The Leviathan king Does Not Forgive

Far from the warmth of Elara's room, beyond the reef lights and drifting jellyfish, the sea was darker and colder.

Somewhere deep below, where sunlight had never reached, a new shift had begun.

Guards in black armour changed posts without a word. They didn't yawn or chat or stretch. They weren't allowed to. Discipline was expected here — not kindness.

The entrance to the trench-castle was carved into the side of the ocean floor like it had always been there. Sharp angles. No doors. Just a passage that swallowed light and didn't give it back.

Inside, the castle was... elegant, in the worst way. Everything was either black stone or dark metal, polished to a mirror finish. Red banners hung from high ceilings, their edges moving unnaturally even though the water was still.

There were no windows. Just glowing red lines carved into the walls — runes that throbbed like a heartbeat.

The main hall stretched wide and tall. In the end, on a raised platform, there was a throne that was not made to be comfortable. It wasn't made for sitting. It was made to remind people who ruled here.

And right now, that ruler of the Leviathian castle was watching someone sing.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

The choir stood in two lines — merfolk, sirens, and one pale elf with gills stitched into her neck and forced to live and breathe in the sea. All because her voice was of his taste. they all were dressed in black and red. All terrified.

They didn't rehearse here. They were just allowed to perform once with no mistakes.

A deep, unsettling note hummed through the hall — the starting pitch. A pianist began at the side, his fingers moving fast over a sleek obsidian keyboard, water enchantments making every note clear despite the depths.

The singers began their part. A haunting melody. Low, layered, ancient.

And then... someone slipped.

One note. A little too sharp. A little too early was enough to ruin the chord.

Silence snapped through the room like a whip.

Everyone froze.

The singer who missed it — a young male siren — looked like he'd stopped breathing.

At the far end of the hall, the one sitting on the throne finally moved.

Vaelros rose with his long icy blue hair flowing with his every movement.

He didn't shout or ask who it was.

He just swam forward once, and the magical torches lining the walls flared — glowing a deeper red.

"You were given one role," he said, voice calm. "One note."

The siren trembled. "I—I'm sorry, my lord. I—"

"Don't speak," Vaelros said, moving off the platform.

The rest of the choir backed away.

"You don't get to stain my choir," he said, eyes glowing "Not when I've spent decades making sure they sound like a memory."

The siren dropped on the floor. "Please—"

Vaelros didn't say a word.

He moved — fast.

One flick of his hand.

A sharp whip of water shot across the room and sliced through the young siren's chest.

There was no scream. Just a gurgle. Then a rush of blood — dark and heavy in the water, spreading fast.

The siren's body twitched once. Then he slumped, floating sideways. Eyes open and mouth still parted like he meant to finish the note.

A gasp came from someone in the second row. Someone else tried not to throw up.

The pianist didn't stop.

Vaelros turned around, calm as ever.

"Start again."

They didn't question it.

Because that was mercy.

And they knew it.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

The choir restarted. This time, it was perfect.

Vaelros didn't return to his throne.

Instead, he floated to the side of the hall, where a pedestal held a deep-blue shell — large, polished, and shimmering with light. It looked like nothing but It held everything.

He touched it.

The shell lit up. Inside, the image sharpened — Elara, sitting on her bed, eating the pie and arguing with her sea dragon.

He tilted his head.

"Still too soft," he muttered. "Still dreaming."

A whisper of music drifted behind him. Not from the choir but from him.

A different song.

His song.

The one only he could sing — the one the Tidefather himself feared, and the heavens tried to erase.

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧

A voice rose from the walls — his own voice, looped from memory, low and echoing like a lullaby from the abyss.

> "When the tide forgets its name, And the stars begin to drown, I will sing what silence claimed, And pull the heavens down..."

He closed his eyes for just a second, letting it wash over him.

> "A song beneath the waves remains, Unwritten in the sky —But I will teach the sea to scream And make the gods reply."

The choir held their breath.

Vaelros turned slowly. His fin-tail swept the floor — royal blue with golden runes etched on it. He didn't say anything at first.

Then, his voice rang across the hall.

"Sing the rest."

The choir started again with no hesitations this time.

He floated upward slightly, watching them for a moment. Then glanced towards the side of the throne hall.

"Zerieth."

A hiss answered.

From near the column, the white serpent uncoiled — smooth, long, and clearly annoyed. He slithered in without ceremony, his golden eyes narrowed to slits.

> "Mü azri thyen vral." "I was eating."

Vaelros tilted his head, expression unreadable.

> "Vral cana ethel. Serayn cana." "Food can wait but dance cannot."

Zerith flicked his tongue.

> "Et thren ul kaeth. Mü velor zi." "One day, I will eat you."

"Probably," Vaelros said aloud, smirking. "But not today."

Without warning, he swam forward, wrapped his arms loosely around the serpent's upper body, and lifted him clean off the ground.

"No biting," he said lazily. "It's rude during choreography."

> "Et valon…" "You're insane…"

"You need to focus."

And with that, the music swelled — and Vaelros spun, dragging the serpent into the rhythm with him.

Zerieth didn't resist, but the tension was clear. His long body curled and twisted in sync with Vaelros's turns, reluctantly graceful. Their motion wasn't elegant in the traditional sense — more fluid and alien like a sea storm moving in perfect circles.

The runes on Vaelros's tail glimmered with each spin.

Near the choir's edge, a voice cracked slightly on a high note.

Vaelros didn't stop.

But he heard it.

He spun once more, tighter this time — dragging Zerieth with him in a wide arc — then let the serpent go mid-twist. Zerieth glided across the air with a hiss, curling into a coil with a perfect landing.

Vaelros raised a hand.

A small pouch flew from his hand and landed at the singer's feet. It split open, scattering four glowing aquagems.

"Sing it right," he said simply.

The girl kept singing — eyes wide and voice shaking.

Zerieth floated up next to him.

> "Et valae tel'arn vyren zi?" "You reward them for mistakes now?"

Vaelros smiled.

> "Et valae tel'arn thuven. Thyen lira." "I reward them for fear. It's still useful."

Zerith narrowed his eyes.

> "Erelan… veyr tol." "You're lonely."

"And you're talkative."

They circled once more — slower this time. Vaelros let the song move through him, each note echoing in the castle. Then he stopped moving altogether.

The choir stopped with him.

The hall fell silent.

He drifted back towards the vision shell and tapped it once.

It didn't glow this time. The vision was over.

But in his head — it was still there.

That girl. On the bed. Eating pie.

Laughing.

Safe.

Zerieth floated beside him again, curling slightly.

> "Zai ethar enra. Et valon orl." "You could end it now. You have the power."

Vaelros didn't respond immediately.

Then, softly:

"It's not time yet."

Zerieth flicked his tongue.

> "Zai enra thiel." "It may never be."

Vaelros's fingers tapped the shell once more.

"Then I'll wait."

✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧✧𓂃⋆༶⋆𓂃✧