The sea was black.
Not dark in color — but black in memory, in silence, in weight. Even the stars above seemed hesitant to shine over the jagged cliffs of Iskaran's coast. Waves rolled in with the rhythm of something ancient, patient, and cruel.
Kaelen stood on the edge of the ruined docks, the last of the wind from the Vale of Kings at his back. Now only salt air greeted him — and something else. Something watching.
"This is where the tide changed," Lys whispered beside him.
Aelric snorted from behind, his boots scraping barnacle-coated stone. "This is where the tide ended. Whole kingdom vanished overnight."
Kaelen's fingers curled tighter around the ember in his chest. It flickered cold near water, as though the sea tried to smother it with every breeze.
"Iskarani lore said the Crown here was lost to the depths," Lys added. "But if the Herald rose... the Crown might still answer."
They descended into the drowned city at dawn, though no sun pierced the choked skies above. Rain misted constantly, and the ruins rose from the surf like broken teeth. Bridges sagged. Towers leaned. The bones of ships lay rotting where streets had once been.
And beneath it all — a pressure.
A heartbeat.
Flashback: The Last Night of Iskaran
In the deep tunnels of memory — a song:
"We swore by salt, by silver tide,
Our oaths to hold, our grief to hide.
But sea will claim what kings betray —
And wash all thrones away."
The words had echoed through Iskaran's Court of Coral on the night it fell. Hundreds had gathered for the Saltbinding — a ritual renewal of power, binding the sea to the Crown.
But the king had lied.
In secret, he had traded the Heart Pearl, the kingdom's soul-gem, to the Hollow King for a promise of immortality. The ritual failed. The sea surged.
And the Herald rose.
Once the king's brother, drowned for defying the betrayal, he returned wrapped in kelp and wrath. With him came the Sea Wraiths — and the deep obeyed him.
The palace crumbled. The city screamed. And Iskaran was no more.
Present – Into the Deep Vault
Lys found the entrance beneath a half-submerged temple, its mosaic doors guarded by statues of three-faced gods. A spiral stair led down — deeper than anything should exist, into pressure and cold and forgotten dark.
Torches sputtered. Runes glowed on the walls — warnings written in High Iskarani:
"DO NOT WAKE THE DROWNED.
THE HERALD SPEAKS FOR THE END."
Kaelen touched the script and felt it tremble beneath his fingers.
They passed into a great stone hall, flooded waist-deep with saltwater. Carvings lined the walls — of a city once bright, once proud. And in its center, a throne of coral and bone. Upon it sat the Crown of Iskaran.
And before it, rising from the still black water...
The Herald.
The Drowned Herald
He stood twice a man's height, draped in robes of drifting kelp and plated barnacle-steel. His face was hidden behind a mask shaped like a weeping king, salt crystals hanging like tears. In his hands: a trident of fused coral, humming with deep-sea power.
"You should not have come," he said, voice echoing like whalesong beneath an abyss.
Kaelen stepped forward. "I've come for the Crown."
"You come for chains. You come for lies." The Herald tilted his head. "Do you know what they did? The kings? Your bloodline?"
Kaelen said nothing.
The Herald extended a clawed hand. "I was left to drown. I was loyal. They traded the soul of Iskaran for fear of death. I died in truth. I rose in truth. And I will not let the Crowns rise again."
Lys cast a warding spell. Aelric readied a knife.
Kaelen's eyes never left the Herald. "Then you'll have to stop me."
The Battle Beneath the Sea
The Drowned Herald attacked with a wave of force that shattered the waterline. The temple shuddered. Statues cracked. Kaelen met the surge with Crownfire — fire that hissed as it struck water, but did not die.
They clashed in the heart of the temple, fire against flood, memory against vengeance.
Aelric darted between pillars, striking where he could. Lys chanted protection over Kaelen, her voice growing hoarse with each incantation. Magic danced across the ceiling like lightning in the deep.
The Herald was relentless. Every strike summoned sea beasts shaped from shadow — eels with human faces, drowned monks wielding coral blades. Kaelen fought them all, drawing deeper from the Crown of Halvyr and the ember that glowed against the tide.
Then the Herald drove his trident into the floor — and the sea answered.
The vault cracked. Water roared inward. The temple flooded.
Kaelen was dragged beneath.
Within the Drowning
In the dark, the ember flared.
Kaelen saw not the temple, but a vision — the last king of Iskaran, sobbing as he gave the Heart Pearl to a masked figure cloaked in rot.
"Take it. Spare us."
And the Hollow King smiling.
Then Kaelen saw the Herald — dying, choking, eyes wide with betrayal.
The ember blazed — and pulled Kaelen back to the surface.
He broke through the flood as Lys screamed his name.
Kaelen rose, blade ablaze, fire running across his shoulders like wings.
He struck the Herald full in the chest.
The Drowned Herald roared — not in pain, but in memory. "You see it now," he whispered.
Kaelen nodded. "Yes. But that doesn't mean I stop."
He drove the ember-fire through the Herald's heart.
Aftermath – The Crown of Iskaran
The Herald collapsed, his mask breaking. Beneath it, a man — young once, eyes wide, lips parting in peace. His body dissolved into sea-foam, and the Crown of Iskaran floated to the surface.
Kaelen reached out.
And took it.
The temple shook one final time, then stilled.
Above, the sea grew quiet.
Lys slumped beside him. "One more."
Aelric spat seawater. "Three to go. And that one nearly drowned us."
Kaelen turned toward the stairs, the Crown of Iskaran burning cold in his hand.
"We go to Skyreach," he said. "Before the Hollow King moves again."
And behind them, the last echo of the Herald's voice whispered through the water.
"Beware the roots of the sky…"