The Sunken City of the Deep

De: Darlene Zagata

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

The city was falling.

Not in the way of surface cities, with fire and screaming and stones tumbling from towers. Thalassar fell slowly, gracefully, as all things do in the deep. It fell in spirals of silver bubbles, in the soft sigh of water rushing through broken windows, in the final gasps of those who had trusted their rulers to protect them.

High Councillor Morath stood at the heart of the Amphitheater of Tides, his hands raised to the distant, unreachable surface. Around him, the other members of the Great Houses knelt in a circle, their blood mixing with seawater as the ritual demanded. The words he spoke were older than memory, dredged from forbidden texts that should have remained buried in the trenches where even light dared not go.

"Lords of the Abyss," he intoned, his voice carrying through the water with unnatural clarity, "we offer you our city. We offer you our people. In exchange, grant us dominion eternal. Let no rival rise against us. Let our house rule until the stars fall and the oceans boil away."

The water around them began to darken, though no storm raged above. Something vast stirred in the depths below—something that had been waiting for this invitation since the first fish drew breath.

A voice answered, ancient and cold and amused.

Your bargain is accepted.

Morath smiled, even as the water turned to ice around his heart. Around him, the other nobles looked uncertain. One of them—Councillor Thess, who had argued against this course—tried to rise.

"Wait," she gasped. "What have we—"

The darkness took her first. It rose from the ocean floor like ink from a shattered squid, wrapping around her throat, pouring into her mouth and eyes and gills. She thrashed once, twice, and then went still, her body already beginning to calcify, turning to coral even as she drifted.

The others tried to flee. They were too slow. The darkness took them all—all except Morath, who stood frozen as his co-conspirators became monuments to their own ambition.

You sought dominion, the voice whispered, and now Morath could see the speaker: a shape in the darkness, vast beyond comprehension, with eyes like drowned moons. You shall have it. You and your bloodline will rule Thalassar forever. The city is yours, Morath of the Deep House.

"I—I accept," Morath stammered.

Of course you do. You already have. And here is my gift to you: the city will never fall to invaders. No rival house will rise against yours. Thalassar will stand eternal in the deep.

Morath's relief lasted only a moment.