Rex carried Lyria through the quiet halls of the settlement, her body light against his shoulder, still trembling from exhaustion. Each step echoed softly in the stone corridors, and for a moment, the world seemed suspended, waiting for what would come next. The faint amber glow from his tattoos flickered across the walls, casting long shadows that danced with the memories of the night's horrors.
At last, he reached the Chief's chamber. The room was dimly lit, lanterns swaying faintly in the gentle currents, casting golden pools of light over the stone floor. The chieftain's eyes lifted as Rex stepped in, and a faint sigh escaped him as he gestured toward a mat near the center of the room.
"Set her down gently," the chieftain said.
Rex lowered Lyria carefully, laying her on the mat. She stirred, blinking against the soft light, her eyes wide and still hazy with fatigue. When she caught sight of the faint crescent mark glowing on her back, a subtle awe flickered across her features.
The chieftain leaned forward, his voice quiet but steady. "That mark… it is no ordinary sign. It is the power of a plate, though one older and far more sacred than most. It belonged to the Guardian of the Valley — the protector who once kept our people safe from the depths. That Guardian died the day you were born, and yet… a fragment of that strength remained, dormant. Until now."
Lyria's eyes widened. "I… I've carried it all this time?" she whispered, disbelief threading her voice.
The chieftain nodded solemnly. "Yes. You were born under its shadow. Its power waits within you. The battle tonight… it stirred that fragment. It is why you survived, though the struggle was immense. It chose this moment to awaken."
Rex held the black plate he had retrieved from the leviathan's eye. He turned it over slowly, feeling the subtle weight of potential in his hands. The chieftain's words pulled him deeper into thought, drawing parallels between Lyria's mark and the plate he now possessed. Both carried the power of the deep, yet the forms were different — one latent, delicate, almost fragile, the other raw, forceful, and alive with his own strength.
Then the chieftain's gaze shifted, darkening. "And yet there is more," he said, his voice heavy with grief and warning. "The master… I sensed it long before this night. A darkness growing in his heart. Ambition twisted with obsession. I had hoped to limit the risk, to never send all our hunters at once. But even then, I could not foresee how far he would fall."
Rex listened, silent, his jaw tight. The words hung in the air, heavier than any current he had swum. The master's betrayal had left scars that ran deep, not just on the bodies lost, but on the trust of the valley itself.
The chieftain's expression softened as he shook his head. "We are a small people in a vast, dangerous world. Power must be tempered with wisdom. Otherwise, it consumes everything around it. We mourn tonight not just for the lives lost, but for the fragility of those we depend on."
Footsteps echoed suddenly in the chamber as other clan members began to arrive. They moved with solemn purpose, carrying offerings, mats, and lanterns. Their faces were drawn, sorrowful, every movement measured. Even the youngest looked older than their years, the weight of recent events pressing down on them.
Rex and Lyria remained seated, quietly observing as the room filled. The chieftain gave orders in low tones, directing the preparations for a memorial ceremony — a rite for those who had been consumed by the leviathan. The air was thick with grief, and every shadow seemed to mourn alongside them.
Rex's gaze drifted to Lyria. Her crescent mark pulsed softly, faint against the amber glow of his tattoos. He reached out subtly, brushing his hand against hers. She met his touch with a small squeeze of her fingers, a shared acknowledgment of the horrors they had faced and the burden they now carried together.
The black plate in Rex's hand caught the light, its single amber gem glowing faintly. He turned it over again, studying the twelve empty recesses that seemed to promise power yet to be claimed. The possibilities whispered to him — potential waiting, latent, dangerous, and profound. He could feel it humming faintly beneath his fingertips, a promise of strength he had yet to fully understand.
The chieftain stepped back, surveying the chamber as the clan moved silently in preparation. He looked to Rex and Lyria, his eyes lingering on both of them with a mixture of respect, sorrow, and cautious hope. The room felt suspended between grief and possibility, a fragile balance of mourning and survival.
Rex exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. He kept his eyes on the plate, on Lyria, and on the chieftain — silent, thinking, planning. Everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same.
The murmurs of the clan, the flickering lights, the soft bioluminescent glow along the walls — they were a reminder. In the depths, even amid loss, life persisted. And for Rex, that persistence came with the weight of responsibility, the power of the deep, and the knowledge that his path had only just begun.
He settled back, the plate warm in his hand, and for a brief moment, allowed himself to feel the stillness, to absorb the sorrow, to understand the darkness, and to prepare for what was coming next.