The roar of the demon beast tore through Petralka's night sky. A colossal black form, fifty meters from end to end, advanced through the commercial district, toppling stone buildings onto their sides. Dust clouded the moonlight, and the screams of fleeing people echoed through the mountains of rubble. Flames rising from the harbor district stained the night sky an eerie crimson. In the shadow of the debris, Carlo—still in the human form granted by his transformation magic—guided an elderly woman toward the safety of higher ground. Short black hair, indigo eyes. The guise of Carlo Medina, the merchant, maintained for thirty years. "[gentle]This way, madam. Slowly now." The old woman clutched his arm with trembling hands. Carlo seated her on the church steps and draped his cloak over her. Around them, harbor workers had formed a bucket brigade, but the demon beast's advance outpaced their efforts to extinguish the flames. That was when it happened. Beyond the mountain of rubble, he glimpsed a faint golden light. Pale golden curls illuminated by the moonlight. A girl slumped against a collapsed wall—Serafina. She had lost her voice. The spots of Lumina crystal near her throat still glimmered faintly. Traces of dried blood marked the corners of her mouth. Carlo's feet stopped. With trembling hands, Serafina picked up a piece of wood that had fallen to the ground. Her soot-stained fingertips traced through the dust of the rubble. (What is she...) She noticed Carlo's gaze and lifted her head. Blue eyes, like a clear sky, looked straight at him. There was a strange calm in those eyes. Her throat had been crushed, her voice stolen, and yet—she was not crying. She turned the wood toward Carlo, showing him the words she had written. The letters were crooked. Two characters, desperately carved into the wood with blood-seeping fingertips. Stop it. Deep in Carlo's chest, something pulsed with tremendous force. Serafina held the wood out to him once more. There was no entreaty in the gesture, no supplication. Only—a silent certainty that he was the only one who could do this. (Me...) Unconsciously, Carlo touched the inner pocket of his cloak. The covenant, written in the ancient tongue of Meridia. *Forget not the pride of our people, and let dialogue be held as equals—* The image of Serafina's tear-streaked face on the breakwater that day came flooding back. She had held the boy who survived the shipwreck, weeping openly, her voice raised without restraint. Seeing her like that—he had cast aside his poison. (And yet—I must stop Lady Aira.) Carlo did not take the piece of wood. Instead, he cast off his cloak. He released the spell of his transformation magic himself. Beneath his skin, the cold of the deep sea raced through him. His shoulder blades creaked. From the nape of his neck to his shoulders—dense scale-like patterns emerged into the moonlight. The deep blue that marked the lineage of mining folk surfaced on his skin. His long hair, the deep green of seaweed, came loose from its tie and spread across his back. He sensed the survivors around him holding their breath. "[surprised]Y-you... you're not human..." Someone's voice trembled. A familiar face—a man he had shared cups with at the same tavern for thirty years. Carlo did not turn around. He had no words to justify himself to them. He simply took one step forward, crushing rubble beneath his feet. He pulled the parchment of the covenant from the inner pocket of his discarded cloak. Sea-serpent-skin parchment, inscribed with deep-sea squid ink in the ancient Meridian script. His own oath, written down as if tracing the memories of fifty years past. Serafina did not flinch at the sight of his true form. Rather—in her eyes, the faintest hint of relief surfaced. (She knew.) A pain like a needle pierced Carlo's chest. This girl had likely realized it from the very beginning. That the owner of those indigo eyes watching him at the harbor was not human. And yet, she had said nothing. Carlo gripped the covenant tightly and walked toward the rubble in the demon beast's path. The colossal black form of the demon beast loomed before him. Eyes of pitch black, their amber light extinguished, fixed upon the small life-form below. Its throat swelled, and the cobblestones lifted in vibration—the precursor to a roar. Carlo's deep-green hair swayed like seaweed in the dust storm raging around him. He did not stop walking. Waves of darkness unleashed from the demon beast's massive body shattered the surrounding rubble further. Stone fragments grazed Carlo's cheek, and indigo blood trickled down. And yet—he raised his arm high and spread the covenant open with both hands. The ancient Meridian script glowed faintly in the moonlight. Carlo began to read aloud, his voice trembling. "[serious]We, the people driven into the deep sea—do hereby swear." The demon beast's throat swelled, ready to unleash its roar. "[serious]To create a world where every one of our people can live with dignity—" A single beat. The demon beast's roar faltered. "[serious]To reclaim dignity not through slaughter—but through dialogue." Across the black scales covering the demon beast's entire body, fine cracks began to spread. Those words—were the very oath the young Queen Aira herself had spoken fifty years ago. Carlo's consciousness slipped back through fifty years of time. Zola, the deep mining sector of Voltida. Buried in the rubble of a collapsed tunnel, seven-year-old Carlo had been entombed in darkness for three days. His parents were already cold. He simply trembled in the dark. (Someone—someone—) His small lungs gasped for oxygen. His scale patterns dried and cracked, and pain was the only proof that he was alive. Then—from beyond the rubble, he heard a singing voice. It was not a song. Not song magic, just a human voice. A young woman's voice, speaking to him as she cleared away the rubble piece by piece. *"You're in there. Don't move. I'm digging you out now."* A cold voice. A voice that carried the heavy, cold dignity of the deep sea. The rubble was cleared, and light poured in. Illuminated by the pale blue glow of Lumina crystals, long silver-blue hair swayed. Amber eyes, still young yet filled with a deep sorrow, looked down at Carlo. The Sea Witch—Aira. She was clearing the stones with her bare hands. Blood seeped from her fingertips, and her sharp claws were cracked. She could have used song magic to dig him out in an instant. But singing risked causing further collapse from the stone's vibrations. She did not sing at all. She simply, silently, cleared the stones, seized Carlo's hand, and pulled him out. *"—Live."* Aira crouched before Carlo in the sunless seabed tunnel and spoke. *"I will create a world where every one of our people can live with dignity. So live."* In that voice, there were no words of revenge, no words of hatred. Only words to tether a single child's life to this world. Her silver-blue hair trembled ever so slightly. Seven-year-old Carlo carved those words into his heart, every last one. Fifty years later—he inscribed those words onto parchment. The moment the flashback returned to the present, Carlo realized that tears were streaming down his cheeks. He finished reading the final line of the covenant, his voice rising to a shout. "[crying]You—are not a queen who exists only for revenge—!!" The demon beast's roar stopped. Silence fell upon the depths of Petralka's night. In the silence—the black scales that had covered the demon beast's entire body spread their cracks from the base, and with a dry sound, began to flake away. One fragment, then another, shards like obsidian accumulating upon the rubble. The Abyssal Core, embedded deep within its sternum, surfaced as if pushed out from within. The instant the jet-black crystal was expelled from its body—the colossal form rapidly contracted. Bones creaked, muscles shrank, and the black scales peeled away one after another. The process of the fifty-meter demon beast returning to Aira's human form took only seconds. She collapsed onto the rubble, with nothing to support her, all strength drained from her body. She tried to push herself up with both hands, but the body that had expelled the Abyssal Core no longer possessed even that strength. Her long silver-blue hair spread across the dust-covered cobblestones. Her coral hair ornament came loose and rolled away with a dry clatter. Aira remained with her forehead pressed to the rubble, unable to move. And then—tears that she had never once shed before others in three hundred years of life began to wet the cobblestones. She could not even make the effort to suppress her sobs. Her shoulders trembled, and a voice escaped from the depths of her throat as if wrenched out. It was not the voice of the Sea Witch. It was simply—the weeping of a single woman. Carlo lowered the covenant and knelt beside her. He offered no words. There was nothing more he could do. A faint footstep sounded on the rubble. Serafina, who had lost her voice, walked slowly toward them. She crouched beside the fallen Aira and quietly held out a piece of paper, held in her blood-seeping hand, so that it entered Aira's field of vision. On the soot-stained paper, three characters written in trembling script. Thank you. Aira stared at the paper. Her amber eyes wavered, illuminated by the moonlight. She could not answer. She only gripped her grandmother's pendant tightly with both hands. The chain bit into the back of her hand, and the cold deep-sea silver threatened to wound her skin. Around that time—in the abandoned mines of Voltida. In the assembly hall of the Tide Fang, Bartos sensed a change in water pressure. Short, iron-gray hair. A raw, disfiguring burn scar covering the left half of his face. His deep crimson eyes gleamed like a beast's in the darkness. "[cold]The Queen has expelled the Abyssal Core." A low voice, like a seafloor tremor, vibrated through the seawater of the abandoned mine. The forty members of the Tide Fang held their breath, awaiting his words. Bartos slowly stood before them. Only the sound of his dragging left foot echoed in the silence of the deep sea. "[serious]Henceforth, the Tide Fang assumes command of Voltida. Those with objections—step forward now." Silence. No one said a word. Bartos issued his orders immediately. "[cold]One—Order the submerged units lying in wait to begin the blockade off the coast of Petralka." One of the members swiftly transcribed the order onto parchment. "[cold]Two—Should Aira attempt to negotiate on the surface, deploy operatives to obstruct her under the pretext of securing the Queen's person." There was no exaltation in his voice, no anger. Only the quiet of one solemnly executing a purpose eight hundred years in the making. Bartos acknowledged Aira's strength. Therefore—he had to accumulate political facts before she recovered. "[cold]A ceasefire with the humans—I will never permit it. Have you forgotten the Great Exile? Cowards." Only those final words trembled, ever so faintly. Amidst the rubble of Petralka, Carlo confirmed that Aira had faintly regained consciousness. Her amber eyes, having recovered a sliver of focus, gazed at him. "[whispers]...Carlo." A hoarse voice. It was not the voice of the Sea Witch. Carlo bowed his head deeply. His indigo eyes glistened in the moonlight. "[gentle]As your heart desires—" He could not continue beyond those words. The words he had sworn to Aira himself thirty years ago caught in his throat. (*As your heart desires—even if it leads to danger.*) Serafina silently placed her own hand over Aira's. Aira did not shake it off. She simply continued to grip her grandmother's pendant and looked up at the night sky. The fires in the city still burned. From offshore, the subtle shift in water pressure as Bartos's underwater units began constructing their blockade net