The trench was endless. A place where even the sea dared not breathe. Lyrielle floated alone, descending deeper. The sirens had stopped following. She didn’t blame them. Even they knew the difference between fear and instinct. This place wasn’t death. Not music, not sound—just pressure. Like something was trying to remember itself. She muttered, "So this is where the first song was swallowed." Not even her hair moved. Lyrielle reached a shelf of jagged stone carved with forgotten glyphs, like coral had once tried to scream and failed. She brushed one with her fingertips. The mark pulsed. A voice hit her skull like thunder underwater. Not words. Not language. She saw the birth of the seas. Before gods. Before names. Just chaos and flesh and tide. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ ɴovᴇl(F)ɪre.ɴet Voices that didn’t sing—they warped. Their songs bent currents, broke islands, boiled storms. She gasped and backed away. "Is this what I came for?" she whispered. Then came a second vision. And from its mouth, a phrase spoken in song: "You are not the first Lyrielle." Above – The Sea Shifts Far above, in the upper waters, Naerida felt the ocean quake. Like something... turned over in its sleep. She stood on her palace balcony, overlooking the war-torn sea. Dominic was resting. Athena still recovering. But Naerida could feel it — something had reached beneath the sea’s skin. Lyrielle hovered in silence. A shape rose before her. Just a being... made of notes. Floating symbols, glowing softly, circling like rings around a faded humanoid form. "Shall we remind them of the first silence?" Lyrielle didn’t know what it meant. And something broke behind her. The sea above cracked like glass. From the deep, the Ancient Choir began to rise. Across the oceans, sea creatures froze mid-motion. Whales cried out and turned in confusion. Tides reversed for seconds, just enough to draw fishermen to the shorelines in fear. The sirens—those still loyal to Lyrielle—heard it. Not because she called. But because the song did. Zeus sat forward on his throne, brows furrowed. He wasn’t asking anyone. Even the gods were guessing now. In the temple, Dominic’s eyes flew open. He sat up, breathing heavy. Athena turned to him. "You feel it too?" He nodded. "That wasn’t the void creature from before." "No," she agreed. "Something else." Something that didn’t want to destroy. Something that wanted to change. Dominic clenched his fists. Just a ripple through the sea’s veins—as if the ocean itself wanted to step back. Dominic stood at the edge of the Hollow Deep, his trident pulsing in his grip. He didn’t ask how he got there. He just knew this was where she’d gone. And he wasn’t going to let her rise unchecked. The water around him twisted unnaturally, echoing with voices not his. And Lyrielle was calling them. Above the trench, hair fanned like ink in the water. Her back was turned. She was watching something. The glowing glyphs below were singing. But not a song—something worse. Dominic narrowed his eyes. "Lyrielle." He floated closer, trident lowered but not relaxed. "What the hell are you doing?" Eyes glowing sea-glass blue. But colder. Deeper. "I’m finishing what the gods buried. I’m not the villain, Dominic. I’m just waking up." He scoffed. "You summoned something from before time. You called it up. What are you planning to do? Wipe out the surface?" But like someone tired. "They’ve ruined this world. The humans. The Olympians. Even your precious Naerida. You think I’m destroying it? I’m reclaiming it." Dominic gritted his teeth. "No. You’re letting that thing inside the Hollow Deep control you." "You think it’s controlling me?" Her voice twisted. "It remembers me. It sang my name before I was born. I didn’t create the Choir—I was born from it." The glyphs below pulsed brighter. Then the trench shook. And something moved beneath them. A shadow so wide it looked like the sea floor blinked. Dominic floated higher. "I won’t let you bring that thing up." "You’re already too late." Waves above twisted in patterns, like the ocean was responding to her. The Choir began to rise—twelve figures of pure sound and water. Not sirens. Not spirits. Something worse. Dominic’s eyes locked on her. And the water between them trembled. Trident arcing with energy as he lunged forward. Water blasted around them like shrapnel. She dodged, barely, the tip grazing her shoulder. She winced, turned—and sang. Not a spell. Not a chant. Pure. Sharp. Blinding. It hit him in the chest and sent him crashing back through a coral spine, blood trailing behind him in a burst. She was floating above now, silhouetted against the rising Choir. "You don’t get it," she whispered. "You’re not Poseidon. You’re a boy. A vessel. That’s all." He glared up, blood in his mouth. "No," he growled. "I’m what Poseidon couldn’t be." Every impact shook the Hollow. The Choir circled them, singing in rising tones, matching the rhythm of the fight like a live orchestra. Dominic drove the trident down— Lyrielle caught it in both hands. He looked her in the eye. "I don’t have to. I just have to stop you from awakening it." The glyphs below exploded with light. The shadow below rose higher— And a single eye opened beneath the trench. Watching both of them. Lyrielle’s face twisted. And every Choir member stopped. Turned toward the light. But into every drop of water between them. "Bring me your name." Dominic looked down, panting. Lyrielle lowered her arms. "That’s who I used to be." Dominic backed away, pulse racing. The being below... wasn’t her pet. And it was coming back. The trench cracked open. And the song reached a scream. Dominic turned once more to Lyrielle. Her voice broke through the rising pressure. "You came to stop me, Dominic." "But now we both need to run." The Hollow Deep split apart. And the creature inside smiled.