Kira’s fingers traced the spiral patterns on her arm, watching as they pulsed with a faint blue glow. The birthmark had grown again overnight, spreading like frost across glass. Just like the coral spheres in front of her, getting more complex by the day.
“You’re doing it again,” her assistant said from the doorway of her workshop.
“Doing what?” Kira didn’t look up from the latest sphere, its surface etched with patterns that matched her skin perfectly.
“That thing where you forget to breathe because you’re too busy having clever thoughts.”
She inhaled sharply, realizing he was right. The air in the underwater dome of her Maralyd workshop tasted like salt and potential. Mostly potential. The kind that made senior artificers nervous.
The coral sphere in her hands hummed with stored water magic, its song getting louder every day. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Water magic was supposed to flow, not stick around singing sea shanties in your workshop.
“Master Kira?” Another voice, formal this time. A Maralyd Council messenger, floating outside her dome’s membrane window. “The Council requests your immediate presence.”
Of course they did. Nothing made the Council twitchier than progress they hadn’t authorized.
Kira slipped the coral sphere into her pocket, feeling its vibration against her hip. The songs were getting stronger, more insistent. Like they were trying to tell her something.
Swimming through Maralyd was like navigating a dream of blue crystal and living coral. The city spread out in concentric rings, each level connected by shimmering current-ways that mages could ride like rivers through the sea. Above her, vast sheets of luminescent algae cast everything in ethereal blue-green light, swaying with the deep ocean currents. Schools of silver fish darted between the buildings like scattered coins.
The deeper she swam, the older the architecture grew. Modern domes of shaped water magic gave way to ancient coral structures, built by the first water-mages who’d learned to sing to the sea itself. Their songs still echoed in the walls, a constant harmonic hum that every Maralyd child learned to tune out before they could walk.
Market-rings floated at various depths, suspended in permanent whirlpools that kept the water crystal-clear and perfectly still. Traders with gillmark birthmarks haggled over glowing anemones and shells that whispered secrets. A group of students from the Artificers’ Academy drifted past, their training spheres leaving trails of practiced magic in the water.
As she passed through the Moonlight Gardens, where phosphorescent coral grew in geometric patterns that mapped the stars above, other water-mages’ birthmarks flickered in response to her passing. That was new too. Ever since she’d created the spheres, it was like every birthmark in the city was trying to have a conversation.
The Council chamber sat at the very heart of the city, where the pressure of the deep made every breath feel like a victory. The ancient structure was a perfect dome of blue crystal, held together by spells so old they’d become part of the sea itself. Carved leviathans wrapped around its columns, their eyes tracking visitors with unsettling awareness. The water here moved differently – slower, heavier with protocol and power.
Seven aged faces stared down at her from their raised seats, their own birthmarks faded to pale scratches. Each councilor wore the traditional robes of office, woven from sea-silk and embedded with pearls that stored centuries of accumulated magic.
“Master Artificer,” the Head Councilor’s voice rippled through the water. “We’ve received… disturbing reports. Sounds in the deep. Patterns in the currents. And at the center of it all, your experiments.”
Kira felt the sphere pulse in her pocket, singing louder now. The councilors’ eyes widened – they could hear it too.
“The water is trying to tell us something,” Kira said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “And I don’t think we’re the only ones listening.”
Right on cue, a messenger burst into the chamber, trailing bubbles of panic. “Ships!” he gasped. “Cinderhold warships approaching from the surface. They’re demanding to speak with the one who’s ‘stealing the elements’ secrets.'”
The coral sphere sang louder, and Kira’s birthmark blazed with blue light. Somewhere far above, fire was coming for water’s secrets. But fire wasn’t the only element stirring – she could feel it in the currents, in the very pulse of her magic.
Others were out there, asking the same questions, hearing the same songs. The elements were waking up, and they had stories to tell.
Whether the Council liked it or not, change was flowing in. And like any good water-mage knew, you couldn’t hold back the tide forever.
All you could do was learn to swim in new currents.