Kira traced the spiral birthmark on her forearm, watching as it pulsed with a faint blue glow in the dim light of her workshop in the lowest level of Maralyd. The underwater city’s bioluminescent algae cast shifting patterns across her latest invention – a sphere of enchanted coral that could, theoretically, store water magic.
Most Maralydens would call her work heretical. Water magic was meant to flow, to adapt, to change. Trying to contain it went against everything the Abyssal Cities believed. But Kira had seen too many water mages burn out during the seasonal battles with Cinderhold’s fire ships. If she could find a way to store their power, to let them rest and recharge…
The coral sphere bubbled softly in its tank, surrounded by strands of her own magic that she’d woven into its structure over months of careful experimentation. Her birthmark had grown considerably during the work, now covering most of her forearm in intricate whorls that marked her as a powerful practitioner. Yet even with her strength, she could feel the strain of maintaining the enchantment.
“Just a little more,” she whispered, directing another stream of power into the sphere. The coral’s natural patterns began to shift, reorganizing themselves into the same spiral as her birthmark. For a moment, everything aligned perfectly – the magic, the material, her will.
Then it changed.
The sphere didn’t just store her magic – it amplified it. The power rebounded through her connection, flooding her senses with possibilities. She could feel every drop of water in Maralyd, from the grand arcades to the kelp gardens. More than feel it – she could control it all, if she wished.
Kira severed the connection with a gasp, stumbling back from her workbench. The sphere continued to pulse with stored power, but now its glow was deeper, more intense. Like the abyssal trenches themselves had been captured within.
She knew she should destroy it. The amplification effect was too powerful, too dangerous. If the wrong person got hold of it… But then she thought of those battles again. Of young water mages dropping from exhaustion as fire rained down from above. Of the Cinderhold Empire’s ever-expanding reach.
With trembling hands, she began writing her report to the Maralyd Council. She chose her words carefully, emphasizing the defensive applications while downplaying the true scope of what she’d discovered. They would want to study it, of course. Replicate it. And soon every water mage in the Abyssal Cities would have access to power beyond anything seen before.
The balance was about to shift, and Kira prayed to the depths she hadn’t just started a war.
From her workshop window, she watched schools of fish dart through Maralyd’s sprawling towers. Her birthmark tingled, and she scratched it absently, wondering if anyone else had noticed that the spiral patterns in the coral sphere weren’t just similar to water mages’ birthmarks – they were identical.
As if the magic itself was trying to tell them something they’d forgotten long ago.
Something about the true nature of elemental power, and the price of trying to contain it.