Before Seraphine's eyes, a flat, suffocating cold opened. She was underwater, surrounded by water that pushed down on her and penetrated every inch of her body, thereby lowering her to the bone. Shadowy creatures floated about her; while their hollow, lifeless eyes seemed to concentrate only on her, they were hazy and indistinct. Every face murmured her name in harsh, stinging tones—a continual reminder that she was far from secure, like salt on damaged flesh scraping across her skin.
Her arms seemed unbearably heavy, as if the water itself had twisted its currents into her bones, tying her. Trying to push against the unrelenting water, she extended out, looking for a hold or direction. Every step was a fight; every breath, an almost difficult work. Then she felt it—a terrible entity coiling and moving into the darkness. It was beyond her understanding. The water surrounding her became heavier, more oppressive, like an ancient force pulling her ever deeper.
Her heart raced, its loud, hard pounding reverberating in the great, suffocating quiet. Every pulse seemed to set fire to her ankle; its unusual heat rose to a searing intensity, pulling her further into the unyielding grip of the water. Cold and unrefined dread ripped at her until she believed she heard a lifeline cast into the void.
"Seraphine, you cannot give up," said a voice cutting with a strong, uncompromising tone over the ocean. Though weak and fighting to reach her above the terrible pressure, it provided a glimmer of clarity. For a minute, her thoughts flew to the world above, with its air, sunshine, and life—a life she wasn't ready to abandon.
Somehow, down under her uncertainty and anxiety, that link sprung to life. Unaware until now, her pulse matched the odd power of the mark as if it followed the tides of the ocean. Hazy sights danced in her head: pictures that slowly developed into a distinct picture of her father fighting turbulent waves, his face twisted in agony, his eyes far and otherworldly. In his hands, he held something prohibited and priceless—a little gleam buried in the depths.
Not me… not far-off, chilly, sorrowful... His voice whispered in her head, pushing, "You have to be free."
Stunning her, the words pierced the veil of doubt. Though it felt like pulling herself through unrelenting water, she gritted her teeth and made herself stand. Every inch acquired was fought for; every movement was a battle. Her ankle ignited, its scorching heat becoming stronger as though pushing her to stay despite her frantic attempts.
Then a sound—a loud, guttural growl booming over the sea—heralded the Guardian's arrival. Its massive shadow hung over her like a predator, its quiet threat spreading her despair and sparking her survival and combat instincts.
A last, frantic push opened her sight. The heavy pressure eased, and her body sprang up; the water became thinner until she finally broke free. Gasping violently, she came up, lungs working hard as she fought to get onto the ship's side. The fresh night air hit her like a shock.
Resting on the deck, her lungs ached with each breath, and her limbs shook with exhaustion. She looked at Rowan. Though clouded with weariness, his countenance was ashen; his eyes sparkled with great delight at seeing her. Though its menace remained like an approaching storm, she could see the shadow of the Guardian retreating into the depths in the distance.
Lying there, chest heaving, her ankle tattoo throbbed with a strange warmth—a constant, unyielding beat tying her to something old, deep, and merciless. The scorching discomfort had faded to a strange, somewhat calming rhythm.
Rowan knelt before her—a remarkable, unfathomable picture considering his tail. His metamorphosis never quite clarifies if or how he grows legs; hence, it is unknown how he pulls his tail off. His eyes traveled over her with a tenderness that bore the weight of unsaid secrets, and his face was a combination of relief and dread. Kneeling at her ankle, he seemed to protect the concealed reality of the mark. She felt he was aware precisely of what it hid and the still-waiting hazards.
Seraphine straightened herself and set her unrelenting stare on him, calling all will. Rowan, what mark is this? And for what cause did my father pass away? Though within, every pulse screamed for answers he had long evaded; her voice was constant.
Though still gloomy, Rowan's eyes became softer with a memory he dreaded to disclose. He breathed out slowly, as if the truth's weight had pulled him down for far too long. "Your father..." he started, hesitating as the words hung between them. Seraphine, he was looking not only for information. He wanted a relic linked to the strength of the water, considerably more hazardous.
"Relic?" she echoed softly, trying to understand the magnitude of his discovery.
Rowan shook his head in seriousness. A treasure from antiquity, woven from coral and infused with the actual force of the ocean. Many people refer to it as the Coral Crown. Legends claim it can bend the water to one's desire; every such gift, however, has a high cost. None who have sought it have come back unhurt.
The words hung heavily between them, each one intensifying the frigid dread in her bones. This relic, with its seductive and lethal power, was the source of her father's enigmatic injuries, the shadows that tormented his eyes, and his tragic fixation. Now, unwittingly, she was connected to that same dangerous fate.
"Then I'll look for it," she said, every word spun with will, her voice steady and quiet. The truth must be known by me; no distance will stop me. I have to understand why he gambled everything.
Rowan's expression changed to show both respect and sadness, as if he understood all too well the perilous path she was about to walk. Though he couldn't protect her from the abyss into which she was going, he valued her unyielding resolve.
Then be ready, he said softly, his voice laced with deep sorrow. Starting along this path will make you unable to turn back. The water recalls; it offers no pardon.