Murphy Ridire took a deep breath—today was going to be a difficult day. As a retired mer-knight and former trident bearer, he had been to Neptune’s throne room many times before. The image of the magnificent chambers had been seared into his memory—the great kelp chandelier, lit by live, angler fish whose rows and rows of teeth cast uncomfortable shadows along the walls of polished coral. The thick, briny water with a heavy salt scent, and the strange currents that stirred through the large, ill-fitted, stained glass windows, brushing against everything with a barely restrained intensity, had never left his mind.

And now, he was about to see it all again, in the flesh, years after his last battle. Years after his honorable discharge from Neptune’s service. A young attendant stepped inside, greeting the former Knight Ridire with a cautious yet respectful movement, before motioning for him to follow her through the grand halls. Today, there was no celebration of victory, there was none of the usual pomp and pageantry. Instead, the palace reeked of grief and loss. Not only was a young lieutenant's life lost, but that young lieutenant could wield magic efficiently, and was a fine member of the Seaspell Casters. 

As Murphy entered the chamber, his finned ears immediately picked up on the tightly clustered whispers that filled the room. Officers, courtiers and advisors were speaking—no, gossiping—about what happened, exchanging rumors of Shea's gruesome death as if they were playing cards. Some spoke of the way he was stabbed, some spoke of how he was found with a flag through his heart, and, most disturbingly, some spoke of his son’s actions.

Firth Ridire, the young legionnaire with a heart of gold, clinging to his dead platoon leader as if his life depended on it. Bringing him out of the wreckage, making sure he was intact for the funeral. Murphy’s ears burned with shame and fury each time he heard the tale of his son’s empathy. That was not what he wanted his bloodline to be known for. That was not what he signed Firth up into the military for. Being soft and sweet got you nowhere.

Just look at Sonas.

The heavy, double doors to the grand hall groaned open, and the Seaspell Casters floated in. Their long robes of cerulean and gold billowed out behind them in the current, the threads of their garb woven with needles encased in mana, bringing them to a shimmer despite never catching the light. They gathered at the throne, their small group noticeably even smaller today. Shea had once stood among them. But now, he was gone. Absent, and never to return.

Behind them filed the lieutenants. These were the figures who led Neptune’s armies into the most perilous depths of battle, sent in on the frontlines, and constantly risking their lives for even the pettiest of squabbles. Ariel was first to enter, and Murphy’s eyes lingered on the young man, who stood proud but silent, eyes sharp with the cold detachment of a seasoned warrior.

A warrior like himself.

Where on earth did he go wrong with Firth? Why was his offspring—the son of a knight—faring worse than this orphan with no militaristic training?

If only Ariel had been born his son. Then, his incredible talent would’ve been quadrupled, and Neptune would’ve been gifted an even more incredible fighter to serve alongside him.

Instead, all Murphy could offer was Firth. And that irked him. Greatly.

Next to Ariel stood Tara Sonas, her armor its usual gray, but her tunic, and the fabric underneath, a shade of deep black—a mourning shade. She looked to the ground, most likely caught in somber thought about the recent battle and the losses she took. Shea and her were family, after all, and in the midst of starting their own.

Finally, Neptune’s advisors shuffled in. They were the voice of reason, the minds that guided the kingdom’s movements. However, they looked more shaken than anyone else today—it was their burden to temper the fire burning in Neptune’s eyes, and that would be difficult, considering their more personable, most reasonable, and most sympathetic member, Murdock Sonas, was not in attendance.

Murphy could understand why the man had excused himself from the meeting, but… a pang of irritation seared through him regardless. If Tara could stand here, privy to a discussion about her husband’s untimely demise, why couldn’t Murdock? He was a grown man—Shea’s father.

Was the whole family full of tenderhearted fools? Could none of them put business before their feelings?

As the last of the nobility settled, Neptune himself entered, late as always. The king was enormous, standing at twelve-feet-tall, momentarily blocking the light from the chandelier with each long stride of his octopus tail. The nine tentacles undulated behind him in a swirl of deep blacks and blues, and his skin, tanned and leathery, gleaned against the water’s reflection. His navy hair was voluminous, his golden jewelry loud and jangly, dragging the water with it as he sat atop his throne, staring down at the crowd through a regal brow, his bright eyes glowing in the dark.

With a commanding lift of his trident, Neptune called the meeting to order. The court stilled, the mummers fell, and everyone turned to face their leader. “We gather today to address the grievous loss suffered in the latest ambush. Shea Sonas, lieutenant of the Fourth Platoon, member of the Seaspell Casters, has fallen. All squads under his lead have been decimated, and my kingdom is under attack.”

Before Neptune could begin his tirade, one of the senior advisors, a wizened merman with graying hair, hesitantly approached. “Your Majesty, his platoon was not prepared for such an ambush. The rebels—”

“Rebels? They are not rebels, do not give them such a name. They are traitors.” His trident slammed against the floor, rattling the very foundation of the throne room, the stone beneath him cracking. “They fled from their rightful king. They deny the divine rule bestowed upon me, and hacked the very system meant to govern them. I will not stand for their insurrection.”

Again, the senior advisor spoke, hoping to inject the facts of the matter into the conversation first, before the King’s emotions got in the way. “With all due respect, the… traitors have grown stronger, more organized. Their knowledge of the system suggests they may be receiving outside help, possibly from someone who has ties to the royal family themself. Perhaps we should consider a diplomatic route while we conduct an internal investigation. We’ve already lost too many—”

“Diplomatic?” Neptune let out a deep and humorless laugh. “You wish me to parley with those who not only defy me, but desecrate the sanctity of the system, of our ancient rule? Who hack into the mechanics, steal what is not theirs, and poison other players?”

He rose from his throne, his massive, full form casting a shadow over the assembly. Slowly, his tentacles unfurled, and Neptune gripped his trident, its tip glowing with the faint trace of dark energy. “Our people have ruled these waters for centuries,” he began, his thunderous words shaking the coral on the walls. “From the dawn of the Abyssal Age, the royal bloodline has been the sole bearers of the system. It was gifted to us, and only to us, by the Great Leviathan, by the Immortal Tentacle Monster himself. I was chosen. Me. And my consciousness has been transferred from Neptune to Neptune, guaranteeing the righteousness of the System Controller.”

His eyes swept the room, ready to strike down anyone that was not at full attention. “It has been that way for centuries. One king with full control. Under him are those of royal blood, given the blessing of making updates, and making necessary changes. And then, finally, those who serve in our military, aid in our expansion efforts, can view hidden screens, offer missions and rewards in order to build-up our foot soldiers. That is all.”

The Seaspell Casters nodded in solemn agreement. They, more than anyone, understood Neptune’s anger. The System was their power source, their lifeblood. So much so that, when one of them died, they were sacrificed to the great Sea, turned into energy in order to keep the mana flowing. Those sacrifices should not be used by idiot, rebel sea dogs. They were not the ones dying to create the magic within this world.

Neptune’s gaze turned to the senior advisor, his eyes hardening like ice. “And now you would have me make peace with those who threaten to take and tarnish what is not theirs? They seek to unravel what myself and my ancestors fought to preserve. They want to make it open to all! To remove the divine right of royalty!”

“They hacked into the system, yes,” one of the younger advisors, a posh-looking mermaid with obsidian scales, interjected nervously, “but that is because they believe it should be accessible to all, sire. That the restrictions placed on common folk are—”

“Restrictions are how we maintain order. In what world does everyone get to play God?” Neptune’s trident began to glow brighter, his black, spindly magic snaking up the golden weapon in his hands. “The System was crafted for the elite, for those with wisdom and strength to wield it responsibly. Not for everyone to abuse at will. Life needs to have challenges, life needs to have loss and sorrow. And people are not born good. They will jump on the chance to sabotage and harm, just as the traitors do by hacking, poisoning, and attacking.”

There was a long beat of uncomfortable silence, until Ariel’s voice broke through. “Your Majesty, what course of action do you suggest? We cannot simply defend the borders endlessly. We need to strike back. Decisively.”

Neptune nodded approvingly. “Indeed, young MacNamara. The rebels must be punished. They must be made to understand that fleeing from my rule, from the rule of the royal bloodline, is a crime without forgiveness.” He paused, looking off into the distance momentarily, as if envisioning the future conquest. “We will scour the land. We will root them out from their hideaways, from the trenches and ruins they dare call home. And when we find them, they will be shown no mercy.”

The room stilled at Neptune’s words. From his ancient beginnings, their king had always been ruthless, both in battle and beyond. Each time he began getting old, each time his hair became grayer, he’d sacrifice his youngest son, wiping his memory through the power of the system and swapping their consciousnesses, giving him another hundred years of life. But this was something more than cold and unfeeling brutality. More than war and consequence—it was a promise of annihilation.

Tara, feeling particularly close to the topic of discussion, spoke up next. “Your Majesty, while I agree with your sentiment, we must be wary of the cost. Our recruitment numbers are already low, and we have lost a good helping of promising soldiers to these rebels. The common folk are growing restless… they feel as if you devote your time to the hunt instead of building the kingdom you have.”

Neptune turned to her, and Tara prepared for the worst. But, as he surveyed her funeral garb, her wounded face, he sighed. “I understand your concern, Sonas. But we cannot show weakness, not now, not ever. The kingdom is on the brink of war, and it will always be as long as these traitors exist outside the walls, building up their own “countries,” as if they can live outside of my will.”

With a swift swing of his trident, Neptune gestured to the Seaspell Casters. “You will redouble your efforts in safeguarding our forces. And I will personally ensure that our best are at the forefront of the coming battles—no more happy, yellow mermen that like to take it easy, who think they're blessed enough to neglect their Luck. Those personalities… should stay foot soldiers. Shea neglected the fundamentals. He neglected the will to win, the will to dominate. He was more focused on comfort.” His voice grew cold. “His death should serve as a reminder to all of you—magic alone will not save you. Only loyalty to the throne and the strength to enforce my will can secure both your life and your victory.”

A slew of hushed whispers ran through the court. Shea’s was a tragedy, and Neptune’s refusal to mourn or even acknowledge the lieutenant’s sacrifice made many uneasy. But no one said anything. No one challenged the king, not even Tara. His rule was absolute, his bloodline provenly divine.

Ariel cleared his throat, commanding attention once again. “And what of the rebels, Your Majesty? Will we offer them terms of surrender?”

Neptune laughed for the second time this meeting, the cruel sound reverberating through the palace walls. “Surrender?” He leaned forward, looking the red merman up and down, his octopus tail floating beneath him in the current. “No. There will be no peace, no mercy. They will be wiped from the ocean floor upon capture, just as we did fifteen years ago.”