The ocean rumbled again.
This time, deeper. Not like a quake—more like a heartbeat. One that didn't belong in this world.
Dominic hovered near the mirror shard, still shaken from what he saw. His future self. Aegirion by his side. It didn't feel like a prophecy—it felt like a warning.
Aegirion suddenly stiffened. His hand shot out, pressing against the coral wall. "We have to go. Now."
"What is it?" Dominic asked.
Aegirion's voice was tight. "Aether-pulse. Old magic. It's not the siren—it's something else."
The trench behind them began to glow—a faint red light, like blood in water.
Then came the voice.
> "Shadow of the King. Traitor of the Deep. Your time is up."
Dominic turned.
A figure stepped from the glow—tall, armored in storm-forged metal, his hair flowing like seaweed torn in a cyclone. A long scar ran across his face, and in his hand was a blade made of broken coral and lightning.
Tyros, the Abyssal Judge.
"I thought he was dead," Aegirion whispered.
