Choices

Dawn crept through the water-ceiling, casting ripples of light across Aldric's quarters. His muscles no longer screamed at him each morning – they'd learned to embrace the punishment Lysara doled out daily.

The ancient tongue rolled easier off his tongue now, no longer feeling like his mouth was full of seaweed. He muttered a prayer in the old language, watching the holy symbol pulse with a stronger light than it had three weeks ago.

"Your form's improving." Lysara's scales shimmered turquoise as she knocked his blade aside during their morning bout. "But your footwork still belongs in a tavern brawl."

"At least I'm not falling on my arse anymore." Aldric spun away from her staff, managing to catch the edge with his shield.

She switched to common tongue, her accent growing smoother by the day yet still containing the musical quality. "True. Now you land on your face instead."

The training arena rang with the clash of metal and laughter.

After their usual session, Keras appeared at the archway, his hands clasped behind his back. "The Keeper awaits."

The words sent a shiver down Aldric's spine. The Keeper of Scriptures – guardian of knowledge stretching back before the first corruption. His fingers brushed the holy symbol at his neck.

The leather satchel pressed against Aldric's hip, its weight familiar yet suddenly significant. Six texts. Six fractured remnants of divine power. Each scripture was a set of battle-prayer, sanctified by blood and faith. The same verses that had guided his master's blade through darkness.

Lysara's scales rippled to deep blue, matching the shadows that crept along the walls. "Ready?"

Down they went, following Keras through passages that plunged beneath the city's heart. The polished coral gave way to something ancient. Raw. Frescoes and scripture carved into the living stone by hands lost to time. Words upon words, some blazing with recognition, others twisted in patterns that defied mortal understanding. They pulsed with faint light, like stars glimpsed through stormy seas.

His gaze devoured the wall, mouth moving in silent recitation. There, flowing across the stone like liquid fire – the Canticle of the Flame. His own copy lay incomplete in his satchel, but here...

"Light of the first dawn, breakthrough shadow—"

The words burned in his memory. He'd whispered them in battle, watched Sir Danton's blade ignite with holy fire. But the verse continued, spiralling in elegant arcs his texts had never shown.

"—Let those who stand against the righteous be weighed in the fire of truth."

His stomach knotted. His version barely kindled steel, a candleflame to guide a warrior's strike. What forces slumbered in these complete verses? What power had crumbled with the passing ages?

The passage opened to a door that stretched toward the ceiling. Hundreds of canticles wrapped around each other, each god's scripture flowing into the next. Power hummed in the stone, responding to the fractured texts at his hip.

Lysara's palm met ancient stone. Light blazed through the inscriptions, and then – music. Her voice lifted in song, pure as crystal bells beneath the sea. The melody wrapped around Aldric like sunlight through water, washing away the weight in his bones.

She turned, silver eyes catching his. "Prayer of Recovery."

The chamber beyond stretched vast and circular, its walls a tapestry of flowing script that reached toward a domed ceiling where light danced like schools of fish. Two figures waited at its heart – both clad in robes that rippled with phosphorescent patterns. The younger priest's hands clutched a stack of pristine scrolls. Beside him stood the Keeper, ancient and weathered as the coral walls themselves.

"The texts." The Keeper's voice resonated like waves against stone. His fingers stretched toward Aldric's satchel.

Aldric's grip tightened on the leather strap. Collecting these scriptures had been his master's life's work as well as the reason for his death.

"They're safe here." Lysara's scales shifted to gentle green while she patted his arm, her touch calmed him. "Trust in that, if nothing else."

The scriptures passed from his hands to the Keeper's. Ancient eyes widened at their touch.

"Blood has sanctified these pages." The Keeper's fingers traced the worn edges. "Lives given to preserve each word. Such sacrifice births power beyond measure."

"What sort of power?" Aldric leaned forward.

"Knowledge of the Canticles means nothing without a divine connection. Most mortals channel only their guardian deity – a single note in the cosmic song." The Keeper's gaze pierced Aldric. "These texts, once restored, will forge a direct link to the gods themselves."

Lysara's scales darkened. "The gods always have a cost"

"The gods brook no half-measures. Fail to live up to their tenets, and their power turns to punishment." The Keeper's weathered face creased.

The Keeper's words hung in the water like storm clouds. Aldric's fingers traced the worn leather of his satchel. Tellik's teachings already guided his every step, and now the Prime demanded his voice. Two paths, two powers, two sets of sacred laws to uphold.

His master's voice whispered from memory: Fear is the shadow that dims divine light.

"I'll do it."

"The process is... complex." The Keeper moved to a shelf carved from mother-of-pearl. "Sacred paper must be crafted from the bark of holy trees. And the ink..." His fingers lifted a crystalline vial. "The blood of the faithful carries power."

Lysara's scales rippled silver. "Take mine."

"Both." The Keeper's ancient eyes fixed on them. "A shared sacrifice forges stronger bonds. The gods favour unity."

Aldric's gaze met Lysara's. Her scales shifted to deep indigo, like the depths where light feared to venture.

"Together then."

The Keeper's assistant brought forth a bowl of twisted coral, its surface etched with prayers so fine they looked like veins. The crystal vial sang against its rim.

Lysara extended her arm first. The blade kissed her skin, drawing forth blood that sparkled like starlight. Aldric followed, his own blood mixing with hers, mortal red swirling with divine silver.

"The final step requires voice and spirit." The Keeper's fingers traced symbols in the air. "Recite the texts. Call to the gods. They will answer... or they won't."

The weight of destiny pressed against Aldric's chest, heavy as ocean depths. But Lysara's presence beside him burned bright he didn't believe it was impossible.

The Keeper's fingers danced across ancient shelves, pulling fragments of scripture like threads of fate. "I'll weave together what remains of the complete canticles. Your task lies in gathering the sacred bark."

"Holy trees." Lysara's scales darkened to storm-grey. "They don't exactly grow in gardens."

"Each marks a moment of supreme sacrifice." The assistant's hands clutched his scrolls tighter. "Where mortal devotion pierces the veil between worlds. The problem will be the corrupted"

Aldric's throat tightened. "the corrupted?"

"Drawn to divine power like wolves to blood." Lysara mimed the act of wolves chasing someone. "We'll need to move fast once we arrive."

The coral halls echoed with their footsteps as they sought out Keras. They found him in his chambers, surrounded by maps that swirled with luminescent ink.

"Hydgia." Keras traced a path south across the glowing parchment. "An island where faith and sacrifice left deep roots. One tree still grows there, if the old records speak true."

The map's light caught Lysara's scales, painting them in ghostly blues. "How long ago were these records written?"

"Recent enough." Keras rolled the map with decisive snaps. "I'll arrange a boat. And a guide who knows the waters."

"The corruption is stronger on the surface." Aldric's hand found his sword hilt.

"Better to face it than hide forever in these depths." Lysara's scales flashed silver-bright. "Besides, I've got your back and you have been training.

---

Salt spray stung Aldric's face as the old man's weathered hands guided his on the tiller. The wooden boat creaked beneath them, waves slapping against its hull.

"Feel that? She'll tell you when she wants to turn." The guide's eyes crinkled at the corners, but held shadows deeper than the sea itself.

Lysara coiled rope with practised motions. "You sailed these waters before?"

"Born on Hydgia." His gnarled fingers traced patterns in the air – old wards against evil. "Back when the waters ran clean."

The horizon stretched endless and blue. No corruption here, not yet.

"First one came through the veil at dawn." The guide's voice dropped low as temple bells. "Great ugly brute, all teeth and hunger. We thought it was alone."

His knuckles whitened on the gunwale.

"More poured through. Dozens. Hundreds. Proper warriors, we had none. Just fishermen with gutting knives and farmers with pitchforks."

Lysara's scales rippled obsidian-dark.

"Dad shoved me toward the docks. 'Get them out,' he said. Women, children – every boat packed full as fish barrels." The old man's eyes fixed on something beyond the waves. "Last I saw him, he stood with the others. Thirty-eight men, backs straight as masts."

The boat's wake curled white behind them.

"They called to Sea-Queen Nerith. Not for salvation – for vengeance." A bitter smile creased his face. "She answered. Wave rose tall as a mountain, crashed down like the fist of an angry god."

Seabirds wheeled overhead, their cries sharp against the silence.

"When the waters calmed, nothing left. No beasts. No men. Just that tree, growing from where they made their last stand." He turned to Aldric. "Sacred things got proper heavy prices."

"I only have one request. Please take me with you. To the island." The old man's request hung in the salt air.

Lysara's scales flashed crimson. "We can't protect—"

"He doesn't want protection." Aldric's voice cut through the wind.

The guide's weathered face cracked into a smile. Lines etched by decades of sun and grief deepened. "Sharp eye, young paladin."

"You're seeking death." Lysara's foot kicked the deck.

"Death's seeking me, love. I'm just choosing where to meet him." His gnarled fingers traced the boat's rail. "Feel it in these old bones. Time's running short."

"No, you can't just give up—"

"Made my peace." The guide's eyes fixed on the horizon. "Said goodbye to the grandkids. Settled all my debts. Nothing left but to finish where I started."

"There's always something worth fighting for." Her scales rippled midnight-black.

"Aye, and I fought. Sixty years of fighting. Built a new life, raised a family." His smile carried the weight of oceans. "But a man's got the right to choose his ending."

Aldric's hand found the holy symbol at his neck. "I won't help you die."

"Wouldn't ask it. Just want to walk those shores one last time."

Salt spray peppered the deck. Waves slapped the hull like drumbeats.

"Your choice to make." Aldric met the old man's gaze. "We'll honour it."

Lysara lashed out, a swift kick aimed at Aldric's shin. "This is mad—"

He sidestepped without effort, barely sparing her a glance.

"His life. His death." His thumb traced the worn edges of the symbol at his chest. "Some choices aren't ours to make."

The guide nodded, eyes bright as polished sea glass.

The tiller creaked under Aldric's hands. The boat sailed on, toward an island where sacrifice had stained the very soil.