SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Tideveil…

Illuminated by flickering bio-luminescent orbs and guarded by beasts of coral origin, Tideveil was home to the Coral Spirit Clan—their bloodline cold, proud, and feared across the lower oceans.

And at its core, in a chamber carved from fossilized kraken bone and ink-stained marble, Prince Ullo paced restlessly.

His skin glowed with pale green scales, and his long horns twitched with unease. He had not received even a whisper from the seven assassins he had dispatched to kill Neela, the Naga Princess. Seven trained killers—blessed with poison arts and the silent step of abyssal shadows—should have been more than enough.

But silence was all he received.

“Nothing…” Ullo muttered, clutching his trident-staff as his nails scratched over the runes embedded in the handle. “Did they fall for a trap? Was the Naga girl guarded…?”

Before he could spiral further into panic, a servant rushed into the chamber. His breath was short, his body trembling.

“P-Prince Ullo! Ancestor Khagara… has risen again… He summons you…”

The servant did not wait for permission. He fell to his knees, forehead pressed to the coral floor in terror.

Ullo’s pupils shrank.

Khagara? The name alone sent dread like icewater through his spine.

The Dead Ancestor, the spirit of a once-supreme Coral Patriarch, who had returned from the depths of the Death Trench through forbidden means. Neither alive nor truly dead—Khagara was now the will of vengeance that dwelled in the sealed chamber of black mist, where tides themselves refused to flow.

Ullo swallowed his fear and moved. Swiftly. Quietly. His royal robes trailed behind him, but no one dared speak. No one dared follow.

He descended spiral steps, deeper into the tomb-hall beneath the palace, where screaming skulls were embedded into the walls like decoration.

The thick miasma of decayed spiritual qi coiled like tendrils in the air.

At the center stood a tall, hunched figure—cloaked in seaweed robes and ink-black mist. His eyes glowed with crimson hunger, and his coral bone staff pulsed with dark rhythms that made even the walls moan.

Khagara.

“Ullo,” the voice echoed—not through ears, but through bone and blood. It was a voice that remembered being alive, and hated the living for it.

The prince fell to one knee immediately, his forehead against the floor. “Ancestor…”

Khagara did not step forward.

He floated.

The ground beneath Ullo blackened as frost and decay consumed the coral tiles.

“What news of the Naga girl?”

Ullo trembled, swallowing hard. “I-I sent seven of our best. Shadow-venom lineage. No response… I believe—”

He was cut off.

In a blur of motion and cold fury, Khagara raised his hand. Spiritual threads shot out and wrapped around Ullo’s neck, lifting him several feet into the air. His body spasmed as black mist invaded his meridians, needles of frost piercing his spiritual core.

“Seven of our best? And none returned? You disappoint the blood that bore you, child.”

The air buzzed with ancient hatred. Ullo’s trident fell from his hand with a metallic clang.

“I taught you better,” Khagara hissed, eyes glowing brighter. “That girl is not just a princess… She is the key. The one destined to awaken the Naga bloodline’s divine heritage. If she unites with the human boy who completed the Sacred Trials… Tideveil will fall before we can ever rise.”

With a flick, Khagara hurled Ullo against the far wall.

The prince collapsed, coughing blood, his scales cracked. Yet he dared not cry out.

“Listen now, child of coral and cowardice,” Khagara snarled. “You will send more. Not assassins… but hunters. Beasts with a hunger for divine blood. Unleash the Depth Reavers, release the Tideflame Orcas. Let them loose upon every water realm between here and the Naga Sea.”

Ullo coughed and nodded rapidly, struggling to rise.

“Y-Yes… Ancestor… I will—”

“No more failures,” Khagara interrupted, his form beginning to fade into mist once more. “Fail again… and I shall offer your soul to the Abyss Maw myself.”

The shadows thickened.

Khagara vanished.

Only the lingering frost and the scent of death remained.

Prince Ullo staggered to his feet, eyes now red with pain and fury. His pride was crushed, his fear inflamed, but his mission was clear.

“Neela…” he whispered, blood dripping from his lips. “I will erase you from the sea… even if I must destroy the Naga Sea itself.”

And with that, Tideveil’s war machines began to awaken. Beacons were lit in silent trenches, sealed scrolls opened, and monsters long slumbering in chained darkness began to stir.

A tide of vengeance was coming.

–

Sea Ancestral Temple…

All was still in the upper dome of the Naga Clan’s Coral Castle, guards slumbered without fear.

But not everything that slumbered remained asleep.

Far above, along the smooth curvature of the coral palace’s high ceilings, seven shadows slithered soundlessly like oil spilled on water. Cloaked in shimmering Darkwater Shadow Veils, they were neither seen nor sensed by the ancestral formations running throughout the palace.

These were not ordinary assassins—they were the Silenced Tide, the deadliest kill-squad ever bred by the Tideveil’s Coral Spirit Clan.

Leading them was a red-headed man with octopus tentacles coiling loosely around his neck—Voril. His breath was calm, his eyes gleamed coldly in the faint phosphorescence. His left hand constantly traced a charm made of sharkbone, while his right clutched a knife dipped in three-fold poison—meant not to kill instantly, but to ruin the flow of Yin essence from within.

They reached the eastern wing. Below them, behind a sealed conch door, was the chamber of Princess Neela.

“Mark the sound proof talismans. Silence everything. No trace,” Voril whispered in an abyssal tongue.

The team moved with ghost-like precision. They unfurled Fire Containment Yantras across the four corners of the door and activated Sound-Sealing Talismans, turning the room into a sealed battlefield. The guards would sense nothing. No flame, no scream, no fluctuation of spiritual energy.

With a flick of Voril’s wrist, the talisman on the door shimmered and cracked—allowing them entry.

Inside, the room was cast in soft blue. Coral lamps flickered gently. A faint sobbing could be heard near the tall open window. Princess Neela, draped in a silken robe of seafoam, sat curled in grief—her hands gripping her knees, her body shaking from emotion.

Her long turquoise hair spilled around her like a halo of sorrow.

“Why, Kent…? Why?” she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

The assassins struck.

A talisman was thrown to block the door completely—no way out.

Three blades slashed downward at once.

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