Fontaine's night air carried the scent of saltwater, pastries, and faintly electrified machinery. The city, usually brimming with chatter and clockwork clinks, seemed unusually quiet after the Festival of Tides. The citizens were exhausted—or smartly avoiding puddles of Hydro magic that refused to obey gravity.
Furina sat on the balcony of her personal quarters, feet dangling over the edge as if she were a child trying to balance over the canal. Focalors leaned against the railing behind her, quietly humming an old Fontaine tune.
"Do you ever wonder," Furina asked, staring at the gently rippling water, "if the reflections talk when we're not looking?"
Focalors raised an eyebrow. "Reflections?"
"Yes, my Hydro clones! The water—after the festival—they were alive, or at least, lively. And I'm starting to suspect they weren't just playing." She twisted her fingers through the air, as if coaxing secrets out of the breeze. "They're… whispering. Or plotting. Or giving me unsolicited acting critiques. I can't tell which."
He exhaled slowly. "Hydro is reactive. But this is different. You're… evolving. The water responds to more than your power now. It senses your awareness."
Furina groaned. "Great. I'm not only a goddess, I'm also emotionally manipulative to water. Next, it'll be giving me performance notes. 'Too much flair in Act Two, Archon.'"
"Don't tempt it," Focalors muttered.
The calm, however, was broken by an urgent knock at her door.
"Your Excellency," a young officer gasped, out of breath, "there's… something strange beneath the canals. The lower districts report whispers, ripples… voices."
Furina leapt to her feet. "Voices? Oh, wonderful! Fontaine finally hired someone to appreciate my monologues."
Focalors, as always, remained serious. "You should investigate. Quietly. The citizens don't need panic."
She smirked. "Quietly, he says. As if I ever walk softly. But fine. A reconnaissance mission. With flair, obviously."
Moments later, they were descending into the narrow canals, lanterns in hand. Water lapped gently at their boots, shimmering in unnatural arcs. Furina's reflection split into dozens of copies, each one slightly different, like actors improvising behind a stage curtain.
"Hello?" she called. "I am the Hydro Archon, Mistress of Fontaine, Performer Extraordinaire. Who goes there?"
A ripple responded. No words. Only whispers, like distant echoes through hollow pipes.
"Hmm," Focalors muttered, "it's communicating. But not in a language you've heard before."
Furina crouched, touching the water. It shivered beneath her fingers. Her own reflection smiled back—but not her usual confident grin. This one was… cautious, hesitant, almost human.
"You're… different," she whispered. "I don't like this déjà vu."
The water rippled violently, forming a humanoid shape taller than any citizen she'd ever seen. It wore her features but twisted, like a mask stretched across reality.
"Oh, splendid," she muttered, drawing her scepter. "My evil doppelgänger, complete with existential commentary. Just what I needed."
The figure tilted its head, mimicking her exact gesture. Then it spoke—without moving its lips.
"You are aware. You know you are… observed. But do you know who watches?"
Furina froze. Focalors' hand tightened subtly around her shoulder.
"I… watched the scripts," she admitted aloud. "I know… I remember being someone else. Watching myself. A fan. A… writer?"
The reflection shimmered, dissolving into ripples. "Not just a writer. The author. The observer. The performer. All roles converge in you now."
Furina blinked. "Lovely. So I'm simultaneously divine, dramatic, and potentially insane. I see why the water was whispering."
Focalors studied her. "You must learn to focus. If the water mirrors your awareness, it can either aid or overwhelm you."
"Overwhelm me? You mean like last night's Festival of Tides? Where Hydro nearly drowned Rue du Moulin?"
He didn't respond. Too polite, too patient. That made her growl softly.
They ventured deeper into the canals. The whispers became louder, forming patterns that almost resembled words—but always just beyond comprehension. Furina's Hydro powers tingled, reacting to her heightened emotions. Every flicker of frustration, every spark of excitement, created waves that danced around them.
"This is… new," she said, eyes narrowing. "Usually, I control the water. Usually, the water obeys me. But now… it seems to have… opinions."
The canal widened suddenly, opening into a hidden chamber beneath the city. Light shimmered off the walls, which were carved with symbols she didn't recognize. Strange water tendrils moved along the floor and walls, like a living map.
"This is… remarkable," Focalors said. "A hidden archive beneath Fontaine. Perhaps even pre-dating your rule."
Furina crouched, examining a series of glowing glyphs. "Pre-dating me, you say? The arrogance of history—how dare it ignore my dramatic entrances?"
The water tendrils shifted, forming a spiral staircase made entirely of liquid. It beckoned them downward. Furina tilted her head. "You know, normally stairs are solid. But sure, let's try hydraulic elegance."
They descended carefully. The whispers grew louder, almost forming sentences in the gaps between syllables. Furina tried to focus, to understand, but the words blurred. And then—
A sudden surge of Hydro energy erupted from the chamber, spinning around Furina like a whirlwind. She stumbled, barely keeping her balance, and found herself surrounded by miniature copies of herself, each carrying faint expressions of wonder, fear, or mischief.
"Fantastic," she muttered. "Even my reflections are staging a crowd scene without permission. I am officially overbooked."
Focalors moved beside her, extending a steadying hand. "Focus on one. You can command one reflection, then another. Gradually."
Furina narrowed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine. Let's play director."
She focused on the nearest reflection. It froze. She concentrated again, and the reflection followed her movements precisely, forming a small Hydro shield. Encouraged, she extended her will to the other copies, feeling each one react to her emotions, thoughts, and intentions.
Slowly, the chamber fell silent. The whispers faded. The reflections coalesced into a single, swirling orb of shimmering water that floated above the floor.
Furina stared. "I… think I did it."
Focalors nodded. "You are learning. Soon, you may not only control the water, but the echoes of yourself it mirrors. Be careful; power like this is both a tool and a responsibility."
"Responsibility," she repeated, twirling her scepter. "A concept meant for mortals and—sometimes—gods. Very well, I shall add it to my list of dramatic obligations."
The orb pulsed gently, as if approving her statement. Furina smiled faintly. "Alright. Fontaine is mine. The reflections are mine. And maybe—just maybe—I'm finally writing my own script."
Focalors placed a hand on her shoulder. "The next step is discovering why the reflections began. That journey may take you beyond Fontaine."
Furina tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. "Beyond Fontaine, you say? A new stage? A new audience? Excellent… I've always wanted an interregional debut."
As they ascended the spiral staircase back into the main canals, the whispers lingered, faint but insistent, like an unfinished verse.
Furina grinned. "Then let's finish it. Act by act. Scene by scene. And perhaps, with fewer miniature croissants next time."
Focalors chuckled. "One step at a time, Archon."
And as the city of Fontaine settled into night, lit by lanterns and the gentle ripples of Hydro magic, Furina realized: the stage was bigger than she had imagined, and she would need every ounce of creativity, courage, and ridiculous flair to perform it.
End of Chapter 5