I’m…

I’m alive?

The figure who had saved me stepped forward, his shadow looming over mine and Shea’s meager display on the floor, red scales and a golden longsword that gleamed in the moonlit tide thrusting themselves into the center of my vision. His face was hidden beneath a shell-encrusted helm, but I could still make out his piercing eyes, his tanned skin, his long, red hair that cut through the gloom.

Was he a friend? Or a foe?

I couldn’t tell, couldn’t even find a sigil or a crest anywhere on him, not in this sooty darkness.

“I thought I’d find more… competition.” The man mused, his voice quiet with an obvious edge to it. He sounded smug, almost bored, and I followed as his gaze swept idly across the wreckage, the twisted remains of the ship, the debris, until it landed on my platoon. They were still struggling, still hardly holding on to life, still fruitlessly defending themselves. “Given the amount of carnage here, I expected the enemies to be top tier. But these rebels… they’re nothing.”

Rebels.

The mystery man was on my side, then.

“W-Who… who are you?” I managed to croak out, my throat raw from the strain of the battle and the earlier cries that had ripped through me. It was getting hard to breathe, my gills packed and jammed with blood and dirt.

The figure glanced down at me, cocking his head and considering whether I was worth addressing. After a pause, he sheathed his sword, leaning down to me. With a gentleness that belied his power, his hand reached out, gingerly prodding Shea’s neck, feeling his pulse point, checking for a sign of life.

"Sonas. Answer me if you're still here."

Nothing.

My grip tightened around Shea’s form, my head hanging low. I knew there was nothing to feel. My leader—my protector—was gone, after only a day of knowing him. But seeing this man confirm it, confirm his life was truly over, truly snuffed out, made my chest tighten, my heart squeeze with humiliation and sorrow. I could feel the familiar sting of tears prick at the corner of my eyes, could feel the lump in my throat return, but I shoved it down. I could not be weak and pathetic, not here. Now not. Not again.

“He’s dead, infantryman. Holding him will only hinder your ability to survive.”

With a shake of my head, I denied his recommendation. Though, he was right. My arms had begun to burn from the effort. Shea was mostly muscle, unfortunately for me. “Tell me, who are you?” 

“Ariel.” The figure said simply, finally answering my question as he flicked his red tail and straightened back up to full height. He glanced at me, then Shea once more, his lips curving into what may have been a pitiful smile beneath his helm, then reached out, patting my head in what I assumed was an attempt to comfort me. “If you want to cling to Sonas, fine. But he will not come back, not without some sort of resurrection elixir. Maybe… the Nereid’s Salvation. Or Aqua Vitae.” 

For a moment, Ariel’s eyes lingered. He stared at me, waiting to see if I would drop Shea.

I did not.

“Very well. Just make sure you survive.” His voice sounded crueler than before, an edge of indifference that made me feel… insignificant.

But that made sense. Ariel was quite infamous, and I knew of his reputation.

I had heard rumors about this man—this beast of a lieutenant. Ariel led his own platoon of forty men, and he led it well. All of his soldiers, including himself, were feared. Respected. And renown by almost everyone in the military—even my father. My never impressed, arrogant old man. He had spoken about Ariel before, chatted about him over drinks. In the same breath he’d insult my dying platoon leader, my father would gawk about Ariel and his prowess. They claimed he was unbeatable, moving through battlefields like a storm, leaving nothing but destruction in his wake.

I should have suspected he’d be sent to our rescue.

Around us, his foot soldiers moved with expert precision, cutting down the rebels as if it were merely a training exercise. Not a single one of them used magic, not a single one of them harnessed any energy from the waters—it was only swordsmanship, only technical skill that sounded the relentless rhythm of cold steel against squishy flesh. Each infantryman had a special weapon, too. Instead of our standard-issue spears and tridents, they held finely composed blades, longswords and polearms, their intricate designs a telltale sign of royal smith craftsmanship. One merman wielded a double-headed ax, cleaving through water with terrifying force. Another, nearby, used a chain-whip, its spiked tendrils snapping through ranks of rebels like weeds to a weed cutter. They were saving my comrades, saving us.

I… need to get up.

With a strained push, I propelled myself upward and out of the safety of the wooden wreckage, preparing to rejoin the battle. I couldn’t let them fight while I cowered. I had to—

“Firth! Watch out!” Someone screamed from the fray.

I turned to look, turned to search for the source of the distress call, turned to find the danger, but it seemed I had no reason to worry. No need to even pay it any heed. In a burst of motion, Ariel was there, his sword flashing through the water. It clashed with an enemy harpoon, wrestling the stone weapon back with relative ease. He pushed, then twisted, and then snapped it right in half, rendering it useless in a matter of moments. Once the rebel was unarmed, Ariel swam forward, fast. He dispatched the enemy with a thrust to the neck, the blade slipping through the rebel, and then right back out. I stared at the body as it floated lifelessly.

Dead. He was dead. He…

I had to turn my head, had to avert my eyes. All I could think about was the fact that that was a person. A life. Someone who would be missed. Someone who… who had wanted to go home after all of this. Someone with dreams and wants, hopes and fears. Someone like me.

Was he scared when Ariel went in for the brutal and efficient blow? Or was it too quick, too sudden to notice? Was it painful, or was the blade so sharp he could not feel the incision?

“Stop it.” Ariel spoke, noticing my pained expression. “They killed your platoon leader. Spare your sympathies.”

At that, he swam off, back into the battle, back to his platoon, leaving me there, alone, stunned and shaken.

The tides were shifting, the fight slowly moving back into our favor. Ariel and his soldiers—all broad-shouldered men, armored with jagged, coral plates—systematically dismantled the rebel forces, their formations tight and coordinated. There was no hesitation. There was no mercy. The fighting spirit in them was strong, and it was enough. The word of Neptune had been spoken, and Ariel was determined to carry it out, determined to win. Every strike? Perfect. On target. Every movement? Calculated. Aimed to take down the enemy swiftly and efficiently. Blood clouded the water, and the army swirled their swords, using the murk and haze to distort their positions.

I should’ve been relieved. But all I could think about during our valiant rescue was that it hadn’t happened soon enough. If only Ariel had gotten here ten minutes earlier, then Shea would still be here. Still be strong and determined, still wielding magic and screaming commands. But instead, all he could do now was lay limply in my arms. His golden scales had lost their shiny luster, and his lemony hair was tinged red.

[Side Quest Failed: Save Shea Sonas]

[Quest rewards forfeited.]

The notification blinked in the corner of my vision, cold and impersonal, sealing what I already knew. He was truly gone now—no resurrection elixir could save him, no potion of regeneration could miraculously restore his HP.

It was too late.

And I couldn’t help but feel as if it was all my fault.

“Maelstrom Spin!” Ariel’s voice rang in my ears, and I watched as himself and the men on the Triton Path joined him in executing a coordinated, devastating spinning attack. His long sword spun in his hand, jutted around by his wrist, conjuring a whirlwind of steel and death. The water around him began to surge like a whirlpool, dragging enemies toward him before they were sliced to ribbons.

That was… horrific. But I couldn’t look away. Triton Path users were nothing to scoff at—especially ones like Ariel, masters of their Skill Tree. The sheer strength they possessed was frightening, and the way they wielded their weapons, the way each strike dealt significant damage, made me second guess my petty dreams of magic.

Perhaps I needed to look elsewhere. Perhaps I should be strong. Protective. Domineering.

“Water Control!” Another voice cut through my thoughts, but this time, it was not Ariel’s. It was a platoon member, possibly a sergeant, or someone who directly assisted the lieutenant. All of the foot soldiers who were on Pandora’s Path immediately obliged, manipulating the current into a rushing torrent. The water surged forward, sweeping up several rebels in its wake, pinning them against the shipwreck’s decrepit walls. The enemies thrashed and snarled, struggling to escape, but the current held them tight.

So that’s what elemental manipulation did, then. You couldn’t necessarily harness energy, use magic, but you could grab objects from your surrounding biome and command them to shift and change at will.

If you were skilled, that was.

As the Pandora sector of Ariel’s platoon continued their attack, I noticed the others had begun to assist in evacuating my fumbling, frightened and dying platoon members. Ariel pointed and motioned, each of his foot soldiers gripping my mates with alarming ease, carrying them out and through the silt-clouded currents.

“Thunderstrike!” came the next direction, and I watched in awe and fear as the water around the rebels crackled with electricity, sending bolts of energy through their bodies. The rebels convulsed, their screams silenced by the lethal shock.

It must’ve been storming on the Overworld today for them to conjure lightning this far down in the depths.

I sank lower, hoping the massacre was almost over. There was so much death in the air, so many screams and cries. It hurt my heart in a way I didn’t think possible. The rebels had brought this war upon themself, had caused just as much pain and loss to my side, but watching them die so violently made me feel sick and hollow.

A final enemy, the last of the tirade, was cornered by Ariel near the bow of the shipwreck. His eyes darted wildly, fear etched across his face as Ariel closed in, longsword poised for the killing blow.

“Please…!” The rebel begged, his voice a garbled cry through the water. The young man was clearly injured already, his side slashed and his dorsal fins severed off.

Ariel’s expression remained impassive, but he suddenly turned to look at me. His free hand swooshed outward, pointing in my direction.

“You have killed many of our own. You have hurt my comrade greatly, scared his new recruits.” Ariel began, “You targeted our weakest platoon during a training. How pathetic are you?”

“I don’t… I don’t make the orders!”

“Apologize to him.”

“W-What?”

“I said,” Ariel took a step forward, his movements fast, as if he were teleporting, “apologize to him.”

A heavy silence fell over the battlefield as the rebel shakily took a step forward, unable to look me in the eyes. He bowed his head low, his forehead wrinkling in shame and humiliation. “I’m… sorry!”

His words were followed by a swift movement—an attempt to stab at my lower stomach. But that was swiftly cut off by Ariel’s longsword being thrust through the rebel’s head, ending his life in an instant.

“That was… my mistake.” Ariel said coolly to me. “I did not mean to put you in harm’s way.”