CHAPTER 31: THE RISE OF TIDES

The Knights of Ferrondel gathered in the streets of Dawnhaven.

Outside, explosive blasts hammered the rustlight barrier, yet not a single crack marred its glimmering surface.

Beside the armored knights on horseback stood the infantry of a new era: men in enchanted half-plate, magitech rifles slung across their shoulders.

Their drilling had been brief, just enough for marksmanship, reloading, and bayonet work, but that would be enough.

Two thousand soldiers stood ready. And yet, the city’s people lined the streets not to cheer, but to mourn.

To them, this was a march into certain death.

Why sally forth when the barrier still held?

Why send the last heir of House Ferrondel against an army ten times his size, bristling with Ignarion Spellswords who could cut them down like wheat before the scythe?

Flowers fell at their feet. The faces beneath their helms were stoic, their march steady.

At the gatehouse, the portcullis rose, and the drawbridge groaned down.

Caedrion turned in his saddle to face his soldiers, his gaze steady, not with fatalism, but with the surety of victory.

"Men of Ferrondel. For centuries, House Ignarion has stolen what is ours and forced our families to kneel. I may bear the blood of the Architect, but my house has shared the same boot on our necks as you all have endured. No longer. Today, we end the age of Spellswords. The Architect is with us! Her spirit lives in your armor, in your weapons, in your hearts. Now... let’s kill those bastards!"

The army roared, venting generations of stifled fury. Caedrion snapped his reins, and the march began.

---

Within the realm of House Marvik, Lord Seravant nearly choked on the grape his servant had just placed in his mouth.

Around him, Magi murmured and pointed at the crystal sphere projecting the scene.

Lady Caltrisse sprang from her seat, finger stabbing at the image.

"Have they gone mad? Sallying forth now? They’ve handed Ignarion the victory they were begging for!"

Chuckles and derision followed, until Viscount Veylar narrowed his eyes.

"What are those levies carrying? Those aren’t spears."

The "spears" were magitech rifles with bayonets affixed, their shapes unfamiliar to most Magi.

Outside the city walls, the infantry formed into tight columns, line infantry of a style unseen in living memory. The cavalry split into two flanking wings, riding for the siege camp’s edges.

Laughter broke again. They mocked Caedrion’s "quaint" formations, his "peasant pikes," and the very bloodline of the Architect itself.

In Ignarion’s camp, Valerius gaped as the Ferrondel army crossed the barrier’s edge. His mind leapt instantly to vindication.

"See! I told you, the barrier was about to break! They’re rushing to meet us because they knew their doom was close. We ride out and crush them now!"

A veteran officer stepped forward, voice measured.

"My lord, caution. They may have some artifact. Let them come to us—"

Valerius’ flames ignited in his hands. With a snap, the fire engulfed the man, reducing him to ash before he could finish.

"Does anyone else wish to speak of such cowardice? The enemy has bared its neck. We strike, or you burn."

No one spoke. Why should they? They outnumbered Ferrondel ten to one, and their Magi alone matched the enemy’s total strength.

If Ferrondel had some secret weapon, they’d have used it when the barrier fell.

So Ignarion’s host began to march, straight into Caedrion’s design.

---

Far below the waves, in the abyssal courts of Submareth, the great hall glimmered with bioluminescent light.

Vast curtains of kelp swayed in slow procession beyond the arched coral windows, their shadows crawling across the marble floor like grasping fingers.

Thalassaria Virelleth reclined upon her throne of black pearl, her hair drifting in the currents like pale threads of moonlight.

The currents around her shimmered faintly with suppressed magic, the pressure of her will pushing against the very water.

Before her knelt a pair of Leviathan Wardens, their armor chitinous and cruel.

Behind them, in the scrying pool at the foot of her dais, ghostly images of shattered hulls and drifting corpses spun slowly in the dark.

"Another convoy broken, my Queen," one of the Wardens reported, voice a low rumble. "Three galleons, four escorts. All swallowed by the shoals before dawn. None survived."

Thalassaria’s long fingers traced the arm of her throne, nails clicking against pearl. Her voice was calm, but laced with a tremor of fury.

"Good. Let them choke on the taste of their ambition. Let them fear the water."

The Warden hesitated. "Is this... war, my Queen? With the surface?"

Her eyes flared, teal in hue but sharp as frost.

"No, war is a declaration. This is punishment."

The hall fell silent but for the groaning song of the deep.

Thalassaria rose, the movement sending a slow spiral of bubbles upward toward the vaulted shell ceiling.

She descended the steps toward the scrying pool, staring down into the shimmering vision.

And there he was, Caedrion, clad in blackened plate, astride his steed, leading mortal soldiers to war.

She had gone to great effort to acquire such a treasure. All for the sake of keeping an eye on her man.

And yet... the human woman by his side, fastening his armor, touching him with a tenderness that stung like a poisoned barb.

Her jaw tightened, voice dropping to a hiss.

"She steals him from my sight... from my hand. And he allows it."

The water around her shuddered, the magic within it sharpening to a blade’s edge. The scrying image rippled violently, distorting Caedrion’s face into a mask of light and shadow.

"Then I will take from her kind what they prize most. Their seas. Their ships. Their trade. Let every sailor whisper my name before the deep swallows them."

The Wardens exchanged uneasy glances, not because they feared the humans, but because they knew the Ferrondels were landlocked, walled in by Ignarion territory.

For whatever reason, their queen had grown infatuated with this human male. One she had never even met.

Reaching her chosen man through such a blockade was impossible... but in her wrath, the Queen was beyond such logic.

"Call every tideborn captain to Submareth," she commanded. "I want no vessel to reach their ports without my blessing. Let the surface starve. Let the land remember that without the sea, they are nothing."

The great conch horns of Submareth began to wail, deep, rolling notes that shook the coral arches.

From the far darkness of the hall, ancient leviathans stirred, their eyes burning like cold suns.

Somewhere far above, in the Shivering Sea, the waters began to rise.