The descent back to Athalassia was different this time. The water didn't just embrace Elara; it vibrated with a low-frequency hum that set her teeth on edge. The void-energy from the "Deep-Burner" alloy had left a phantom stain on her senses, a static that clouded the pure lunar frequency of her trident.
She bypassed the Pearl Palace, ignoring the celebratory displays of her returning vanguard. She didn't want the songs of victory. She wanted the truth.
Elara dove into the Black Crags, the graveyard of ships where the pressure was so immense the water felt like liquid lead. At the center of a ribcage from a long-dead leviathan sat Ursala. The Sea-Witch wasn't cackling today; she was weaving a net of shadow-silk, her milky eyes fixed on a point in the dark that only she could see.
"The Q
