30. Hydrathis
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.