The waters above the Abyssal Gate shimmered unnaturally as Hai Shen Ling emerged, slowly ascending from the drowned temple's depths. The sea, which had once pulsed and pulled at him like a living heartbeat, now seemed to withdraw in reverent stillness. It parted for him—not with violence, but with solemnity, as if even the ocean understood the transformation that had occurred below.
Light pierced the deep in slender shafts, glimmering across the surface of his form. His eyes no longer held the innocence of a boy baptized by waves but instead gleamed with the glint of inherited sorrow and awakened resonance. His fourth ring still shimmered like a submerged crown behind him, but a new aura now coiled at his back—a chorus of spectral tones, the last echoes of the Siren Queen's lament fused into him.
When Shen Ling finally broke the surface, the sea did not splash or roar. It hushed. The very wind that skimmed across the waves quieted. His robes clung to him, soaked through but unburdened. He stood upon the Sea God's platform of rising coral—summoned only in times of legend—and gazed back at the endless blue.
On the distant shore of Sea God Island, the Seven Douluo and Bo Saixi waited. They had felt the temple's reverberations. The very ocean floor had shifted beneath them, and the sanctuary walls had trembled.
Sea Fantasy Douluo stepped forward first, her voice breaking the silence. "He returns not as a student."
Sea Ghost Douluo followed, eyes wide. "He returns as a bearer of what was silenced."
Bo Saixi did not speak. She only raised her hand, beckoning.
The waters surged, and the coral platform bore Hai Shen Ling forward—not gliding, but carried—as if the sea itself now deemed him kin.
As he approached, his gaze swept the elders, and then the sanctuary beyond them. "I heard her. I saw her. And I carry her still."
The Seven Titled Douluo bowed, not in greeting, but in acknowledgment.
Bo Saixi stepped forward, her eyes shining. "What did she give you?"
He closed his eyes, and a sixth soul ring bloomed.
A deep-blue soul ring pulsed, older than the fourth, richer in tone, born not of beast, but of legacy.
"Innate Soul Skill," he intoned, "Requiem of the Abyssal Choir."
And the sea, in answer, sang.
When the ring formed, the sky responded.
Dark clouds spiraled in the far horizon, not with threat, but with ceremony. The winds carried notes of a song none had heard before—one older than language, older even than the Sea God's trident. It was not sung by Shen Ling's lips. It poured from his very presence.
The sanctuary's songstones began to hum. Ancient carvings on pillars vibrated with life. Waves lapped in cadence against the shore. Birds flew in synchronized spirals, casting fleeting shadows upon the ground.
Bo Saixi narrowed her eyes. "This skill—it's not just auditory. It bends the world."
Sea Star Douluo nodded slowly. "It touches memory. Emotion. Space. Even time."
Shen Ling stood at the center of it all, the ring spinning slowly behind him. "It is a lament. A call. A command. A memory. It... becomes what it needs to be."
He raised his hand, and the soul skill activated.
A sphere of deep sapphire light expanded around him. Within it, illusory sirens swam, mourned, and sang in layered harmonies. Those caught within its radius—Bo Saixi and the Douluo included—felt their own soul power ripple, not in weakness, but in resonance. As if the skill was rewriting not their strength, but their understanding of it.
Sea Dragon Douluo stumbled slightly. "I saw… the Deep Throne. A war. A choice made beneath drowning stars."
Sea Spear Douluo exhaled heavily. "This is no simple soul skill. It's a vessel of the past."
Shen Ling lowered his hand. The choir vanished.
He looked at them. "She left it behind so the sea would never forget. Now I carry it, so the world will remember."
The days that followed were not filled with training or battle, but silence.
Within the Sea God Sanctuary, Shen Ling sat beneath the Singing Tree—a coral-bloomed tree that had not blossomed in centuries. Since his return, it had bloomed anew, its branches humming faintly.
Bo Saixi approached quietly, kneeling beside him.
"You haven't spoken of what you saw."
"Because I'm still learning how to sing it," he replied.
She looked at him, long and slow. "The voice that weeps is not only the Siren Queen's. You understand that now, don't you?"
He nodded. "It's the voice of every soul silenced before their time."
"And yet, you carry joy too. In your other songs."
He smiled faintly. "That's what makes them songs, not just screams."
Sea Woman Douluo joined them later that day, bringing a shell etched in markings none had seen. "This came from the Whispering Mirror. It surfaced after you returned. It bears your crest."
Shen Ling took it, and heard not sound, but silence.
But within that silence was rhythm. A call. A path.
Bo Saixi whispered, "The ocean speaks still. There is another voice you must find."
He stood slowly. "Then I will follow the silence."
Within the sacred meditation pool, Shen Ling submerged himself again—not into the ocean, but into reflection.
His soul skills glowed in his mind's eye:
Siren's Echo
Soul Lure Mirage
Song of the Abyssal Trial
Elegy of the Drowned Crown
Voice of the Abyss
Song of Aeloria
Requiem of the Abyssal Choir
Seven voices. Seven echoes. Seven burdens.
But he felt a gap. An eighth.
The Choir had awakened something beyond skill—an understanding that he was not just a bearer of the Siren's martial soul.
He was becoming something else.
The sea spoke in riddles now. Not commands, not praise. But prophecy.
The one who sings all songs will not echo. He will originate.
And the tides will remember his voice as their own.
Shen Ling's reflection rippled.
He emerged from the pool.
Bo Saixi awaited.
"It is time," she said. "For us to prepare for what follows. The Siren has given you song. But the Sea God... will one day demand silence."
He bowed.
And the waves whispered in approval.
The final ceremony of his return was held not in the sanctuary, but upon the cliffs of the Tideglass Spire—a place only Bo Saixi could unlock.
There, under the starlight and the gaze of an ancient sea altar, Shen Ling offered his voice.
One by one, he sang each soul skill—invoked each echo, shared each sorrow. And for each, the sea answered. Rain. Wind. Calm. Storm. Salt.
When he sang the Requiem of the Abyssal Choir, the stars dimmed.
And when the song ended, he was alone with Bo Saixi once more.
She touched his forehead.
"You are not the Sea God. But you are something the Sea God once was. Before the trident. Before the throne."
He looked up. "What am I then?"
She smiled.
"You are the voice the sea gave itself."
And far below, in the waters none had charted, the Abyssal Gate shimmered once more—not in warning, but in welcome.