Undercurrents

The Tipun tribes called it Tuh'du—a storm unlike any other.

Each raindrop that fell from the heavens carried a Law of its own, embodying power beyond understanding. No two Descents were the same.

Some had left behind unfillable craters in the ocean. Others had reshaped currents, carved the ridge on Serth, or birthed things that had no right to exist.

This one had just begun.

And before even that—something that was once deemed an impossibility was occurring.

Finch, the floating city, was retreating inland.

A first in its history. It had never surrendered to a storm before, but even the Admiral had seen it fit to abandon the sea.

Leon stood by the window, watching. Soot was coiled around Nyssa's arm, staring at her. Trying to understand her fear when Leon seemed to be fine.

Far beyond the city, two raindrops fell toward the dark waters. One was boiling red, the other pitch black.

They were distant—hundreds of kilometers away—yet the air around them trembled. The ocean itself seemed to sense their descent, its waves rising in anticipation.

The first drop, the bloody tear, struck the sea. It did not splash. It did not ripple.

It simply disappeared, condensing into an imperceptible point.

A low hum followed, stretching outward in all directions, vibrating through the very bones of the world. The ocean frothed in disgust.

Soon, the second drop—black as night—landed on the same spot.

A detonation thundered across the horizon, sending shockwaves that cracked the air.

For a moment, everything was silent—then the water heaved—boiling, churning, turning red.

Leon narrowed his eyes. The first drop didn't just enter the water—it fused with it.

'The humming… that was the sound of at least two conflicting Laws trying to adjust to each other. But the second drop? It had forced the first one into reaction.' Leon silently guessed.

Like a catalyst in an unstable reaction—one had bound the ocean to its essence, while the other had destabilized it.

That wasn't just color spreading across the sea. That was transformation.

A shift in the nature of water itself.

The waves sloshed heavier, slower, as though burdened by their own weight.

The bloody waters began to sink, darkening the surface again.

Steam rose in thick clouds, not white but deep crimson, carrying a scent that did not belong to the sea.

Leon exhaled slowly. They were nearing the ridge, and Finch began rising further.

But before he could relax, he heard something.

A faint creak. The door was open.

Leon turned sharply. He hadn't sensed anything—but there he was.

A boy stepped inside, silent, his presence light enough that he might have been carried in by the wind. His white hair, almost silver under the dim light, framed a face that was too calm. His black eyes held a weight that made Nyssa's own dark irises seem grey in comparison.

Leon instinctively moved, placing himself between the intruder and the others. His fingers twitched, ready to reach for a weapon he didn't have.

Something was wrong.

'He's elven.'

The pointed ears were subtle, but undeniable. Yet that wasn't what unsettled Leon. It was the way the boy's presence had slipped past him.

The boy spoke first. "Strange. I expected you to seek me first."

His voice was smooth—too smooth for a storm like this. And his face was unreadable, marked by fading black tattoos.

Leon narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

The boy furrowed his brows, then he remembered. "Ah. Yes. It was my fault."

He closed his eyes. And then–

Something unraveled around the boy, and like an unleashed dam, Leon felt it.

Familiarity.

It sent a jolt down his spine, an all-too-familiar sensation. It brought back unpleasant, hazy memories.

It was similar to what he had felt in that cave—from that creature.

Leon kept his expression blank, but his heartbeat quickened.

Indeed, he would have tried to find the source of this presence, had the boy not hidden it.

The boy—Belphet—tilted his head slightly, observing him with an expression bordering on curiosity. He glanced past Leon, toward Nyssa and Soot. Then, he spoke again.

"I have brought him to you."

Leon blinked. "What?"

Belphet met his gaze. His voice remained even. "Her father."

Leon inhaled sharply. Remembering.

Nyssa's breathing stopped.

She stiffened, her eyes locked onto Belphet. Her expression was frozen somewhere between shock and disbelief.

Leon clenched his fists. 'Foolish.'

He had never questioned it. When he woke up to a bound Malrik, it had never crossed his mind to ask why he was there.

His focus had been on escaping—not from any creature—but from his thoughts. To find a reason to keep living in a world of lies.

He exhaled, scowling. He turned to Nyssa with a rueful expression. 'I am no different.'

He kept it to himself, helping Nyssa to ease his guilt. Leaving things unsaid.

Nyssa's fingers curled slightly, and for the first time since he had met her, there was something raw in her expression. More than when she starved.

A hesitation, a silent question she didn't yet know how to voice.

Leon was about to speak—

Then the world tossed.

The descent had begun in full.

The first raindrops had already reached the sea. Now, the rest were finally landing.

The room lurched, the floor vibrating beneath them as a deep, resonant hum filled the air. Beyond the walls, the sky shattered, and the ocean roared.

Then the horizon burned with every perceivable color.

* * *

Over the storm-laden skies of Oran, a carriage of ethereal purple streaked eastward, unbothered by the torrents.

Its glow pulsed faintly with an almost physical radiance, bending the rain before it could land.

Everything seemed to culminate toward a singular point ahead—Serth. And this carriage was just one of them. It was drawn by an Amalgam unique to Oran—a Stormstrider, a two-bodied fusion of wyvern and serpent.

The leading half bore the long, scaled frame of a serpent with thunder-threaded wings that rippled like storm clouds, while the lagging half, fused seamlessly at the midsection, had the hind legs of a wyvern, gripping the wind itself with each beat. Their flight left behind a distortion in the air, parting the clouds as they soared.

Inside the carriage, four figures sat, each one possessing power that dwarfed the very creatures carrying them.

"Do we really need so many representatives?" A voice cut through the ambient hum of flight.

It belonged to a young man, an Awakened whose very presence exuded arrogance. His brown eyes flicked away from the window, settling lazily on the woman before him. He smirked.

"Should have just been us, right, Niya?"

The woman in question, Niya, scoffed, flipping her bright green hair over one shoulder. She opened her mouth to respond, but—

"You will not harass my granddaughter, Saladin." The temperature seemed to drop.

It was Stella Venti who spoke. The weight behind her words silenced even the storm outside. An Enlightened—perhaps the only one still alive in Oran.

Saladin merely leaned back, undeterred. His gaze returned to the storm. "Pretty undeserving of his rank as an Enlightened, isn't he? Still missing, when it's his job as Headmaster to represent the Academy?"

His voice grew heavier with each word, displeasure bleeding from his very breath.

No one answered. Because he was right.

Theodore Bless had been gone for three weeks. The search had turned up nothing.

And now, they were leaving Oran without a defender.

Stella's gaze shifted to the fourth occupant of the carriage. "Edward. That family—is their behavior still suspicious?"

Edward Edarin, Leia's father, sat with his arms drooping, his posture weighed down by something deeper than exhaustion. His once-sharp eyes were dull, his face hollowed by nights of unrest. It was unlike an Awakened to look so disheveled.

He lifted his gaze, meeting Stella's briefly before looking away. "Sure." His voice was empty, his focus elsewhere.

A faint grimace crossed Stella's lips. 'These kids…'

There was no one on board who acknowledged her status—the founder and current president of the Ferrier Association, the last Enlightened of Oran.

Once, that title had commanded respect. Now, it barely garnered attention.

She closed her eyes. 'Leon Oaken.'

'A child. Four years old. Reappeared after the invasion, then disappeared again. Odd. But stranger still was the orphan family's lack of effort to find him.'

Yet she set those thoughts aside, focusing on a more pressing matter. Why they were heading for Serth.

'Tipun. The tribes seek asylum in Fenros. If the invasion was their doing, then it was likely a rogue faction. Simple enough.'

And yet, something gnawed at her.

Why is the rest of Fenros so enraged? Why couldn't they come to the same conclusion?

'The lost were all connected to Awakened bloodlines.'

Bloodlines led by those that wield the Intelligence stat.

Her eyes shifted underneath her eyelids. 'Yet why do they so assuredly condemn Tipun of the invasion?'

It was absurd. That they choose to ignore the most obvious answer despite their intelligence.

The timing, the certainty with which Tipun was condemned... it felt orchestrated.

Stella's fingers curled against the armrest. She opened her eyes, pushing her unease aside. Questions would have to wait.

They would find their answers soon enough.