The army moved like a serpent of living light, winding through the dark depths of Landara. Behind them, the sea glowed faintly—flickers of heat trailing from Astraeus's burning steps, his flame now fully merged with the current around him.
Joga, swimming beside him, clutched a pearl map etched with glowing symbols. "We're almost at the Thirteenth Trench."
Astraeus narrowed his eyes. "That's where her power's anchored?"
"No," Joga replied grimly. "That's where she lost her soul."
The Thirteenth Trench wasn't a place — it was a wound.
A rift torn deep into the ocean floor, wider
than a city and darker than death. The water here felt thicker, as if grief itself weighed it down. No sea life dared swim here. Even the current avoided it, bending unnaturally around its edges like something ancient and wrong slept below.
When the army approached the rim, even the Shellbound Guardians Hesitated.
"Stand ready!" Astraeus called, diving into the gloom. "She's watching."
Joga muttered under his breath, "She's not just watching — She's calling."
And then the Window Current struck.
—Memory Current and Guardian:
It came as a scream through the water — not sound, but memory.
The current blasted through the army from below, a swirling vortex of sorrow and rage that carried visions: drowned cities, abandoned children, lovers lost to war.
Astraeus felt them all, piercing his soul like cold Knives.
He screamed — not in pain, but in defiance.
"I am not your sorrow!"
His trident flared to life, releasing in a spiral of flame that countered the current. Around him, warriors flailed and struggled against the emotional pressure, some weeping, others paralyzed.
Astraeus forced himself to move, dragging soldiers free of the current's grasp. "You
don't get to keep them!" He roared to the trench.
And something answered back.
A shadow rose from the depths.
A being — massive, skeletal, wrapped in a rope of seaweed and kelp, its eyes empty sockets of swirling ink.
The Widow Wraith, guardian of the Thirteenth Trench.
"You bear the Flame," it hissed in a voice that echoed through thought. "You dare bring light to the place where light drowned."
Astraeus didn't hesitate.
He hurled the trident — it steaked through
The water like a comet, slamming into the Wraith's chest and exploding in fire. The Wraith howled, curling in on itself — but not destroyed.
Instead, it split into seven shadows, each one carrying a fragment of the original.
They surrounded Astraeus.
— breaking illusion:
Joga called out, throwing an orb of spiritlight that scattered two of the shades, but Astraeus was already moving. He spun, using both hands to summon flames into the water itself, twisting it into boiling spears of pressure light.
One shadow darted at him — Astraeus let it strike, then caught it mind-soul, his eyes glowing with burning conviction. "You are not grief," he snarled. "You are what happens when grief is abandoned."
He crushed it in a pulse of fire and memory.
The others hesitated.
The warriors began to rise, shaking off the illusion, returning to formation.
And Astraeus stood tall in the center, surrounded by burning water.
The Widow Wraith's remnants fled, diving back into the trench.
The sea went silent.
Astraeus retrieved his trident.
Joga floated beside him. "You just silenced the soul of this realm's grief."
Astraeus looked down into the black. "No. I showed it that fire can mourn… and still
fight."
He turned to the army. "We descend now. The dome will not wait."
And so they dove — into the trench, past the Mourning Queen's heart still beat,
guarded by gods forgotten by time.
—the Leviathan Choir:
The silence in the trench wasn't empty — it was too full.
As Astraeus and the army descended deeper, the water stopped behaving like water. It thickened into a strange medium between dream and death. Light warped. Shapes moved and then didn't. The deeper they
went, the less they could fell their own
bodies.
"Don't lose focus," Joga warned. "This is where the Leviathan Choir sings."
Astraeus didn't ask what that meant. He felt
it.
The pressure wasn't just on their bones — it was on their memories.
Then the song began.
Not a melody, not words. It was thousands of voices, echoing together in deep unison, rumbling through the trench like tectonic
grief. The vibrations didn't travel through the water — They hummed inside the blood. Astraeus felt his heart tremble. His lungs tightened, even though he wasn't breathing air.
Warriors Behind him began to drift, eyes glowing faintly blue.
"They're pulling us in," Joga said. "The Choir wants us forget. Forget why we fight, forget who we are."
Astraeus gritted his teeth. "Then remind me."
And he left the song in.
Instantly, he was somewhere else.
Noble houses on fire. A boy running through smoke. Voices screaming his name. His hands glowing — no, Burning — and someone he loved turning into Ash in his arms.
Astraeus clutched his head. "No…"
He was falling again — into his old grief, into old battles, reliving the loss of his mother, The betrayal of House suran, the division that broke the peace.
But then—
A hand reached through The fire.
"Not yet," Joga said, Voice steady, pulling Astraeus from the vision. "We need you."
Astraeus screamed, and the fire turned outward.
The Leviathan Choir felt that.
The water boiled around them. From the walls of the trench, massive shapes began to stir. Not creatures — not truly alive — but ancient guardians: giant whale-like constructs made of coral, bone, and dream. Each bore a sigil of a forgotten sea god. Their eyes opened, glowing with sorrowful light.
"They sing for the Queen," Joga said. "Each time she wept, they remembered. Each time she hoped, they sang."
One opened its mouth.
And spoke.
"He carries the Phoenix."
Astraeus stood still. "Then you Know why l'm here."
The Leviathans hummed again, this time not to suppress — but to judge.
They surrounded Astraeus in a perfect spiral.
"You bring fire into sorrow. Why?"
He spoke clearly, The trident floating before him, flames pulsing from his soul.
"Because even in sorrow, we must burn for justice."
The choir went silent.
Then — a single tone. A clear, powerful note that broke The illusion in every warrior's mind. The trance lifted. Light returned. The trench walls lit with bioluminescence, and a path opened Downward.
Astraeus lowered his weapon.
"They're letting us pass."
Joga looked down the glowing corridor. "To the Dome of Echoes. To the mourning
Queen."
Astraeus nodded. "Then we end this war at its root."
To be continued….