Chapter 9: The Drowned City
The seas near Kareth-Del were unnaturally still.
The once-mighty city had sunk centuries ago, its spires now prison bars for ghosts and drowned gods. Only fools and the desperate dared sail there.
Jean Luther was both.
She stood at the prow of the Echowind, the sea spray biting her cheeks, Whitney crouched beside her, fur slick with salt. Beneath the waves, the ocean pulsed with wrongness. Not just deep—but ancient. Alive.
"Do you feel it?" Jean murmured.
Whitney's ears flicked. "Yes. Something below remembers."
---
They made landfall at low tide.
Jagged coral had burst through marble roads. Salt-bleached bones littered the once-great plazas. In the city's heart, a cathedral tilted half-submerged, its bell tower broken.
Jean approached, boots sloshing through knee-high water.
The wind carried whispers—not language, but emotion.
Sorrow. Betrayal. Worship.
Inside the cathedral, a single flame burned.
That shouldn't have been possible.
And sitting beneath it was a man.
Tall. Gaunt. Eyes like opals. Hair bleached bone-white by the sea.
He looked up.
"You brought the sword," he said.
Jean froze. "You're alive."
"I've been dead for a long time," he said. "But I remember living. That's close enough."
He stood, hand resting lightly on a barnacle-covered staff. Around his neck hung a medallion—a chained sun, cracked clean through.
"I am Veylan, last of the Chain-Breakers."
---
They sat amid flooded pews.
Veylan told her stories—not tales, but warnings.
"We weren't rebels," he said. "We were protectors. The Chains weren't made to bind evil—they were made to seal away power that mortals were never meant to wield."
He tapped the stone beneath their feet.
"Kareth-Del didn't fall from war. It drowned because we broke the wrong chain."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
Veylan gestured outward.
"The fourth chain. Depth. We shattered it. The sea came not as punishment, but as balance."
Jean clenched her fists. "Then why are they breaking more?"
"Because someone wants power without balance. And they don't care what drowns in its wake."
---
Suddenly, the flame above them flickered.
Whitney growled.
The water trembled.
From the cathedral's doorway, a figure emerged—hooded, robes soaked, arms bearing sigils that bled shadow.
The Deep Priest.
"Emissary," the figure rasped. "Your flame dies here."
Chains of black kelp burst from the floor, lashing toward Jean.
She moved.
Serah's blade hissed from its sheath, cutting light through the darkness. Water boiled as it touched the blade's aura. Whitney lunged, fangs bared, tearing through spectral tendrils.
Veylan raised his staff, summoning a ripple of force that shattered pews and altar alike.
"You don't get to kill her," he snarled. "Not yet."
---
The battle raged through the cathedral, pillars falling, water rising.
Jean met the Deep Priest blow for blow, dodging chains and slicing through curses. But the priest's power wasn't his own—it came from something far below.
Then Jean saw it.
A crack in the cathedral's submerged foundation.
Beneath it, a second altar, glowing with runes older than Celeste herself.
The Fourth Chain.
It wasn't broken—yet.
Jean locked eyes with the priest. "You're not here to kill me. You're here to finish it."
The priest laughed—and dove.
---
Jean followed.
Through rushing water and memories not her own.
She reached the altar just as the priest's hands met the runes.
With one strike of her blade, she severed his arm.
He screamed—bubbles and blood clouding the water.
Jean didn't hesitate. She plunged the blade into the altar, not to break it—but to bind it anew.
A pulse of silver light surged outward.
The water calmed.
The Deep Priest turned to salt before her eyes.
And the Fourth Chain held.
---
Later, as they left the ruin, Veylan leaned heavily on his staff.
"You bound it again. No one's done that in centuries."
Jean stared back at the water. "Then maybe we don't have to watch the world fall."
Veylan shook his head. "You delayed it. But it's not enough. There's another chain in the capital. Hidden in plain sight."
He handed her a scroll, bound in skin.
"You'll need this."
Jean took it, heart heavy.
"What's it called?" she asked.
Veylan's voice was barely a whisper.
"The Chain of Judgment."