach them, but the current was too strong. I felt her lungs fill with water as she watched her children swept away. Her last thought was asking Thalor why he'd forsaken them. His voice cracked. I felt her die, Thais. Felt her heart break before it stopped beating.

Gods, I breathed. I saw a priest conducting some shady deal. And then my hands were burning scrolls as water came crashing in. I felt him die too.

Whatever happened here, Thatcher said, his voice hollow, everyone paid the price.

Two memory keys secured, but the true horror of Memorica was only beginning to reveal itself.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the direction of the amphitheater.

We could see figures swimming frantically.

That's Marx! I recognized her distinctive silhouette, even at this distance. She was fighting, surrounded by swirling shapes. One massive, rage-red creature seemed to be attacking her.

Wait, Thatcher grabbed my arm. We need a plan. Those

manifestations— No time, I cut him off, pulling free.

I propelled myself forward, pushing through the water with newfound urgency.

I swam hard, my focus entirely on reaching Marx. I didn't notice the subtle change in the water current—a powerful undertow suddenly caught me, pulling me sideways.

Thais, watch out! Thatcher's warning came too late.

I spun to see a swirling vortex of water and air—a cyclone that had formed without warning. It towered from the seabed to the distant surface, a spinning column of destruction that was already drawing me into its orbit.

I fought against the current, arms and legs working desperately, but the pull was too strong. Within seconds, I was caught in its outer edge, being dragged inexorably toward its center.

THAIS! Thatcher's scream tore through our bond as the vortex swallowed me.

The last thing I saw was his face, contorted in horror, his hand reaching for mine across an impossible distance. Then everything dissolved into

chaos as the cyclone claimed me, ripping me away from my brother and dragging me deeper into the unknown heart of Memorica.