The tides whispered as if the sea itself were holding its breath.
Bo Saixi guided Hai Shen Ling through the Temple of Shells' innermost sanctum, a place forbidden to all but those anointed by the Sea God. It was a hollow cavern beneath the ocean floor, accessible only through spirit force, carved from coral that pulsed faintly with the light of ancient energy.
No torches burned. No spirit lamps flickered.
And yet, Shen Ling could see.
The walls shimmered faintly with hues of sapphire and pearl, like they remembered sunlight from a thousand years ago. At the center of the chamber was a raised platform shaped like a blooming lotus, with a basin of still water at its heart. It neither rippled nor reflected—only absorbed.
Bo Saixi gestured for him to kneel.
"You're about to hear what no spirit master has heard in a thousand years," she said quietly. "But be warned: the Voice of the Forgotten does not speak in words. It speaks in burdens."
Shen Ling looked into the basin. "What will I see?"
She did not answer. Instead, she stepped back and raised both hands, summoning her martial soul.
From behind her, the glowing illusion of her Sea God Martial Soul shimmered into being—not a trident or a phantom weapon, but a halo of divine tide energy that swirled around her like a whirlpool of calm. She pressed her palms together and whispered a single chant.
The water in the basin began to glow.
A low hum filled the chamber—deep, resonant, like the voice of the ocean from far below the continental shelf. Shen Ling felt his Siren stir inside his spirit, not with power… but with reverence.
Bo Saixi looked at him, her expression softening.
"When you look into the water," she said, "don't search for answers. Listen for what has been waiting to be heard."
And with that, she stepped back, fading into the shadows beyond the circle of resonance.
Shen Ling reached forward and touched the basin.
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the world disappeared.
The silence was immediate and absolute.
No breath.
No thought.
No body.
Only existence.
He floated in an ocean that wasn't made of water—but of memory.
Every drop shimmered with something lost: laughter of sailors, songs of widows, the last words of warriors who had died beneath the tide. It wasn't overwhelming—it was intimate. The ocean was not trying to drown him. It was inviting him.
A single tone rang out, long and slow.
And suddenly, he was no longer alone.
He stood at the edge of a battlefield—beneath the sea, illuminated by pale blue light from above. Shattered coral towers jutted from the sand. Armor littered the seafloor. Bones tangled with kelp.
And at the center…
A figure.
She floated in place, unmoving.
The First Siren.
This time, he saw her clearly. Her features were serene yet haunting, her long hair braided with sea glass and pearls. Her robe was woven from moonlight and tideweed, and her eyes—when they opened—shone with quiet grief.
She sang.
But unlike before, the melody came not from her lips—but from the world around her. The ruins vibrated. The bones trembled. Even the light seemed to bend with her song.
And Shen Ling understood something elemental:
This was not a battle song.
It was a dirge.
A farewell.
A vow.
The Siren turned slowly to face him. Her expression shifted—eyes widening as if seeing him for the first time. And then… she smiled.
"You've returned."
The words did not come from her lips, but from the sea around him. They entered his spirit, bypassing his ears, etched directly into his consciousness.
"You are not me," the voice continued. "But you carry the echo. The will that waited."
Shen Ling's throat tightened. He tried to speak—but the ocean would not let him.
The First Siren raised one hand. Her fingers unfurled slowly.
In her palm appeared a glowing pearl—no larger than a teardrop, but burning with memories so heavy he staggered.
"This is what was silenced. What must now be remembered."
She placed the pearl against her chest.
It dissolved.
And suddenly, Shen Ling felt it all.
The sorrow of drowned cities. The fury of betrayed gods. The unbearable weight of silence, imposed on a soul that only knew how to sing.
The pain was indescribable.
It wasn't physical. Not sharp, not burning—but deep. It was the ache of knowing a thousand songs and having no voice to sing them. It was love turned into history, hope buried beneath centuries of sediment.
Shen Ling clutched his chest, gasping, though there was no water in his lungs—only memory.
The First Siren floated before him still, her form now flickering like the light of a dying star. Yet her eyes… her eyes remained steady, locked with his, as though she were placing something inside him that couldn't be lost again.
"Why are you showing me this?" he managed to whisper, or thought he did.
"Because you have heard what others ignored," the voice replied. "You listened not with power—but with sorrow. That is the key."
She raised her arms.
Behind her, the ocean shimmered, and suddenly hundreds—no, thousands—of lights glowed from the seabed. Illusory forms emerged: silhouettes of long-lost Sirens, warriors of the sea, children who once carried the Sea God's will. Each one held a fragment of melody, each one humming a note of the same great song.
The Sea's Aria.
A composition too vast to be remembered by one soul alone. So it had been scattered—split into pieces, carried across time in the hearts of those chosen by the tide.
And now, those echoes were turning back toward one voice—his.
The First Siren extended her hand again. Not for a pearl this time—but an embrace.
Shen Ling stepped forward.
As his hand touched hers, light surged around them in a sphere of swirling resonance. The melodies combined, harmonized—rising into a crescendo that tore through the quiet like a storm of stars.
And in that moment—
He understood.
The Siren Martial Soul was not merely a spirit for charm and illusion. It was a sacred vessel. A keeper of grief, memory, and divine longing. And he… he was no longer just its bearer. He had become its continuation.
"Sing again," the First Siren said. "Let the ocean remember what it forgot."
He awoke with a gasp, drenched in sweat and seawater, though he'd never left the sanctum.
Bo Saixi was kneeling beside him, her expression unreadable. Her hands hovered over his temples, glowing with spirit light, as if she'd been calming something too deep for words.
"You were under for hours," she said softly. "I feared you wouldn't return."
Shen Ling sat up slowly, the basin beside him now calm—too calm. The entire chamber was silent, as though the sea itself was listening.
"I saw them," he murmured. "The ones before me. The First Siren. The… song."
Bo Saixi's breath caught.
"You heard the Sea's Aria?"
Shen Ling nodded, slowly. "Fragments of it. And… something more."
He turned his hand palm up.
A shimmer of soul force flickered above it—light blue, then deep indigo. Slowly, it condensed into a shape: a pearl of melody, almost identical to the one the First Siren had placed into herself. But this one pulsed with his spirit.
"I think it's a new soul skill," he said quietly.
Bo Saixi blinked in awe. "What does it do?"
"I don't know yet," Shen Ling said, voice shaking. "But I think it doesn't attack. I think it… remembers."
He looked up at her.
"I want to name it. I want to honor what they gave me."
She nodded slowly. "Then speak it."
He closed his eyes and listened, not to the waves—but to the silence between them.
Then, like drawing breath before a lullaby, he whispered:
"Memory Tide."
A quiet breeze swept through the sanctum, even though there were no doors or windows. The basin in front of him rippled for a moment—and then stilled.
Bo Saixi smiled faintly.
"The sea has accepted the name," she said.
Then her face turned more serious.
"This soul skill—if it truly resonates with ancient memory—it might allow you to access the experiences of other Siren inheritors. You could learn what they knew, recall how they battled, how they healed… or how they failed."
Shen Ling stared at the pearl in his hand, now gently fading into his soul.
"I won't let them fade again," he said. "Not one of them."
Bo Saixi knelt beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"You are becoming something more than a spirit master, Shen Ling," she said softly. "You are becoming a witness."
Bo Saixi helped Shen Ling to his feet.
The boy—no, the young inheritor—still seemed shaken, but the light in his eyes had changed. It wasn't only resolve or awe anymore. It was weight. He had borne witness to something beyond comprehension, and that knowing settled into his posture, into his breath.
"Let's return," Bo Saixi said, her voice gentle, as though afraid too sharp a sound might shatter the echoes still clinging to him. "You need rest before your soul harmonizes with what it now carries."
They made their way up the spiral coral steps leading out of the sanctum. But before they fully crossed the threshold, Shen Ling turned and looked back.
There, in the still water of the basin, a shimmer of light danced.
It was faint—no stronger than moonlight on calm sea—but it pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Bo Saixi followed his gaze and smiled.
"The ocean leaves marks on its chosen," she said. "Not just on their bodies… but on the places they walk."
They emerged into the shrine's upper levels just as dawn broke.
But Shen Ling didn't return to his chamber. Instead, he made his way out onto the Sea God Shrine's balcony that overlooked the endless ocean.
The breeze was different this morning—quieter. Reverent. As if the sea itself was waiting for him to speak again.
He inhaled.
And then he sang.
No words. Just tones. Notes carried from that other place—the memory ocean where the Sirens had gathered.
The song echoed out across the waves, and as it did, something extraordinary occurred.
Birds slowed their flight.
Fish leapt once, then stilled beneath the surface.
Even the wind paused its roaming.
The entire world listened.
From far below the cliffside, Sea Star Douluo looked up from his morning meditation and froze. A tremor ran through his bones. "That song…" he whispered. "That isn't just soul force. That's ancestral memory."
Elsewhere on the island, Sea Ghost Douluo dropped his walking staff mid-step and closed his eyes. "The First Siren's voice," he murmured. "No… his voice. But carrying hers."
One by one, the Seven Sea Douluo turned toward the source of the sound, breath held, spirit energy instinctively resonating with the harmonics in the air.
In the inner sanctum, Bo Saixi remained alone, standing before the now-quiet basin.
She had not followed Shen Ling.
Her eyes shimmered with restrained tears.
"My god," she whispered. "He's doing it. He's not just remembering them… he's reclaiming them."
The water before her pulsed gently, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a figure reflected that was not her own. A Siren—not the First, but another. A younger one. Weaker. Faded with time.
And yet… smiling.
Bo Saixi brought her hands together and bowed deeply.
"Let the Sea remember," she said, voice hoarse. "Let it remember through him."
Back on the balcony, Shen Ling's song softened into silence.
He didn't collapse. He didn't tremble.
Instead, he stood still—more still than ever before.
And in that stillness, he felt something shift inside him.
The Voice of the Abyss, his innate soul skill from the Siren martial soul, stirred faintly in response. But rather than singing on its own, it harmonized with the new soul skill—Memory Tide—twisting sound into truth, vibration into remembrance.
And in that moment, he understood the true purpose of what he now carried.
These soul skills weren't made to destroy.
They were made to preserve.
To become the library of the sea's forgotten, its silenced guardians and unspoken tragedies.
And he… was now the librarian.
That evening, when all seven of the Sea God's children gathered with Bo Saixi at the Sea God Pavilion, Shen Ling stood at the center—not as a student, but as a voice.
"You all heard it," Bo Saixi said, gesturing to Shen Ling. "Not just the power. But the truth."
Sea Spear Douluo nodded. "That wasn't an ability meant for battle."
"No," Sea Woman Douluo said. "It was an offering. A… promise."
"A remembering," Sea Horse Douluo added softly.
Sea Fantasy Douluo was staring at Shen Ling with wonder. "I think he's not just the heir to the Siren's will," she said. "He might be its final echo."
Shen Ling looked up. "Not final," he said, his voice quiet, but sure. "Only the first to awaken again."
Sea Dragon Douluo, silent until now, rose from his seat. "Then let it be known—on this day, we name Hai Shen Ling not just student, not merely disciple…"
He paused.
"…but Keeper of the Forgotten Sea."
And as night fell once more over Sea God Island, the ocean hummed—not with fury or grief, but with recognition.
Hai Shen Ling, born of tides, wrapped in echoes, and crowned in silence…
…had begun to resurrect the songs of the deep.