A lone vessel drifted across the endless ocean, surrendered to the silent pull of the currents. Da Lian sprawled on the narrow boat, eyes tracing the shifting sky.
His one hand trailed in the resilient frigid water, blooming ripples that faded the next instance, yet strangely, it was unaffected by the miasma around Lain, fascinating him.
Even with impermanence clinging to him, the water endured—resilient, ageless, unbroken. Unlike the lotus, it did not wither. It simply flowed.
A faint smile touched his lips, the chill providing a strange comfort.
"O Reverend one, tell me about yourself," he murmured to the water.
"You've endured so much, haven't you?" His upper body rose, eyes enchanted by the allure of the deluge. "Even when I did not have any control, you remained—unmoved, unchanged."
The water shimmered under the sunlight, silent and attentive.
"Water endures," he whispered. "Older than stone. Older than gods. It yields, yet survives." He let his body sink back onto the boat, exhaling softly as he gazed at the sky. "When all else has faded, water will remain—until the final hush."
Amid this hush, a hum manifested from his lips.
"Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmm"
"Existence what is?"
Humming to the waves Lian began to sing, lightly tapping the sides of the boat—Thud-Thud-Thud—the acoustic amplified by the occasional slap of waves, composing a quiet melody beneath the cries of distant gulls.
"Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm"
"Existence what is?"
The rocking of the boat and the thuds played in a heartbeat—du-du-du-du—as if the ocean's heart chorused in unison with Lian's.
♪I am in a sail, over the vast surf♪
♪A living wraith, so have been I— told♪
♪Leaving behind, the place I call, home~♪
Lian stood up, gazing towards the direction of Rinascita, eye trembling with his final bids as he gazed ahead towards the sail's trail, walking close to boat's edge. He continued.
"The place"
"The hate"
"The shame"
"The blame"
Gaze drifted at the sea's surface, its shimmering surface betraying only but the golden glitters as a spotlight was directed towards Lian, lyrics escaping his lips.
♪Nothing is wrought, for what, I— hold♪
♪Greed neither peeps, tragedy foretold♪
♪Watching the azure. Oh my, love~♪
"My love"
"My heart"
"My love"
"My heart"
He pressed a fist to his chest. Though born only yesterday on Ragunna, his heart beat for something ancient, aching, and impossible. Still, his soul knew: nothing—no place, no name—ever truly remains.
With a trembling exhale, Lian's voice climbed into a higher register—clear and crystalline, a siren's lament.
His arms spread wide, embracing sun and sea.
Tears fell, yet the wind carried them gently—as if the sea itself wept in answer.
♪Beloved by none, kissed by the sun♪
♪When I am shun♪
♪Marked fallen♪
He dropped to his knees, peering into the mirrored sea.
♪I remember, your— chills~♪
"The cold."
"The hold."
"Untold."
Lian's wet eyes began to shift. His eyes shimmered—cerulean bleeding into the pale golden luminescence. His dark hair, cascading further down like ink into a midnight navy veil.
Muscle softened, limbs reshaped. A woman emerged, radiant and raw, her voice piercing the waves with divine sorrow.
And the sea—no longer still—shuddered. Not from grief. From recognition.
A tremor passed beneath the waves, ancient and terrible. The waters, recognizing this singer of sorrow tale.
Lian gazed at the sky, yet her gaze lingered on the water, watching the mournful clouds. Distant thunder echoed, but Lian continued to sing.
♪You called me hun, I am your born♪
♪Now sun has left, you are my rest♪
The boat lurched. The sea, once cradling, turned restless. Waves swelled with sudden intent. Above, the sky churned—a roiling mass of ink and storm. The Dark Tide had awakened.
It swept across the horizon, a wall of void crashing down in torrential fury. Sight. Sound. Certainty. All drowned.
The vessel spun, caught in the spiral that surrounded Penitent's End.
The first Dark Tide's current—timeless, merciless—pulled every Pilgrim's Sail toward its jagged shore. The boat groaned, wooden sinews screaming beneath fate's weight. Yet, Lian's voice still rang true amid the dissonant frequencies.
♪O your grace, O progenitress♪
♪Deliver me♪
♪From this, distress~♪
"Dear Me"
"Oh Sea."
"Oh Please."
Unflinching, Da Lian stood, calm amid chaos. Then, with a breath, she stepped off the boat—leaping not in desperation, but devotion.
♪Now I am with wind, now with the water♪
♪Neither a son, Neither a daughter♪
♪Watching the Wuthering tale over the♪
♪Pilgrim's Sail♪
The waters surged to meet her. Yet rather than swallow, it bore her gently, bending its fury around her form. It recognized her as its borne. And Lain with a serene smile, sang in gratitude.
♪Now it is done, left salutation♪
♪O mother Thalassa, envelop me♪
♪In your, maternal embrace♪
With the final note, Lian found herself adrift in a realm that mocked paradise. The storm fell away, like a veil drawn back.
Lian drifted into a realm of false peace. The sky glowed in soft, deceiving hues. The sea lay flawless, unmoved. From distant shores, choirs sang soothing hymns—designed not to heal, but to erase.
Yet Lian's heart did not lighten. Her mind did not clear. She saw the illusion: a cage gilded in comfort, a paradise built on denial.
She took a step, feet brushing the water. The touch was cold—real, honest, unyielding. The illusion fractured. Perfection faded, replaced by the ancient, enduring chill of the sea.
The corner of her lips couldn't help but curl up into a knowing smile.
"I've been cleansed by you before," she whispered gratefully. "Again, your cold snap brought me clarity. I am indebted."
A ripple passed through the water, but it was not a response to Lian's words.
Da Lian's eyes narrowed. She felt it—two presences, vast and intertwined. One burned bright—radiant and cutting, a blade of law. The other embraced mournful deep—sorrowful and massive, a whimpering ruin beneath the waves.
She stood tall as they emerged.
The Sentinel Imperator—once a Pegasus, now a spectral sea-horse crowned in light. Entwined with it: Leviathan, the Threnodian—immense and mournful, its will echoing through the depths.
Da Lian did not bow. She did not look away. The sea churned, its restless waves contrasting to the calm in her face.
She stood poised on the sea's surface, eyes narrowed as the fused entity of Imperator and Leviathan emerged from the depths—a colossal hippocamp crowned in ethereal light, its form both majestic and unsettling.
A sardonic smile played on her lips. "Are you the Imperator?" she asked, meeting the gaze of the majestic sea-horse—an amalgamation of divine steed and ancient leviathan.
"Who art thou?" it intoned, its voice resonating like a chorus of distant bells.
Da Lian raised an eyebrow, her confusion clear. "Hah? Speak plainly. I have no patience for archaic formalities."
"Watch thy tongue, mort—" The Imperator hesitated, unable to finish the word. Something about her was different.
"Thee art not of mankind. Thy frequency is... Tactile," it observed, studying her closely. "Who art thou, seeking the Imperator?"
Lian scowled. "Enough!" She tossed her hair back, eyes narrowing.
"Leviathan," she directly called out the poser. "You don't wear divinity well." Her voice was like a volcano spitting magma. "And enough with the Shakespearean drama—speak like a being with teeth, not tinsel."
Upon her pointy words, the light around the creature warped, flickering like a shattered illusion. The divine mask cracked—revealing the truth behind it.
"I see." The Imperator's tone shifted as the Leviathan dropped its pretense. "So, you are a Threnodian as well, yet merged with humankind," it snickered.
"How pitiful..." it declared, "to be given such a weak constitution." But the one who was truly laughing was Lian.
"Hahahaha" She laughed, mischievously covering her face as she replied, "You're a Threnodian born from the fear of merging, yet you can not even tell the difference between the merged and the unmerged."
"Hah," Leviathan sneered, pointing one of its hoofs at her. "Don't pretend. I can sense you're merged—!!?... Wait, merging is there, but..."
The Threnodian's gaze narrowed, a flicker of amusement in its voice. "What is it, exactly? A human body, or something else?"
"You're not wrong, Leviathan. I am merged," Lian lips curled up, gesturing towards herself. "But this body is a gift—not the result of merging."
The steed's eyes narrowed, suspicion sharpening its features. Lian straightened, her presence growing colder, more unfathomable.
"As of now, I am merged with one of the four mothers of nature: Thalassa." She pointed to the waters, her voice ringing with quiet authority.
"I came to see the Sentinel, to seek the judgment the Order so proudly glorifies. But..." Her eyes hardened, and the very air seemed to tense as she continued, "It seems I've been deceived—not just by the Order, but by Ragunnians as well."
Lian's gaze flicked toward Ragunna, her expression unreadable. "This journey has brought me neither clarity, nor closure."
She closed her eyes, drawing a slow breath, then opened them with icy resolve. "Since this pilgrimage has failed, the people of Ragunna will now face my retribution."
She turned to leave, her steps deliberate, but the space around her suddenly locked, the world holding its breath.
Lian looked over her shoulder, her voice low and dangerous. "Do you intend to stand in my way?"
"You said you've merged with water," the Threnodian voice cracked like thunder, carrying greedy and vile. "That union shall be mine. I will assimilate you."
Lian's shoulders lowered, her spine rising into perfect stillness. A glacier settled across her face. Slowly, she tilted her chin upward and whispered—"I have restrained myself—for the sake of both humanity and the Tacets."
Her voice was calm, but laced with frost, each word slicing the air like ice-glass. "But my patience now hangs by a single thread, Leviathan. You do not want to be the one who snaps it."
The sea trembled beneath her feet. The tides had recoiled to their farthest edge—now, they were poised like drawn blades, not to kiss the shore, but to consume it.
Yet the Leviathan stood firm, blinded by pride—too consumed by its own grandeur to recognize the ruin standing before it.
"Let's see how you shall face the might of assimilation and the splitting of space while bearing the vessel of a mortal," the Leviathan neighed, its voice echoing with abyssal pride.
But Lian only smiled, serene as a child asking for a blessing. She knelt at the water's edge, her voice soft and reverent: "Oh mother Thalassa, please grant me a form worthy to bear your crest."
The Threnodian struck, but found only empty air—Lian had vanished.
"Did she escape?" the Leviathan muttered, scanning the restless sea. But the ocean itself answered—its surface rippling as something vast and ancient surged upward from the abyss.
From the depths, the water began to churn. Shadows twisted far below, and then, breaching the surface with a force that sent waves crashing outward, something immense emerged.
A serpent rose from the darkness, its body stretching nearly five kilometers in length. Its hide was a living tapestry of deep blues and spectral whites, streaked with bioluminescent patterns that pulsed like the heartbeat of the ocean itself.
Massive fins, translucent and edged in silver, unfurled along its sides, catching the light in shimmering veils.
Its head was crowned with sweeping, coral-like horns, and its pale yellow eyes glowed with wisdom—reflecting both the serenity and the fury of the sea.
Rows of jagged, crystalline teeth lined its maw, yet its expression was not one of mindless hunger, but of sovereign grace. Tendrils trailed from its jaw and spine, weaving resonance through the water like ribbons of living light.
Its presence was overwhelming—majestic, terrible, and beautiful. It was the ocean's will made flesh, the child and champion of Thalassa. As it coiled above the waves, the world seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the clash of titans.
"What form is that, mortal Threnodian?" the Leviathan demanded, awe and suspicion mingling in its voice.
To be continued...