As the group was almost vacuumed by the light, they felt a strange pull tugging at them, drawing them deeper into the vastness of the ocean. In the blink of an eye, they found themselves emerging from the deep, and as they blinked in surprise, they were greeted by something entirely unexpected.
They stood beneath a massive dome, clear as crystal, allowing them to see through the layers of water and into the sprawling city beyond. The dome was an intricate masterpiece of shimmering, translucent glass, the edges frosted with delicate seaweed patterns. It stretched high above them, curving seamlessly into the water, protecting the city beneath from the crushing pressure of the deep ocean.
The city itself, though submerged, pulsed with life and light. Towering structures, crafted from coral and polished stone, stood like sentinels of the ocean floor. The buildings were adorned with intricate carvings and delicate glass windows that reflected the glowing aquatic flora surrounding them. The city's layout resembled an ancient labyrinth, with winding canals cutting through the streets, offering pathways for boats and swimmers alike. Soft, bioluminescent lights flickered from within the buildings, casting an eerie but beautiful glow across the city.
Aquatic plants grew in vibrant hues, their tendrils stretching out from beneath the surface of the canals, wrapping around buildings like natural sculptures. Schools of fish swam gracefully through the streets, while majestic sea creatures glided silently through the open space, their scales shimmering in the dim, ethereal light.
The air was cool and humid, and though the city was bathed in blue and green hues, it felt peaceful and untouched by the chaotic world above. The far-off hum of the ocean created a calming, rhythmic sound as waves gently lapped against the outer walls of the dome. The city had a quiet, ancient majesty about it, its grandeur frozen in time, as though it had remained hidden from the world for centuries.
"So, it does exist… the gateway to the depths." Phoebe's voice rose above the others, filled with awe. She stood entranced, her gaze sweeping across the underwater marvel of Coral Bastion. Every corner of the hidden city drew her deeper into wonder, her thoughts overwhelmed by its breathtaking beauty and intricate design.
Temoshí, however, looked far less thrilled. "Ugh…" he groaned, pressing a hand over his mouth as a wave of nausea washed over him. He turned his head, visibly tense, eyes locked on the ceiling of water suspended just beyond the dome. The proximity of the ocean above unsettled him, his imagination conjuring vivid scenarios of the barrier giving way and swallowing them whole.
"Try to keep it together, would you?" Chiaki said, casting a glance in his direction. "I know you hate water, but clearly we're fine here. We can breathe, move, even speak normally. This isn't ordinary seawater. Whatever it is, it's not draining your strength."
"I'm underwater, Chiaki," Temoshí muttered, his voice edged with unease. "I can see clearly. I can breathe. None of this makes sense, and I hate it." His expression was pale, his eyes spinning from disorientation, while the rest of the group remained remarkably calm amidst the surreal environment.
"Why does the sea make you so queasy, I wonder..." Fioren mused aloud, her tone light but curious. Stitch, equally intrigued, perked up to hear the explanation.
"Well," Phoebe chimed in, "his body's pretty much composed of fire. And everyone knows fire and water don't mix. In his case, it's not just metaphorical—his blood burns like flames. Even a little exposure to seawater can paralyze him. I saw it firsthand on that underwater train."
Stitch immediately reached for Temoshí's hand, inspecting it like she was searching for a hidden clue. "Hmm... yeah, you're right. Looks totally normal though."
Temoshí yanked his arm back, clearly unimpressed. "Glad to know I'm your science project of the day."
The mention of the underwater train stirred something in Chiaki. Her gaze dropped as she quietly grasped her own arm, lost in thought. She didn't speak—just remembered. After all, she had been there too.
"I wonder... could someone so powerful really turn into a helpless little weasel from just a drop of seawater? That's sooo disappointing," Stitch teased, giggling behind her hand like a child.
Temoshí clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to snap back. Her mocking tone hit a nerve, but he held it in.
As Stitch moved ahead, playfully skipping forward, Temoshí's gaze shifted to Chiaki. There was something off—her expression distant, troubled. Perhaps Fioren's presence still had her unsettled… or maybe something deeper was weighing on her mind.
Before the group could venture any deeper into the Coral Bastion, they were swiftly met with resistance.
A patrol of underwater warriors stood in their path—tall, imposing figures clad in armor uniquely designed for aquatic combat. Though humanoid in shape, many bore features reminiscent of sea creatures—fins, scales, gills, and eyes that glimmered like the deep ocean.
At the forefront stood a towering, muscular figure with the head of a shark. His presence alone demanded attention, clearly marking him as the leader of the group.
"Are these... Voreans?" Stitch whispered, glancing sideways to gauge Fioren's reaction.
Fioren remained composed, her expression relaxed. "Yup, those are the real deal. That one up front is Zharrok—one of the Coral Bastion's elite warriors. He doesn't mess around and can be a serious headache to deal with. But deep down… he's got a decent heart. Somewhere."
"Fioren…" Zharrok's voice rumbled like a tectonic shift beneath the sea. His sharp teeth glinted beneath the dim, filtered light—formidable and jagged, capable of tearing through more than just steel. "Who are these… men?"
Before anyone could respond, Stitch leaned in and whispered with a pout, "I'm a girl…"
The rest of the group remained silent, choosing caution over confrontation. Temoshí, unbothered by the wording, stood firm with arms crossed, having no desire to explain himself.
Fioren, unfazed by Zharrok's imposing presence, tilted her head and gave a playful grin. "Whoa, Zharrok, did your teeth grow back again? You must be so proud!" She clasped her hands beside her cheek, her tone giddy, like a teasing child. "Anyway—these are pirates. Or at least they were. At this point, they're just a bunch of scrappy fighters who look like they lost a bet with a wardrobe."
Temoshí's brow twitched. He glanced around, then turned sharply to Fioren. "What the hell was that supposed to mean? I dress like a regular person. Not like some fish-worshipping cosplayer. You all look like you're ready for an underwater opera. I should be proud of my 'normal' clothes."
Phoebe chimed in, unimpressed. "There's nothing normal about your outfit. It's torn, faded, and you look like a drifting vagrant."
Temoshí adjusted his ragged black cloak, hood resting behind his shoulders. "I found it in the wardrobe. It kept me dry from the storm and let me sneak out. You want fashion, go raid a boutique."
Zharrok had heard enough. With a thundering clang, he drove his weapon into the sandy ground, silencing the chatter. "That's enough. Who gave you the right to bring outsiders into the depths? You've broken sacred protocol, Fioren. The entrance to the Coral Bastion is not meant for the surface-dwellers."
His eyes burned with history and bitterness. "Have you forgotten what they did to us? The people of the surface destroyed what we cherished. We hide here for a reason—beneath the waves, away from their cruelty. They do not belong here. They never have."
"Aw, come on, Zharrok. You look all tough and mighty, but under that grim expression, you're just hiding behind fear," Fioren said, her tone laced with teasing, though her eyes grew serious. "Get it together. These people—this group—might finally be the ones who can help us."
She paused for a beat, then mumbled under her breath, "Even if their fashion sense is questionable…" A quick cough into her hand masked the comment before she pressed on.
"Besides, we can make use of their strength. They've already seen firsthand what the surface-dwellers are capable of. They know the damage those tyrants caused."
Phoebe, narrowing her eyes, caught something in Fioren's phrasing that didn't sit right. "Hold on a second… Phalris didn't send you to guide us here, did she?" Her voice sharpened with rising suspicion. "You tricked us? Are you serious?"
Caught red-handed, Fioren scratched the back of her neck awkwardly and let out a sheepish whistle. "W-Well… you're here now, right?" she said, dragging out the words. Then, quickly pivoting, she pointed straight at Zharrok's serrated jaw. "I'm sure we can work something out. A pact, perhaps?"
"That's enough, Fioren," Zharrok growled, his tone final. "Escort these outsiders out of our city. And don't bring them back. If you refuse, we'll remove them by force." His command was absolute, and the rest of the Vorean warriors raised their weapons in unison, ready for combat if necessary.
Temoshí and the others found themselves cornered beneath the sea—trapped in the Coral Bastion with no escape unless Fioren chose to guide them back.
A sudden shriek of excitement broke through the tension. "C'mon, c'mon, baby! Let me at 'em, Zharrok!" cried a wild-eyed Vorean with writhing tentacles for arms. She flailed them eagerly, grinning with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. "Lemme dice these surface rats! I'll turn 'em into seaweed strips! I'm buzzin' over here!" Her voice was shrill and erratic, the manic energy of a fighter itching for chaos.
"You'll get your chance if they refuse to leave, Razor," Zharrok declared sternly. "But for now, stay calm and don't get ahead of yourself. There's no need for bloodshed unless they force our hand. If these surface-dwellers value their lives, they'll leave our territory peacefully." He spoke with authority, deliberately ignoring the dramatic eye-roll Razor gave as she stomped aside, her tentacle arms stabbing irritably into the sand.
"No fun, no fun, no fun!" she muttered like a sulking child. "I need to shred 'em up like paper scraps! Bet they'd be tender too..."
Temoshí stepped forward, his boot sinking into the soft ocean sand. The movement drew immediate tension—every Vorean warrior raised their guard, eyes narrowing, weapons tightening in hand. But he didn't flinch. His gaze locked with Zharrok's, unwavering and bold.
"So it's true, huh?" he called out, his voice carrying strength and defiance. "What Fioren said—that you're all tucked away in these hidden caverns under your leader's orders because you're too afraid to confront the surface world? You, with your jagged teeth and towering muscles, trembling like rats in the dark? Don't make me laugh."
He took another step forward, arms held wide in challenge.
"You look like warriors, but you act like prisoners. If humans really did your people wrong—if they pushed you this deep—then why not rise up? Why not fight back? Don't just sit here rotting under the sea, waiting for the next tragedy."
The air seemed to thicken as he continued, the ocean's weight pressing down like a curtain drawn tight.
"We're not going anywhere. Not until you stop hiding. Even if Fioren turns us away—hell, even if every Vorean draws their blade—we'll stand here. Because someone has to remind you what it means to fight back."
A heavy silence followed. The tension became tangible, each heartbeat echoed in the hush between them. Zharrok's eyes stayed locked with Temoshí's, the fierce warrior unmoving. Neither flinched, neither looked away. Around them, the dome-filtered light flickered, and even the water beyond the barrier seemed to wait with bated breath, caught in the standoff between flame and tide.
Not even Razor dared to speak now.
To be continued...