Chapter 13 Theron
THERON
The tunnel slopes ever downward, carrying me through passages that grow stranger with each stroke of my arms. The water here has an odd quality—not quite liquid, not quite air, but something in between that makes my movements feel both sluggish and weightless at once.
My lantern throws long shadows on walls carved with symbols I don't recognize, though they pulse with a faint inner light that responds to my voice when I sing.
Ahead, the passage opens into what can only be a shrine of some kind.
A single column of salt-stone rises from the seafloor, carved in the likeness of a winter stag with antlers that spread like frozen branches.
The craftsmanship is exquisite—every detail rendered with loving care, from the texture of the stag's coat to the wise sadness in its ancient eyes.
This is no dark elf work, I realize. This predates their civilization, perhaps by centuries.
I pause before the shrine, feeling the weight of ages pressing down on me like the depth of the sea itself.
The stag's gaze seems to follow me as I circle the column, and I notice that offerings have been left here—not the gold and jewels that filled the Chamber of Tithes, but simpler things.
Shells arranged in careful patterns. Flowers that have somehow retained their color despite the crushing depths.
Wreaths of kelp woven with the same care that Eurydice put into the evergreen crown she made for my horns.
The thought of her wreath brings a sharp pang of longing.
I reach up to touch it where it still sits among my horns, the pine and holly somehow holding their scent even in this alien realm.
On impulse, I lift it free and place it at the base of the shrine, adding my offering to those left by others who passed this way.
"Great stag of the deep currents," I whisper, the words coming from some half-remembered prayer my grandfather taught me. "Guardian of the paths between, accept this token of my devotion. Guide me to the one I seek, and grant me the strength to bring her safely home."
The moment my wreath touches the salt-stone, the stag's carved eye flashes with inner light—just for an instant, but bright enough to make my breath catch.
The offerings around the base begin to glow with the same soft radiance, and I hear something that might be a sigh of satisfaction echoing through the water.
An eddy clears the silt from the shrine's base, revealing something making my heart dance with hope.
Footprints in the settled sediment—small and narrow, with the distinctive sole pattern of Eurydice's festival boots.
She was here. She passed this shrine, perhaps leaving her own offering to the ancient guardian.
I begin to circle the column again, singing a low blessing that my mother taught me—a song for safe travels and protected journeys.
As my voice rises, the water around the shrine grows clearer, and I see more signs of her passage.
A strand of dark hair caught on a piece of coral.
The faint impression of her hand on the salt-stone where she might have steadied herself.
"Bless the path and guard the way,
Light the darkness, lead astray
All who seek to do us harm,
Keep the faithful safe from storm."
The blessing seems to resonate with the shrine's ancient power.
The stag's antlers begin to glow more brightly, and I feel a current stirring beneath me—not the chaotic flows that tried to pull me off course, but something purposeful and gentle.
It tugs at my wreath, trying to pull it away from the shrine's base.
At first I resist, wanting to leave my offering where I placed it.
But then I understand. The shrine doesn't want to keep my wreath—it wants to return it to me, blessed and sanctified for the trials ahead.
I let the current carry the evergreen crown back to my hands, and when I place it on my horns again, it feels different.
Lighter somehow, but also stronger. Protected.
A new passage yawns open beyond the shrine, one I hadn't noticed before.
Its entrance is rimmed with crystals of frost-salt that chime softly in the current, creating a melody that harmonizes with my blessing song.
The water flowing from this passage carries a different quality—warmer, more alive, tinged with the faint phosphorescence of living things rather than the cold glow of decay.
I bow to the winter stag, pressing my hand to the salt-stone in a gesture of gratitude and respect. "Thank you for your guidance, ancient one. I will not forget your blessing."
As I swim toward the new passage, the frost-salt crystals chime louder, their music joining my voice in a harmony that seems to call out across the vast spaces of the necropolis.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear an answering melody—faint but unmistakable, sung in a voice I would recognize across any distance.
Eurydice, calling my name through the blessed waters, her song growing stronger as I follow the path the winter stag has opened for me.
The current carries me forward, and with each stroke, I feel the distance between us shrinking. The shrine's blessing flows through my veins like liquid starlight, and I know that nothing—not the dead, not the dark, not the deepest terrors of the drowned realm—will stop me from reaching her now.