There was no light in the deepest section of the underwater prison. Not a flicker, not a shimmer. Salutaris moved through the pitch-dark purely by the pulse of his own aura, feeling the faintest shapes ahead like distant tremors. Had he not known the route—memorized through centuries of bitter confinement—he would be lost forever in this wretched abyss. The cold pressure alone could squeeze him flat against the detritus-laden sands below, grinding even divinity into muck.
Countless crawling things skittered across the seafloor, nibbling mindlessly at whatever fell from above. They clawed and scuttled without thought, without purpose—pitiful, disgusting creatures.
Salutaris sped forward, determination swelling through him. He needed his plans in motion. Among the treasures he still guarded—his precious hoard—he possessed enough allure to bait another greedy fool. Enough to soften his food. Enough to rise again.
Losing a chosen, though cheap and replaceable, had stolen something far more valuable: time. Time he could have spent free. Time he could have spent on the mortal world—roaming, feeding, conquering. The daydream alone quickened him, pushing him faster through the lightless expanse.
But the coral had drained more of his divinity than he'd realized. His movements lagged. His limbs grew heavy. With a frustrated hiss he snapped up the reaching arms of a few unfortunate starfish—snacks, hardly worthy of him, but sufficient to revive a faint spark of strength. Pathetic creatures, useful only as morsels.
After a tedious stretch of swimming, Salutaris finally reached a ring formation of rocks. Piled high, surrounding a bare sandy clearing. A fence? A marker? He'd never cared for whatever foolish reason birthed the structure. But he had noticed over time that many lesser creatures burrowed within the larger mounds—food stock, perhaps. A sensible idea for lesser beings who lacked his power to feed whenever he pleased.
As he approached, the sand trembled. Mindless animals scattered—some squeezing into cracks between stones, others darting into the open plain where something far worse awaited.
A long, dark silhouette uncoiled from the sand. A wicked jaw glimmered faintly in the gloom, its bioluminescent lure flashing with predatory promise—an invitation to any idiot willing to bite.
Their divine auras touched, clashed, then overlapped. Recognition. Irritation. Ancient resentment.
"What brings an arrogant bastard like you to my kingdom?" a feminine voice echoed through the shared aura, dripping venom.
"Arrogance is a sign of the strong. You know this well," Salutaris replied, his thoughts brushing hers with cool dismissal. "Why else would you build such strange structures?"
He wasted no more time. "I will offer the Deep Sea Stone if you agree to a contract with me. You will receive the details once you accept a preliminary pact—only a minor one—before we proceed."
He flared his aura in warning as the black dragonfish's aggression spiked. Her skin shimmered—luminous, shifting, carved with patterns that twisted the longer one stared. Her lure flickered in a predatory rhythm, hypnotic and dangerous.
Then she struck.
Invisible teeth sliced through the dark—only scraping against his steel-hard scales. Her own glowing flesh barely holding back his sharp feather rimmed scales. The clash was instant, instinctive, a ruthless test of weakness to snatch any advantage.
When the dragonfish finally withdrew, satisfaction rippled through her aura. A thought came—short, sharp, and accepting.
Delight curled in Salutaris's chest. He immediately began listing the small clauses of the provisional pact. Simple requirements, binding enough to proceed without risk. Only once she agreed did he begin speaking of the true purpose behind his visit.
He had all the time in the abyss to sink his fangs back into the mortal world. Chosen were nothing but puppets—extensions of the gods who favored them. If he wanted even a morsel of control from those already entrenched, he needed more than raw hunger. He needed help, even if the thought disgusted him.
The black dragonfish's aura flared sharply at his musings, but he ignored it. The contract now bridged them, weaving a small but firm thread of security between their divinities.
The second part—the payment—would come later. After the dragonfish completed the task he set before her.
Only then would he relinquish the Deep Sea Stone.
---
In a cavernous hollow — a place where sound died before it could echo — only the slow, rhythmic dripping of water survived.
A cluster of nearly transparent creatures stood in the darkness. Their shallow, rapid gasps were softer than the frantic thumping of their exposed hearts. Scores of glowing red eyes peered unblinking into a vast, yawning void.
If one were foolish enough to approach the cliff's edge, lean forward, and truly listen, they might hear it:
the wet, nauseating squelch of an evil god's latest meal being consumed in the darkness below.
This place was isolated in every sense—no mortal would ever wander here willingly. Steep cliffs, and treacherous terrain besides the thick vegetation. Ensured it would stay that way for centuries still.
The creatures, if they could even be called that anymore, moved only by instinct. Their minds—what remained of them—functioned solely for one purpose: to serve their god.
Any fragment of who they once had been had long since decayed. Centuries spent dwelling in the god's influence had warped their essence, stripping away thought, identity, memory. In return, their god infused them with purpose—only purpose—until every individual body became nothing more than a moving part of a greater whole.
A single hive.
A single hunger.
A single will.
They lived and died as one, giving everything to grow stronger together.
They had waited. Patiently. Ceaselessly.
Their god had commanded it.
Grow. Multiply. Prepare.
For the day would come when the abyss would open, and they would be unleashed upon the mortal world.
---
Jaime woke with a violent jolt, lungs dragging in air as though he had surfaced from drowning. Sweat soaked through his clothes, clinging to his skin and suffocating him in the heavy morning humidity. The strange dreams—fragmented, slippery—were already fading, dissolving each time he tried to grasp their meaning.
The door creaked softly.
Jimena stepped into the room.
For a heartbeat, he thought he must have been loud getting up. That was the only explanation his dazed mind offered as she leaned over him.
Then her pupils bled into a deep, impossible red.
Her jaw unhinged with a sickening crack.
Her mouth opened far too wide—inhumanly wide—revealing rows of thin, needle-like teeth dripping with foul, black saliva.
Jaime screamed—
And woke again.
His heart slammed against his ribs as he shot upright, gulping air. The small room the villagers of Chantico had provided came into focus—plain walls, woven mats, folded cloth. Quiet breathing from nearby huts. A faint smell of morning ash and damp earth.
Just a dream.
A terrible one.
He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his damp hair. Cimi materialized on his head with a soft flutter, hooting in confusion and mild concern.
Jaime gently scooped the little owl into his arms and lay back down, holding the warm creature against his chest. His pulse slowly steadied.
But the dreams lingered at the edges of his thoughts.
Not visions—more like warnings. Shadows of something far below the surface. Something watching. Something rising from the deep, too distant to see clearly… yet close enough to reach him in sleep.
He closed his eyes, but rest did not come. The feeling of being observed never left.
Something was stirring.
looking for them from somewhere none could see.