The fires of Stormhaven were dying down, replaced by the cool, salty mist of the evening tide. The "Army of the Broken" had set up camp in the ruins of the dockyards, their manic energy from the battle fading into a collective, exhausted stupor. Thorne moved among them, confiscating the glowing pikes and forcing men to drink water instead of seeking another "Blessing."
Kael Light stood at the end of the longest pier, looking out at the darkened Azure Sea. The water was choppy, black waves crashing against the wooden pylons with a rhythm that sounded like a heartbeat slowing down.
I HATE IT HERE, the God's voice hissed in Kael's mind. It wasn't the arrogant roar of the Capital or the hungry purr of the desert. It was a frantic, scrabbling noise, like a rat trapped in a flooding cellar. THE SALT... IT BURNS THE VOID. THE PRESSURE... IT CRUSHES THE EGO. DO NOT GO DOWN THERE, KAEL. LET THE MERCHANTS HAVE THE SEA.
"You're afraid," Kael whispered to the wind. "For the first time since I met you, you're actually terrified."
I AM NOT AFRAID OF DEATH, the God snapped. I AM AFRAID of SILENCE. THE DEEP IS WHERE I SAT FOR A THOUSAND YEARS, KAEL. IT IS A JAIL WITHOUT BARS.
"Saint," a voice interrupted.
Kael turned. Ignis was limping down the pier, his mechanical arm whirring as it adjusted to the humidity. He held a scroll of blueprints that were stained with oil and seawater.
"We've secured the harbor," Ignis said, pointing to the wrecks of the Sultanate landing craft. "But we have a problem. Site-Five isn't just underwater. It's in the 'Trench of Whispers.' That's three miles down. The pressure there is roughly eight thousand pounds per square inch. Even if I could build a submersible out of Soul-Steel, the mana-density down there would crush the engine."
"The Sultanate has a blockade," Kael said, pointing to the distant lights of the remaining Dreadnoughts. "They know we can't get past them on the surface."
"Exactly," Ignis sighed. "We're trapped on the coast. Unless you can part the ocean, we can't reach the Cradle."
Kael looked back at the water. The "Reforged Sun" ring on his finger was dim, the Star-Core resting. He felt the weight of the decision. To go down there was to enter the domain where his "Agony" would be magnified by the crushing weight of the ocean, and where the God inside him would be a liability, not an asset.
Suddenly, the sound of the waves changed.
The crashing rhythm stopped. The sea became a flat, obsidian mirror. The smell of smoke and oil vanished, replaced by the scent of ozone and lilies.
Ignis froze, his mechanical eye dimming as time around them suspended.
"Kael Light."
Kael didn't turn. He knew the voice. He stepped off the pier, but instead of falling into the water, his boot landed on a solid surface. He was standing on the ocean, the water supporting him like polished glass.
Aura, the Goddess of Faith, stood ten paces away. She wasn't glowing with the brilliant light of the desert this time; she was luminous with a soft, bioluminescent blue, like the creatures of the deep. Her robes floated around her as if she were underwater, and her eyes held the depth of the trench itself.
"The God is right to be afraid," Aura said, her voice rippling through the air. "The ocean is the womb of the world, but it is also the grave of Aethelgard. It is the only place where the Sun cannot reach."
"Why are you here?" Kael asked. "To give me another blessing?"
"No," Aura said, floating closer. "To give you a history. You seek Site-Five. You think it is just another factory. But the Sunken Cradle is not an Academy creation, Kael. It is the ruin of the temple where the Dark God was first summoned."
Kael's breath hitched. "This... entity... it came from here?"
"It came from the ambition of your ancestors," Aura revealed. "The Aethelgardians wanted to cure mortality. They tried to filter the 'Void' through the 'Sun-Blood' to create an elixir of eternal life. Instead, they created a hunger that swallowed their city. The ocean rushed in to contain it. The salt is a ward, Kael. It keeps the God's main body asleep in the Forbidden Continent, and it keeps his fragments in check here."
She pointed downward, through the black water. Kael's vision shifted, guided by her divinity. He saw through the miles of depth. He saw a massive, inverted pyramid made of obsidian and gold, resting on the ocean floor. It was surrounded by a field of shimmering bubbles—the "Breath of the Ancients."
"The Source-Vessel in the deep is not a child," Aura said sadly. "It is an infant. A baby born during the fall of the city, placed in stasis for a millennium. The Academy found him and hooked him into the geothermal vents. He is the heartbeat of the tides."
Kael felt a spike of rage so pure it nearly shattered the vision. "An infant?"
"If you go down there," Aura warned, "the God inside you will try to take over. The fear will drive it to madness. It will try to drown you to save itself. You must be the anchor, Kael. You must hold your breath for both of you."
"I don't have a ship," Kael said.
Aura smiled, and the ocean beneath them began to glow. "You do not need a ship of iron. You need a ship of faith. Look to the enemy, Kael. Sometimes, the sword that strikes you is the shield you need."
The vision shattered.
The sound of the crashing waves returned instantly. Ignis blinked, his mechanical eye rebooting.
"Saint?" Ignis asked, shaking his head. "You spaced out for a second. I was saying, we don't have a vehicle."
Kael looked at the wreckage of the Sultanate landing craft drifting near the pier. Specifically, he looked at a "Breacher-Pod"—a heavily armored, windowless cylinder used by the Iron-Jacks to board ships from below.
"Ignis," Kael said, his voice resonating with a new plan. "That Breacher-Pod. It's airtight, right?"
"Well, yes," Ignis said, following his gaze. "It's Lead-Bismuth. It can withstand pressure, but it has no propulsion for deep diving, and no viewports. It's a coffin with an engine."
"We don't need viewports," Kael said, tapping the silver-blue ring in his eye. "I can see the mana-currents. And we don't need an engine."
Kael walked toward the edge of the pier.
"Strip the pod," Kael commanded. "Take out the steam-drive. Take out the weapons. Fill the hull with 'Dawn-Mana' capacitors. I'm going to turn it into a diving bell."
"And who is going to pilot this coffin?" Ignis asked, looking skeptical. "You need someone who understands buoyancy and pressure valves."
"I do," Kael said. "And I need you to come with me."
Ignis paled. "Me? Saint, I'm made of brass and gears. Salt water is my worst nightmare."
"You built the machines that killed my city," Kael said, looking at the Artificer. "Now you're going to help me save the one that drowned. Besides... I need someone to remind me of the physics when the magic starts to fail."
Ignis looked at the dark water, then at his mechanical arm. He sighed, a sound of escaping steam. "Fine. But if we implode, I'm haunting you."
Three hours later, the Abyssal Bell was ready.
It was an ugly thing—a scarred cylinder of dull grey metal, stripped of its Sultanate markings and etched with hasty runes of reinforcement by Kael's own hand. It hung from a crane at the end of the pier, bobbing ominously in the swell.
Thorne and Garret stood by the crane.
"The vampires won't go near the water," Garret grunted, looking at the sea with distaste. "And my pack floats too well. You are on your own down there, Father."
"Keep the city safe," Kael said. "If the blockade moves, light the beacons."
Kael and Ignis climbed into the cramped interior of the pod. It smelled of grease and stale air. Ignis sealed the hatch with a heavy, metallic clang, spinning the pressure wheel until it locked.
"Atmosphere is sealed," Ignis said, his voice echoing in the tin can. "We have six hours of air. After that, we breathe carbon dioxide."
Kael placed his hand on the central capacitor bank he had filled with his own energy. The interior of the pod began to glow with a soft, iridescent light.
"Let's go," Kael whispered.
I HATE YOU, the God whimpered as the crane released the cable.
The Abyssal Bell hit the water with a splash and began to sink.
Kael closed his eyes. He felt the cold embrace of the ocean wrapping around the metal. He felt the pressure building, pressing against his "Stable Agony" like a giant's hand.
They were descending into the Trench of Whispers. The war above was paused. The war below was just beginning.