The professor gasped and sat upright—but he wasn’t in bed.

  He was at the bottom of the ocean. All he saw was darkness. He couldn't even see his hands in front of him.

  He tried holding his breath, instinctively, but after a moment, his lungs demanded air.

  He inhaled.

  Water.

  But it didn’t drown him. It filled him like breath, soothing and cool.

  The ground beneath him pulsed.

  A low vibration, a heartbeat, a rhythm of something ancient waking beneath the sea.

  The seafloor glowed with a soft, deep blue light. In the distance, shapes emerged—sharp, pillars of stone forming a gate.

  Two figures hovered beside it, unmoving. “Mermen?”— but unlike anything in folklore. Their bodies were sculpted, not like fish, but like marble statues come to life. They wore armor carved from turtle shells and kelp—woven mesh. In their hands, they held golden tridents, a large sapphire set beneath the center prong.

  Voices entered his mind, calm and powerful.

  "Welcome, Professor," the guards said in unison. "You are expected."

  As the massive stone gates creaked open, the professor stepped through into a sprawling courtyard carved from coral and obsidian. The water, despite its depth, was filled with soft light that pulsed like the beat of a living heart.

  Thousands of Merfolk filled the grounds, moving with fluid precision through synchronized training routines. Their movements were graceful and disciplined, each maneuver echoing purpose and power. These were not idle swimmers. They were warriors.

  The professor blinked in astonishment. Unlike the elegant stories of mermaids from myth, these were fierce guardians. Their upper bodies were humanoid, sculpted like seasoned soldiers, draped in intricate shell and scale armor that shimmered like pearls under pressure. But from the waist down, their forms gave way to the powerful, sinuous tails of deep—sea predators— sleek, scaled, and bristling with control. Half-human, half-fish, and entirely divine in presence.

  Each warrior clutched a golden trident in hand, the weapon’s central spine crowned with a ruby so brilliant it glowed even in the dimmest currents. Their turtle-shell armor was etched with symbols in a language the professor couldn’t read — likely older than the land he was born on.

  Hovering at the edge of the training grounds, perched atop a jagged stone spire, was a colossal sea dragon — its long body coiled like a serpent, wings tucked like folded sails. It watched the soldiers train, unmoving and intense. This was no brute. This was a teacher. It didn't acknowledged the Professor's presence. It was too deep in thought and concentration at each individual warrior.

  And all of it — all of it — was beneath the ocean’s surface, unseen by the world above.

  The professor’s eyes remained fixed on the dragon above. Its wings shifted with the slow grace of drifting kelp, but the power in its form was unmistakable. This was not Acrid’s smoldering fury. This was something older — deeper. A silent, watching storm.

  A movement caught his eye near the edge of the courtyard.

  She was walking — if such a word could describe the gliding elegance of her motion. The figure was tall, slender, and cloaked in what looked like translucent veils of sea silk, strands of living kelp trailing from her arms like flowing ribbons. Her skin shimmered with the faint bioluminescence of jellyfish, and her eyes… her eyes were like polished pearl.

  He recognized her instantly. She had been there. In Grove’s sanctuary. Watching.

  She stopped in front of him and gave a graceful bow, her head dipping as her webbed fingers crossed over her chest.

  "Professor," her voice said, not through her lips, but in his mind — soothing, feminine, kind. "We have waited for your arrival."

  He blinked. “Waited?”

  "Of course," she replied, with the hint of a smile. "There are things even your protector has not seen. Come. You are to be received by The Ones Who Dwell Below.”

  She turned, and with a flick of her hand, a corridor opened in the coral wall — grown, not carved, forming a path lit by the glowing bodies of bioluminescent creatures. He followed.

  Downward.

  Deeper.

  The corridor twisted like a seashell, and soon the muffled sounds of the training grounds faded into silence. They emerged into a vast chamber, pulsing with an ambient light that had no source. Massive columns of coral reached up into the void, and between them lay resting pools — each containing a massive slumbering form. Dragons, curled like sea serpents, dozing in the dim warmth of the sanctuary.

  The emissary turned to him once more, her expression soft.

  "These are the daughters of the Deep. They are not yet awake. But when they are… the seas will change forever."

  Then she gestured toward a final chamber ahead — its gates open, the light within brighter, clearer, and strangely warm.

  "She awaits."

  The chamber was silent, save for the soft ripple of water echoing off the vaulted coral walls. Siren led the professor past the slumbering daughters — each curled in serenity, like gods waiting to breathe.

  Finally, they stopped before a raised platform surrounded by glowing sea glass and a bed of shimmering kelp. Above it, an intricate shell spiral framed the space like a crown.

  Siren turned to him.

  “There is much about you that is... unexpected,” she said gently, her luminous gaze resting on the tree brand glowing faintly on his neck. “You are the first Witness in ages to receive a gift from Acrid.”

  The professor instinctively touched the mark, fingertips brushing over the skin where the ancient brand now rested.

  Siren’s voice was low with awe. “To hold the hand of the boy during the ritual — to endure the branding as your own — was a decision of honor. Of pain. Grove would never admit it, but he was the last to bear the marks before you. You are the only Witness since his time to willingly share another’s burden.”

  The professor swallowed, unsure how to respond.

  Siren stepped closer. “Because you carry Acrid’s favor, you have been granted what not may others have seen. Access to this sacred place… and the awakening of Her daughters.”

  He looked around at the great resting forms in awe. “The Queen… may I know her name?”

  Siren smiled softly, almost reverently.

  “Her name… is Aqui.”

  The name echoed through the chamber — not aloud, but in his mind. It rang with depth, like the sea itself had spoken.

  The water shimmered with a subtle tremor as if the very ocean had acknowledged its Queen’s name.

  Siren turned toward the heart of the chamber.

  “Come. It is time.”

  In the silence of the sleeping chamber, the ceiling above slowly began to open. A soft rumble vibrated through the stone floor as beams of bioluminescent light filtered down from above, washing the cavern in a pale, deep-blue glow. Outside, waiting on an enormous platform suspended in the ocean like an altar, the Merfolk warriors stood in perfect formation.

  Thousands of them. Still as statues. Fully armored in what looked like golden chainmail, tridents gripped in both hands, held vertically beside them with disciplined reverence.

  They stood beside a row of massive cocoons.

  The first cocoon began to crack.

  It started with a low pulse, like a heartbeat echoing through water. Then a sharp fracture burst through the shell. The cocoon splintered violently, and with a sudden eruption of bubbles and golden light, the first drake broke free.

  She was radiant and terrible.

  Golden as the tridents the Merfolk held, her sleek body glistened with spines — razor—sharp and perfectly aligned down her back and tail. She flared her long fins and planted herself on the platform before the professor, wings tucked in but tense, muscles coiled with barely restrained fury. Her golden eyes met his, unblinking. She stood, breathing with intention, like a predator measuring the room.

  A sharp beak jutted from her armored face, serrated at the edges. She was born for war and speed.

  The Siren dropped to one knee in reverence. All the Merfolk followed, bowing their heads and pressing their tridents to the floor in a resounding, synchronized ring.

  The professor, heart pounding, instinctively followed suit.

  As the echoes of the first awakening faded, a second cocoon began to stir.

  This one did not break violently — but peeled open in slow, deliberate layers. The drake that emerged was different — broader, heavier. Still golden, but rounder in shape. Its mouth opened, and what lay within made the professor recoil slightly. A long, tubular throat revealed rows upon rows of circular, macerating teeth — spinning slowly like a turbine. On its back and sides, layered openings like gills and vents shimmered, each releasing pulses of warm mist into the water.

  It slid from its shell and planted itself beside the first, the two forming a united front — aggression and power.

  The Merfolk rose in perfect unison, again standing at attention.

  The Siren stepped forward and turned to the professor.

  “These are Aqui’s Harvesters,” she said, her voice calm but filled with pride. “They are the first to awaken. Their duty is clear — cleanse the oceans of all contaminants.

  Her gaze turned toward the two dragons, now perfectly still, their bodies glittering with power.

  “They are the beginning.”

  The professor furrowed his brow. “Contaminants?”

  The Siren nodded solemnly. “Machines that poison the ground. Vessels that pierce the flesh of the ocean. Tools that disturb the sleeping currents.”

  The professor stared at the Siren in silence for a long moment. Below them, the two golden drakes remained still — watchful. Regal. Patient. The chamber pulsed with silent power.

  “You said the ocean remembers,” he said. “Then what is my place in all this? Why show me these awakenings?”

  The Siren’s gaze lingered on him now, unblinking. “Because you are the Witness.”

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  “I know what that means for the jungle,” he said. “For Acrid. But here — this is different.”

  She stepped closer, her voice low, but not unkind. “Aqui is a Supreme. Her decisions are beyond question, even among dragons. But she is not cruel. She has allowed you… judgement.”

  The professor frowned. “Judgement?”

  The Siren raised her hand, gesturing to the vast training ground, the dragons, the gates. “When you sleep, you will be here. This is now your second home. When contaminants are located, you may be called to judge. To weigh their purpose. Their harm. Their intent.”

  He stepped back slightly. “You’re asking me to decide who lives and who dies?”

  “No,” the Siren replied. “I am telling you that you will be asked to choose.”

  “And if I choose mercy?” he asked.

  She nodded. “We will adhere to your judgment… if it fails, then I will judge and the Queen will be displeased.”

  She turned back toward the slumbering cocoons. A ripple passed through the still waters around them, the pressure suddenly heavier.

  The Professor swallowed. “And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “You can accept” the Siren said softly. “She is the sea.”

  The Siren raised her hand once more, palm facing outward, and the water in front of them shimmered like glass. An image began to form — distorted at first, then clear.

  A towering structure appeared, rising from the seabed to the surface above. The Professor recognized it immediately.

  “An oil rig?” he muttered.

  The Siren didn’t look at him. “A wound.”

  He turned toward her. “What?”

  She gestured at the vision again. Now the image sank beneath the surface, revealing great metal anchors drilled into the seabed like harpoons through ground. Thick cords of steel and pipeline webbed across the ocean floor, strangling coral, burying plant life. Fish swam erratically through clouded plumes of black that leaked from the machinery like blood.

  “Your kind built this place not to share the sea… but to extract its bones,” she said. “The stone is poisoned. The pressure changed. The crust weakened.”

  The image shifted again. Cracks in the ocean floor. Dead zones. Collapsing habitats.

  “Countless generations died in silence. No storm could scream loud enough to stop it. And still, they persist.”

  The Siren turned her gaze on him now. “Now, tell me what they deserve.”

  The vision focused on the surface now — workers, engineers, sleeping in bunks, eating meals, unaware. A handful walked the platforms under the night sky. The rigs themselves were tethered to massive transport vessels waiting nearby.

  “They did not build it,” the Siren said. “But they keep it alive. You have seen what it does below. Now, you must decide.”

  The Professor's heart thudded in his chest. “What happens if I say they live?”

  “Then they live…” she said with a distant tone. “This is your judgment. But not your domain.”

  He looked back to the vision, watching as an engineer paused on the railing, staring out at the open black of the sea.

  “What do you want from me?” he asked.

  “I want your judgment,” she said gently. “That’s all.”

  He hesitated. He had seen the destruction with his own eyes. But he had also seen the faces. The lives.

  The Professor took a step closer to the images, his eyes scanning the unaware workers as they walked the narrow catwalks and staircases of the rig. Their lives, their routines. Not soldiers. Not monsters. Just people.

  He turned back to the Siren, his voice firm but measured.

  “There has to be another way,” he said. “What if… what if you gave them a chance to leave? A warning. Let them evacuate. Then destroy the rig.”

  The Siren tilted her head, considering him with unreadable eyes. “Is that your judgment?”

  “Because they don’t understand,” he replied. “They don’t see what you’ve shown me. They’ve never seen the cracks in the sea floor, or the reefs smothered in sludge. They’re cogs in a machine. Give them the choice to step away.”

  The Siren remained silent for a long moment. The water hummed with energy, like it, too, was listening.

  “You believe choice is a cure,” she finally said. “But even when faced with truth, your kind often chooses ignorance.”

  “Maybe,” the Professor said. “But some won’t. Some will listen. If you give them that chance, you can cleanse the sea and save lives.”

  The moment the Professor voiced his decision — to spare the workers but destroy the machine — the Siren gave a slow nod. She didn’t move, but the water around them began to ripple. A strange silence settled in the chamber, heavy and dense like the deep sea itself had paused to listen.

  Then came the vibration.

  Not sound, but sensation — deep and low, like the groan of shifting tectonic plates. The stones underneath them trembled slightly, enough to scatter grains of sediment.

  From the bowels of the chamber floor, a sleeping cocoon — one not previously visible — emitted a faint, deep red glow. The Professor stepped back, watching as cracks formed along its surface. Tiny bubbles escaped into the surrounding water, followed by a slow, thunderous pulse that pushed waves outward like a shockwave.

  “This… isn’t one of the golden sisters,” the Professor whispered.

  “No,” the Siren answered, reverently. “This is another. One that does not often rise.”

  From the fissured cocoon, a great form began to rise. Its body was massive and angular, cloaked in thick armored plates the color of basalt and obsidian. Its limbs were short and broad, built for impact. Its back bristled with jagged spines, and a thick tail dragged behind, disturbing the silt and coral beneath it.

  The drake’s heavy head turned slowly, eyes glowing like magma from beneath a cracked shell of armor.

  “This is Brastes,” the Siren continued. “Mover of the earth. She shakes the oceans from beneath. She is strength without elegance. Purpose without pause.”

  Brastes didn’t acknowledge them. With a single, lurching movement, the black drake heaved forward and vanished into the open trench that led beyond the chamber.

  Then, without hesitation, the golden sisters launched from their stations, gliding like spears through the dark water, their sleek bodies illuminated by golden trails that followed them. Behind them, the merfolk harvesters surged forward and followed closely.

  The sea grew dark as her massive frame pushed through the abyss. When they approached the rig. Brastes planted herself firmly beneath the looming oil rig, her clawed limbs gripping the trembling earth. For a moment, there was silence.

  Then, she vibrated.

  The ocean floor shook violently, and a shockwave of tectonic pressure rippled through the seabed. The foundation of the oil rig groaned as its supports shifted. Alarms blared, red lights flashed, and evacuation protocols were initiated across the structure. Workers scrambled, calling for help, racing to lifeboats and awaiting helicopter rescue.

  From below, the second drake emerged. The Blunt Drake dove deep beneath the rig, her rotating, gaping maw protruded turning into a rotating drill, tearing through the poisoned rock. Metal was shredded effortlessly, the oil rig's drill dissolved on impact, pipes split and contorted. Every scrap that fell was devoured, broken down within her vast stomach and released through the vent-like holes on her back. What came out was no longer pollution but glowing strands of nutrient-rich fertilizer, sinking into the wounded ocean floor to promote regrowth.

  Then came the Sharp Drake, glistening like firelight through the water. Behind her swam an army of merfolk harvesters. Sleek and powerful, they erupted from the depths like golden harpoons, breaking the surface with blinding speed. As their bodies emerged from the water, their single tails split into two flexible limbs, allowing them to cling and scale the metal rig with terrifying grace.

  The harversters struck with brutal efficiency. Golden tridents punched through metal like paper, shredding pipelines and machinery. They moved in synchronized patterns, following the commands of their golden commander as they dismantled the rig piece by piece.

  The workers were mostly gone by the time the assault reached full force. Boats had fled, helicopters lifted survivors to safety, but the chaos hadn’t gone unnoticed. Cameras on the rig caught brief images of scaled creatures leaping into the air. Divers from support vessels captured grainy footage of monstrous forms in the deep. And underwater surveillance near the drill captured crystal-clear shots of the Blunt Drake feeding on the rig itself. All of it was sent to an offsite command center before the signals were lost.

  The golden sisters did not stop.

  They moved from one rig to the next, bringing with them Brastes and the merfolk forces. Each assault was swift, unrelenting, and final. Some sites were abandoned before they arrived, but others were not so lucky. Helicopter delays, broken ladders, jammed doors — some workers didn’t make it out. Some drowned. Some were crushed in the collapse.

  The Professor looked at the transformed landscapes.

  “From death becomes life.”

  The waters settled.

  Where once towers of steel had pierced the sea, there was now only silence — and life. Coral sprouts already clung to what little debris remained. Schools of fish wove through the glowing tendrils of regrown kelp, and whales, long absent from the poisoned waters, returned with quiet grace.

  The Professor stood at the edge of a raised platform within the fortress, watching the scene unfold through an enormous arched window carved from pearl and coral. The images shown to him was not one of destruction, but rebirth. The ocean was healing. He could see it. He could feel it.

  He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “It was the right choice,” he said softly. “The loss was... regrettable, but it was just. The sea is breathing again.”

  Behind him, the Siren stepped forward, her presence as gentle as the tides, yet laced with something ancient and powerful. “You understand now,” she said. “We are not born of wrath. We are born of necessity. You’ve seen the Queen’s purpose.”

  He turned to face her, and for a moment, neither spoke. Then, she smiled — not cruelly, not coldly, but with something approaching pride.

  “The Queen is satisfied,” the Siren said. “And so am I.”

  The Professor nodded. “Then I’ll keep doing what I must. If I am to be your judge, then I will judge fairly. But I will not let death become routine.”

  The Siren tilted her head, watching him with curiosity. “You walk a difficult line, Witness. But perhaps that is why you were chosen... but know this – many will die no matter how many steps you take.”

  She gestured toward the great ocean stretching beyond the window. “Rest now. You will be called again soon.”

  The Professor lurched upright in bed, coughing violently.

  A spray of seawater hit the sheets as he heaved for breath, his lungs burning as though he had just surfaced from the bottom of the ocean. Salt stung his throat and nose. His chest ached.

  Athena bolted from the bed with a sharp meow, her fur bristling.

  Mind, already perched on the nightstand, watched wide-eyed, stunned by the sudden violent awakening. The dragon blinked and sprang to the Professor’s side, hovering inches from his face.

  “You’re expelling seawater,” Mind said, baffled. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

  The Professor coughed again, finally catching his breath. “I was there… I saw them.”

  Mind narrowed its eyes. “Saw who?”

  “The daughters,” he rasped. “Of Aqui.”

  There was silence. Even Athena stopped pacing.

  Mind’s expression didn’t shift — but something in its presence changed. Slower. More calculating. Its tail stopped flicking.

  “No Witness has been shown the daughters in a long time,” Mind said slowly. “Not in any cycle I’ve lived. That kind of vision… it’s reserved only for those who’ve earned the Queen’s favor.”

  The Professor reached for the edge of the bed, pulling himself upright, clothes soaked and clinging. His hands trembled. His neck still tingled with the faint burn of the jungle brand.

  “You said Supremes wake when they’re needed. She showed me everything. An army. Dragons. Merfolk. She knew about Acrid’s gift.”

  Mind floated back, its pink hue dimming slightly.

  “I suspected Aqui would awaken,” it admitted. “The ocean has suffered far too long. But I never imagined she’d reveal her daughters… not even to the chosen. Not to the Witness.”

  “She called me that,” the Professor whispered. “They all did.”

  Mind stared at him in silence for a long moment. “Then the world is changing faster than even I imagined.”

  The Professor glanced down at his still—damp sheets, then back up. “It’s not just Acrid anymore.”

  “No,” Mind said softly. “It’s not.”

  The scent of crisp bacon and roasted coffee filled the air as the Professor stepped into the kitchen. The table was already set — perfectly, as always.

  Mind sat in its usual loaf position at the edge of the table, tail flicking lazily.

  “Morning,” the Professor said, voice hoarse.

  “You were snoring like someone trying to drown upside down,” Mind replied without looking up.

  The Professor ignored the jab and sat down, eyes drifting to the steaming cup of coffee already waiting for him. He took a sip and exhaled slowly. No surprise. It was perfect.

  The Professor sat quietly at the table, chewing slowly on a piece of toasted bread slathered in apricot preserves. Mind floated lazily above the table, curled in a tight loop like a cat loaf, eyes half—lidded as it scrolled through the morning news projected midair in thin golden script.

  A headline caught the Professor’s eye. “This is the sixth Offshore Rig Lost in Catastrophic Event —Footage Reveals Unknown Sea Creatures”

  Mind snorted faintly. “Six rigs in less than a week… Aqui’s daughters are thorough, I’ll give her that.”

  The Professor didn’t respond right away. He sipped his coffee.

  Mind continued, almost to itself, “What’s strange is… survivors. There shouldn’t have been any. Historically, Supreme awakenings don’t leave behind witnesses.”

  The Professor glanced over his mug. “Is that so?”

  Mind’s gaze sharpened. “Very much so. It’s… uncharacteristic.”

  A pause hung in the air.

  “Well,” the Professor finally said, his tone neutral, “maybe the Queen of the Seas is feeling merciful.”

  Mind stared at him. “Dragons do not feel mercy.”

  “Then perhaps… she’s learning.”

  Mind narrowed its eyes, visibly unsettled. “That would be… unprece...”

  Mind suddenly stopped mid—sentence, eyes locked on the shimmering news feed hovering in the air. The projection flickered, then cut to a red banner:

  Breaking News: Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon Over the Amazon Rainforest

  A grainy, zoomed-in video from a news helicopter took over the screen. The camera shook with turbulence, struggling to focus through the dense clouds and heat distortion rising from the jungle.

  Then it appeared — just for a second.

  A massive figure — green, glistening, and impossibly wide — ripped through the mist above the canopy, wings spread like emerald sails, casting an impossible shadow over the endless green below.

  “Jesus…” the camera operator whispered in the feed’s background. The image jolted and zoomed again, capturing Acrid as it dipped slightly before vanishing into the clouds again — no sound but the panicked whir of the chopper blades and frantic radio chatter.

  The footage cut to a stunned news anchor trying to keep her composure.

  “This… just in. Multiple aircraft over the Amazon basin have reported sightings of a flying creature, described as a dragon and the Brazilian government has issued an immediate no—fly zone and has requested international cooperation to avoid provoking the unknown scourge of the jungle.”

  Mind stood completely still. For once, not floating. Not blinking.

  The Professor leaned forward, setting his coffee down carefully. “That’s it.”

  Mind’s voice was low. “Acrid… is no longer molting.”

  The footage on the screen cut from studio anchors to what was clearly a live feed. The camera wobbled wildly — airborne, handheld, panicked.

  The voice of the reporter, breathless and straining against the wind, shouted over the roar of chopper blades.

  “We’re now flying over the southern edge of the Amazon — just moments ago we caught a glimpse of what appears to be an enormous winged...”

  Suddenly, a hissing noise pierced the audio. The image jolted. The camera spun as screams erupted in the cabin.

  A spray of green mist struck the helicopter’s rotors. In seconds, the propeller blades began to corrode mid—flight — melting and warping before the chopper lost balance entirely.

  “No, no, no...!”

  The screen flipped wildly. The camera struck the jungle floor hard, jarring sideways as someone — a woman — hit the ground with a bone-snapping crack.

  The lens focused just long enough to show her dragging herself away, her leg clearly broken. The helicopter is seen in the background as it immediately turns to dust when it hits the ground.

  Behind her… the trees parted.

  Acrid descended from the sky with the grace of a god. Massive, luminous, and leaking a steady trail of acidic fluid from its gaping maw. The earth hissed and smoked where it stepped.

  A line of acid sprayed the ground near the reporter — some of it striking her cheek. She screamed — but not from pain.

  No flesh melted. No skin burned.

  Instead, the acid glowed softly on her skin, leaving behind no mark.

  Acrid stepped forward.

  Silently. Purposefully.

  It lowered its massive head until it was nearly nose-to-nose with the trembling reporter. Its eyes, glowing like emerald fire, scanned her, unblinking.

  Then it opened its mouth and let out small drops of acid — directly onto her broken leg.

  She screamed again.

  But not from pain.

  The flesh beneath the acid knit together before their very eyes began to set and heal.

  She sat up, blinking. Confused.

  Just then, movement in the brush — a group of people, barefoot and cloaked in bark and vine clothing, emerged from the jungle. Members of Acrid’s Tribe.

  Without a word, they gently lifted the reporter and carried her into the green.

  The camera, still recording, was left in the mud. Acrid stepped past it, casting one last look toward the lens… then disappeared into the vines. A trail of acid approached the camera and in an instant.

  The feed cut.

  Dead silence filled the room.

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