Kaelen knew a frontal assault would be suicide. Fifty riders, however skilled, were no match for the sea itself, especially one commanded by a Sea Witch. Solaria's army was built for the desert, not the deep. He needed intelligence, and perhaps, a negotiation.
The moment dawn broke—a thin, hazy orange line against the overwhelming gray of the horizon—Kaelen shed his ceremonial armor. He chose instead a practical tunic, leather breeches, and a dark cloak, retaining only the Sun Blade. He ordered Valerius to hold the camp position and allow no one to follow.
"If I am not back by midday, assume the worst, Commander," Kaelen instructed, his gaze firm. "Do not engage. Retreat and defend the capital."
Valerius, his face a mask of worry, nodded stiffly. "May the Sun guide your path, Your Highness."
Kaelen descended the cliff face alone. The journey was treacherous, the rocks slick with sea mist and covered in tenacious barnacles. He found the entrance to the sea-caves at the base of the precipice—a vast, echoing archway of black basalt, where the churning waves seemed to be swallowed whole.
He stepped onto a narrow, seaweed-strewn beach just inside the cave mouth. The air here was strangely still, the sound of the ocean muffled, replaced by the faint, rhythmic pulse of deep-sea energy. The water was unnaturally clear, glowing with a soft, internal bioluminescence.
"I know you are here, Sea Witch!" Kaelen's voice echoed, sounding small and mortal against the ancient stone. He drew the Sun Blade. The golden light flared, pushing back the shadows, a beacon of Solarian magic in the heart of the abyss.
"You have courage, Heir of the Sun," a chilling voice slithered from the darkness, not from one direction, but seeming to vibrate in the water itself.
Lysandra emerged from a pool of water that had solidified around her like a crystalline curtain. She stood twenty feet away, the abyssal ice trident resting easily in her hand. The cold radiating from her was palpable, like stepping into a sudden winter storm.
"Your father's son dares to trespass in my domain," Lysandra observed, her vast, winter-ocean eyes studying him with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and contempt. "Why? To threaten the ocean with your dying light?"
"I am Kaelen of Solaria," he said, holding his ground, the Sun Blade steady. "I am here to find out why you are destroying our border markers and threatening my people. We have honored the thousand-year pact. We left the sea to you."
"The pact was broken the moment your dynasty began to take from the world without giving back," Lysandra countered, her voice hardening. "You accuse me of destruction? Your 'light' is a sickness. Look at your sun-scorched lands, Kaelen. Your Solarian magic has bled the world dry. The marker I destroyed stood upon ground that was saturated with a remnant of my ancestors' magic, a magic your forefathers stole and twisted to fuel their greedy sun-wells."
Kaelen felt a cold sweat break out despite the heat of his sword. "Lies! Our magic is the source of all life!"
"It is a parasite," Lysandra spat, taking a slow step forward. Her movements were fluid and mesmerizing. "But I did not come here to fight. I came here for a bargain. A debt is owed, Prince, and I intend to collect."
She motioned to the deepest part of the cavern. A massive, glowing orb rested on a pedestal of untouched coral. It pulsed faintly, a sphere of swirling colors: blue, green, and silver. It was unmistakably a source of immense, wild magic.
"That is a Heart of the Abyss," she explained, her voice softening slightly, revealing an urgency beneath her cold exterior. "The strongest source of pure Mer magic outside of the deep ocean. Five days ago, before your border pillar was touched, a shard of your dying Solarian energy—a powerful, dark magic—collided with it. It is unstable. If it shatters, the resulting pulse will cause a global, thousand-year tide that will drown your entire kingdom in minutes. I can stabilize it, but I cannot do it with Mer magic alone."
Kaelen frowned, suspicion warring with a terrible, gut-wrenching fear. "What do you need?"
Lysandra met his gaze, and for the first time, he saw not hatred, but a desperate, lonely resolution in her eyes.
"I need a counter-agent. Something of pure, undiluted Sun magic to balance the elemental reaction and lock the energies." She pointed the abyssal trident at the Sun Blade he held. "I need that. Give me the Sun Blade, and I will save your world from the endless flood."
"Never!" Kaelen roared, gripping the hilt. "This blade is the last symbol of my people! It is the key to rekindling our Sunwells, our hope!"
"And without it, your hope will drown," Lysandra said dismissively. "It is a fair trade. I take your sword, and you keep your people. Refuse, and you keep your symbol, but lose everything else. Choose, Prince. Now."
Kaelen looked from the beautiful, terrible woman before him to the glowing, unstable orb of power. He was an Heir of the Sun, a warrior born to protect. But he was faced with an impossible choice: his legacy, or his kingdom's survival. He slowly lowered the tip of the Sun Blade until it rested on the cold, damp stone of the cavern floor.
"If I give you the blade," Kaelen asked, his voice low and tight with dread. "What proof do I have that you will honor your word? That you won't turn that power against us once I am disarmed?"
A genuine, small, but predatory smile touched Lysandra's lips. "You don't. You will simply have to trust the word of the Sea Witch."
To be continued…