The inner sanctum of the Basalt Temple was illuminated by a soft blue glow from bioluminescent coral, which caused color ripples to appear on the stone walls. Before the imposing statue of the Ocean God, a calm, chubby figure sculpted from black stone with hands extended in blessing, Thalassa knelt. The priestess traced the sacred characters etched into the altar with her fingers while her lips moved in quiet prayer.

Then she said, "Grant us wisdom, O Endless One," "Direct my father's course. Let the Archons see reason before blood is shed, if that is your will."

Behind her, a faint ripple shook the water. The sound made Thalassa's finned ears quiver, and she rose elegantly, turning and straightening the folds of her white robes. With a gradual, smooth motion, the huge doors of the temple slid open, revealing a silhouette surrounded by the faint, far-off glow of Atlantis.

"Welcome, seeker," she remarked in a kind yet calm tone. "The sanctuary of the Ocean God is open to all. How may I serve you?"

The seaside village, with its wooden buildings worn smooth by wind and salt, stretched along the shore like a forgotten dream. In order to conceal the fragile fins of her ears, Thalassa made sure her hood was low enough. The rough-spun cloak rubbed against the openings in her gills, but anonymity was worth the discomfort.

She walked purposefully through the village, observing. With trained hands, basic tools, and deliberate, unhurried movements, fishermen repaired their nets. Women with sun and sea-etched faces carried baskets of clams and mussels. On the surface, they appeared to be just as commonplace, nondescript, and magic-free as the ancient Atlantean records had said. However, Thalassa was aware that initial impressions should not be trusted.

Power could wear humble disguises.

Her fingers brushed the pouch at her belt, where the cracked turtle shell rested. The divination had been faint, the omens barely there, but they had pointed her here. Whether this was opportunity or another dead end, she would find out soon enough.

A small hand tugged at her cloak.

She looked down. A child, no older than six, stared up at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Are you a sea witch?" he whispered.

Her breath caught, but she kept her face still. "Why do you ask?"

"You smell like the deep water," he said. "And your eyes are too blue."

Before she could respond, a sharp whistle cut through the air. The boy turned and ran off toward a fisherman who was watching them both now, his expression wary.

Thalassa straightened, her pulse steady once more. She had been noticed.

Across the cobbled path, near the edge of the docks, a lone figure stood. Arms crossed, they studied her with quiet intensity. A test, then.

She tilted her chin up and walked toward them, her steps unhurried.

"You there," she called, her voice carrying the cadence of distant tides. "Does this village have a name?"

The Atlanteans had underestimated the Land People.

Their spies, elite infiltrators sent to scout the surface in preparation for invasion, had been captured. Worse still, they’d been turned. The Land People turned them against their own kind. Their counterintelligence had been flawless, exposing the Archons' plans before the first wave of Atlantean forces could mobilize. War had been averted but not without cost.

Now, negotiations unfolded on a barren atoll, a speck of land too insignificant to fight over. The Atlanteans had come with desperation in their voices. The Dreamer’s monsters grew stronger by the day. Their defenses were failing. If Atlantis fell, the surface would be next.

The Land People were unmoved.

"You ask for aid after attempting to conquer us?" The human diplomat’s voice was dry, unimpressed. "Perhaps we should let these monsters thin your numbers first. Deal with whatever remains afterward."

The lead Atlantean Mage's gills flared. "Then we will have no choice but to strike your coastal regions. Drown your ports. Show you the true might of the seas."

"The surface is ours," The human replied coldly. "You cannot hold what you flood. A few coastal losses are acceptable - especially if it means weakening a proven enemy."

Thalassa sat in silence, her fingers curled tight around the edge of her seat. None of this mattered. Not truly. Her father still languished in prison, condemned for treason, for daring to oppose the war before it had even begun. The Archons would never pardon him. Their pride wouldn’t allow it.

The session broke for recess. As the delegates filed out, the Atlantean mage turned back, his voice low.

"When the horrors break through, you will beg for our aid."

The human diplomat smirked. "And if we help you now, what stops you from turning on us once the threat is gone? Your kind already proved untrustworthy."

"Because extinction is the alternative."

"For you, perhaps."

Before the exchange could escalate further, the Archon’s envoy rose sharply, slamming a fist on the table.

"Enough. We will reconvene after the break. Think carefully on your next words."

With that, the session was adjourned.

One by one, the delegates left the chamber, leaving behind only silence and the weight of unspoken doom.

Thalassa lingered, watching the door close behind the last of them. The arguments had done nothing but confirm what she already knew: neither side would yield. And her father’s fate was sealed.

The basalt interrogation chamber hummed with the faint glow of bioluminescent coral, their shifting blue light reflecting off the enchanted glass barrier. Thalassa adjusted the gold harness across her shoulders as she studied the prisoner on the other side.

A Land Person.

Their strange woven garments clung to their damp skin, their breathing labored in the pressurized chamber. The Atlantean infantry had discovered them in the outer trenches, much too close to the city for it to be mere chance. The last thing Atlantis needed was surface dwellers prying into their affairs, particularly now.

The militia beside her shifted, his coral spear tapping against the floor in an uneven rhythm. "Mother Thalassa," he said, voice low. "We've tried every known dialect. Nothing. The Archons won't wait long for answers."

She exhaled slowly. The last recorded contact with Land People had been centuries ago. Their languages would have changed beyond recognition. But there was one method left.

Her diadem pulsed as she reached for the Ocean God's gift, the shared resonance of water in all living things. She pressed a palm against the glass and spoke, shaping the words in the archaic surface tongue she had learned from crumbling scrolls.

"Land Person." Her voice carried through the barrier, smooth and deliberate. "Do you understand me?"