Page 71 of The Divine Shallows
“Run!” Sylas bellowed towards the Darkmaw candidate. “Run, Galen!”
Beneath Galen’s feet, the waves glowed softly, swirling, and pulsating with magic. In the blink of an eye, Galen landed on the water’s surface with a thud, remaining upright with his hands braced against it. It should have been impossible. Elyria’s eyes widened in confusion. The waves appeared unchanged, still rippling and churning, yet Galen knelt upon their surface. She watched as the Darkmaw candidate pushed himself upright and dashed in her direction. With an exasperated grunt, Sylas continued channeling his magic, creating a solid pathway upon the waves for Galen to find refuge on their raft.
This was the magnitude of Sylas’ abilities as an alterist. He manipulated the laws of reality by reversing time and solidifying liquid. Elyria weighed the actuality of it—this was the scope of power Bloodweaver warlocks and sorceresses possessed.
Galen continued his frantic escape across the waves, evading the blood-eyed eel, which shrieked in frustration at his unexpected getaway. Above the arena, the storm in the skies ceased—undoubtedly Kerrick’s doing to provide Galen with a chance to find better footing. The blood-eyed eel pursued the Darkmaw candidate, snapping at his heels. Yet, Galen traversed the waves at an astonishing speed. He was only a few feet away when Sylas dropped to his knees in exhaustion, releasing his power, unable to sustain it any longer.
Galen managed to fling himself onto their raft, landing heavily in front of Elyria. His feet wavered as he attempted to regainbalance, but he stumbled into her, causing her to lose her footing and tumble off the raft without warning.
Elyria heard Sylas calling out her name just before she plunged into the dark waves. The rush of water filled her ears as she was submerged again. With powerful strokes of her arms, she fought against the current and surfaced. Elyria pushed her slick strands of snow-white hair away from her face and scanned the arena. Sylas and Galen had drifted several feet away, too far to reach immediately, considering the blood-eyed eel lurking nearby. Keeping herself afloat with her arms, she searched for safety in the swirling waters. Fortunately, she spotted an unoccupied raft a couple of meters away.
Elyria extended her hand toward it, weaving a thread of her magic to coax the wooden raft toward her. Responding to her call, it began drifting slowly in her direction. Soon, the wooden raft was just inches away from her grasp. She reached out, finally making contact, and held it in place to pull herself atop it.
Just as she was about to hoist herself onto the solid wooden surface, something seized her leg.
Startled, Elyria jerked her leg firmly, but whatever had captured her foot refused to let go. Irritated, she turned around to identify the source. Elyria found herself face-to-face with Kerrick’s sapphire gaze as one of his scaled hands clamped around her ankle, his serpentine smile sending chills down her spine. Furious, Elyria’s hand shot out toward him, readying a spell attack, but it was too late.
“Gotcha.” Kerrick grinned wickedly before yanking her down into the depths.
Elyria was dragged beneath the waves once more, vowing to herself that this would be the last time. Kerrick pulled her deeper and deeper, the pressure from the water’s depth compressing her body uncomfortably. She kicked at him in a futile attempt to loosen his grip, but it was in vain. Kerrick glided through the water as effortlessly as a siren, and Elyria found herself at the mercy of his mischief as they descendedfurther. Before long, her head began to thunder, and her chest heaved as air bubbles escaped from her mouth. Elyria suppressed the involuntary reaction to breathe and forced herself to focus on breaking free.
Bitterness began to alight within her, and she nurtured it like a flame, stoking the emotion until it ignited. Elyria fought against the relentless current that dragged her, clawing her way toward Kerrick, using her own limbs to inch closer to him. Fortunately, Kerrick remained oblivious to her approach, his lapis hair trailing behind him as his hand remained firmly clasped around her ankle. He was too bold, too careless. Elyria found herself mere inches away from him, folded in half at the hip.
That’s when she lunged for him.
Elyria’s right hand shot forward, seizing a fistful of Kerrick’s lapis locks, and she jerked his head backward until their faces were inches apart. Kerrick’s cerulean eyes widened with surprise as he attempted to push her away, but Elyria had already gripped both sides of his temples.
Summoning her native magic forward, Elyria felt a surge of power coursing through her arms, erupting from her palms as it flooded into Kerrick’s mind. She commanded one word, a single utterance that reverberated in his psyche: pain. Instantly, Kerrick’s face contorted in agony, his body going limp as he released her immediately, trembling in silence. The tables had turned, and now it was Elyria who wore the look of satisfaction. Though fatigue began to creep over her like a silent shadow, she lingered in this moment of retribution, watching him closely.
But soon, her lungs screamed for air. Suppressing her self-indulgence, Elyria pushed Kerrick’s form away from her and propelled herself toward the surface. As she breached the water’s surface, she gasped for air, filling her lungs with precious oxygen. Treading water, she quickly spotted the abandoned raft again and swam toward it. Gripping the wooden raft, she hoisted herself atop it, kneeling on the surface to catch her breath for a moment. In front of her, the chaos continued to unfold in the arena as Lynora and Lillia battled againstthe blood-eyed eel. Elyria watched them work together in a coordinated assault, operating like twin blades forged from the same sword.
Sylas remained on the wooden raft from which she had been thrown just a short distance away. Iva circled the skies with vigilant eyes, ready to use her restorative powers if needed. Galen had crafted another catamaran and was launching attacks from another contraption he concocted. The crowd’s enthusiastic vigor was impossible to ignore. It seemed the five other candidates had dealt quite a bit of damage while she was being dragged beneath the surface by Kerrick. How much time had passed? It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since the ritual began.
From the corner of her vision, Elyria noticed Kerrick’s head emerge from the inky depths. Her gaze bore into him, refusing to back down or lose her edge. The stunt she pulled before was meant to unsettle him. However, she hadn’t intended to inflict any irreparable harm; she just wanted to let him know she could. What she didn’t expect was the smile that spread across Kerrick’s face as their gazes met.
That’s when she felt the creeping throb gnawing at her abdomen. Elyria slowly lifted a hand to press against her stomach, wincing. As she removed her hand, she looked down and saw her fingers slick with red ichor. Beneath her tattered tunic, she discovered a deep laceration across her waist. Stunned, a sharp pain began to register in her mind as her adrenaline no longer masked her injury.
Elyria’s breathing soon became sluggish and laborious. Her mind started to fog and turn muddled. She blinked hard, shaking her head to clear it, but the feeling persisted.What’s happening?She commanded herself to concentrate as she attempted to slow the bleeding from the wound. She was no Prymont healer, but she could try to staunch the flow. Managing to clot off the wound, she turned her attention back to Kerrick. Now, her breaths were strained, and her muscles began to stiffen.What’s happening to me?Even as her body began to shut down, her eyes remained alert.
Kerrick’s smirk remained vindictive as he lifted a spear out of the water to show her. It was different from the one crafted from sand he fashioned earlier to impale the blood-eyed eel. This one was made of a brilliant ochre-colored coral with hardened polyps.Serithium. Elyria looked at the shaft and saw the spear tip smeared with her blood. She recognized the unique pattern of the poisonous coral and cursed. Serithium coral was noteworthy for its paralytic properties and notorious for its slow metabolism from the body. Depending on the amount of serithium her body absorbed through her wound, Elyria could be paralyzed for hours. The effects were just beginning now, but as time progressed, she would be unable to move. Just as she prepared to unleash a torrent of obscenities towards Kerrick, he looked past her and thrust the ochre spear through the air, letting it fly.
With a powerful arc, the weapon soared over her and headed straight for Sylas. Elyria’s eyes trailed the spear and watched Sylas catch it effortlessly with one hand above his head. She turned to face him, and his sea-green eyes collided with hers. His body went taut for a second, but he tore his eyes away from her and brought the tip of the colorful spear to his eye level. He turned his attention to the weapon instead. Sylas raised a hesitant hand and ran it across the tip of the spear, messily smearing her stained blood on his hand. Elyria saw that his aura was lashing chaotically, as if in conflict with itself. A look of confusion spread across her face at his strange action, but then her eyes widened as she made the connection.
The poison was overpowering her nervous system, dispersing like a disease. Yet, she summoned the strength to laugh sourly. Her aura flared with fury, and she pointed an accusatory finger at Sylas.
“You’re afuckinglegacy, aren’t you?” Elyria’s voice surged across the arena.
Sylas’ sea-green eyes locked with hers briefly, then lowered as they retreated. His deafening silence was theonly answer she needed.
Elyria clicked her tongue and shook her head.Spineless coward. “Of course you are.”
Very rarely, magical warlocks or sorceresses of Neramyr were born as legacies. These exceptional fey possessed an innate ability beyond their natural magical talents, a gift passed down from the ancient rulers of their House—this solitary ability, or feat, could not be learned or gained otherwise. While typically reserved for descendants of royal bloodlines, occasionally, a legacy emerged from other lineages.
If Sylas Fenhart was a Bloodweaver legacy, the blood that he had in his possession,her blood, was going to be her downfall.
Legacies were extraordinary. Legacies were invaluable. Legacies were powerful. Legacies were dangerous. Legacies were to be feared.
“I’m sorry,” Sylas’ voice was distant as he answered her. “This was the only way we’d stand a chance.”
