The trench behind Hai Shen Ling had closed like a chapter written in salt and sorrow, but its weight remained. The hymn of the thrones still echoed through his bones, each note seared into the fabric of his soul like brands upon driftwood. He returned from the deep not as a child of the sea, but as one of its voices - a living vessel for melodies too ancient for mortal tongues. The harp in his hand shimmered with threads of memory, each string a chord tethered to names lost to time but now sung again in trembling vibrations that made the very air hum.
His bare feet left damp prints upon the moonlit stones of the sanctuary's approach, each step heavier than the last. The sea had changed him. He could feel it in the way his pulse now matched the tidal rhythms, in how his breath seemed to draw not just air but the very essence of the ocean's lament. The eighth voice nestled in his chest like a second heart, its presence both comfort and burden.
Bo Saixi met him at the sanctuary's edge, her silver hair catching the predawn light like foam upon restless waves. Her gaze softened at his approach, yet the ocean's fear flickered in the depths of her pupils - that ancient wariness reserved for forces too vast to comprehend. "Come," she said simply, extending a hand that trembled ever so slightly. The High Priestess of the Sea God did not tremble without cause.
The sanctuary's great doors groaned as they swung inward, their coral-carved surfaces slick with condensation. Within, the air thrummed with anticipation. The Seven Titled Douluo stood in solemn formation beneath the mirrored dome where cascading tides danced in eternal suspension. Their eyes - some sharp as harpoon points, others deep as midnight trenches - followed Shen Ling's every movement. No words were needed. The sea had already answered whatever questions burned in their hearts.
Sea Dragon Douluo stepped forward first, his ceremonial armor of leviathan scales clicking softly with each measured step. "State your level, child," he commanded, voice like waves upon shale. "Let the waters bear witness."
Shen Ling bowed slightly, letting the pulse of his soul flare gently outward. The sanctuary's braziers dimmed as rings of light - azure and abyssal - cascaded around him in slow, undulating waves:
First Ring: Thousand-Year - Siren's Echo (Pale blue, like shallow waters at dawn)
Second Ring: Thousand-Year - Soul Lure Mirage (Shifting violet, the color of twilight on restless waves)
Third Ring: Thousand-Year - Song of the Abyssal Trial (Deep indigo, darker than midnight in the trenches)
Fourth Ring: Ten Thousand-Year - Elegy of the Drowned Crown (Black threaded with silver, like storm clouds over a moonlit sea)
Then came the innate skills, manifesting as ghostly echoes:
Voice of the Abyss - A whisper that curled like mist across the stones
Song of Aeloria - Flickering illusions of coral palaces and drowned kings
Requiem of the Abyssal Choir - A chorus of spectral sirens that circled briefly before dissolving
And then—the harp shimmered, casting soft vibrations that made the hanging tideglobes hum in sympathy. The eighth voice announced itself not with fanfare, but with a resonance that set the very stones trembling.
Bo Saixi's breath caught. "You've inherited the eighth voice," she whispered, her usual composure fracturing like thin ice.
Shen Ling nodded slowly, the motion sending droplets from his sodden hair splashing upon the tide-etched floor. "And it sings for remembrance," he replied, his voice carrying strange harmonics that hadn't been there before his descent.
Sea Fantasy Douluo closed her eyes, her delicate fingers tracing patterns in the air as if reading the vibrations. "Current soul power?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew.
"Level 44," Shen Ling answered. "Not more. Not less. I have walked as far as the tides will allow for now." The admission came with a weight that belied its simplicity.
Sea Ghost Douluo narrowed her eyes, the bioluminescent tattoos across his bald scalp pulsing faintly. "And yet... you command echoes even we've never heard." His gaze flicked to the harp. "That instrument hasn't been seen since the Drowning of the First Choir."
Sea Woman Douluo added softly, her voice like kelp brushing against stone, "It is not speed—it is resonance. He grows because the sea answers." Her webbed fingers twitched as if plucking invisible strings. "Can you not feel it? The ocean itself breathes in time with his pulse now."
Bo Saixi stepped forward, her robes trailing liquid light across the floor. "Then it is time we plan the course for your next ring." She reached out, hesitating momentarily before placing a hand on Shen Ling's shoulder. "The voice has called you, and you answered. Now it must sing through you."
As if in response, the harp in Shen Ling's hands vibrated gently. The call came not from above, but beneath—a deep, throbbing pulse that resonated in the marrow of his bones. Somewhere far below Sea God Island, where the oldest currents slept in lightless silence, something stirred.
Bo Saixi's eyes widened fractionally. She turned sharply, gesturing for the others to follow. "The Vault of Salted Echoes," she declared, her tone brooking no argument.
The descent to the vault took them through winding passages carved directly into the island's living stone. Bioluminescent fungi painted their path in eerie blues and greens, their glow reflecting off the moisture that beaded upon walls dense with ancient carvings. Here, the air tasted of salt and secrets, thick with the weight of centuries.
Sea Spear Douluo broke the silence as they walked. "The vault hasn't been opened since—"
"Since the last High Priest attempted the Leviathan's Path," Bo Saixi finished grimly. "And we all remember how that ended."
A hushed tension settled over the group. Shen Ling's fingers tightened around the harp. He could feel it now—a presence in the deep, vast and mournful, its song woven into the very fabric of the sea's memory.
The vault door was a massive disc of black coral, its surface inlaid with silver sigils that pulsed faintly as Bo Saixi traced the activation sequence. With a groan that sent shivers down spines, the door swung inward, releasing a gust of air so ancient it made their eyes water.
Inside, relics of forgotten eras lay arranged upon stone pedestals—a shattered trident that still crackled with repressed lightning, a conch shell that whispered in dozens of voices, scrolls sealed in tubes of transparent crystal. But Bo Saixi moved unerringly to a small plinth at the chamber's heart, upon which rested a palm-sized crystal that throbbed with faint blue light.
"This," she said, lifting it with reverent care, "is your guide." As the crystal left its resting place, the temperature in the vault dropped precipitously. From within the gem's depths came the whisper of a name that hadn't been spoken aloud in three hundred years: "Aetherion."
Sea Star Douluo sucked in a sharp breath. "The Leviathan of Whispered Silence? That spirit beast hasn't been seen since—"
"Since it retreated to the Folded Rift beneath the Seamount Graves," Bo Saixi interrupted. "Where memory itself cannot tread without invitation."
Shen Ling reached out instinctively. As his fingers brushed the crystal, a chill like the deep ocean's embrace spread up his arm. Within the gem's heart, he heard it—a low, mournful hum that bypassed his ears to resonate directly in his soul. Deeper than words, more ancient than prayer, it was the sound of something infinitely old and infinitely lonely.
"I know it," he breathed, his voice barely audible.
"You've heard it?" Sea Star Douluo asked, his brow furrowing. "But how? None living have—"
"In the requiem," Shen Ling interrupted softly. "It answered. Not in rage—but in want." His fingers curled around the crystal, and for a moment, his eyes reflected not light, but endless ocean depths.
Sea Dragon Douluo stepped forward, his massive frame blocking the light from the doorway. "This will not be a hunt," he rumbled. "It will be communion. If the beast accepts, your bond will be forged in song, not blood."
Sea Ghost Douluo's lips twisted. "And if it doesn't?"
Shen Ling didn't hesitate. "Then I will not take what is not offered." The conviction in his voice rang clear. "The sea does not steal. It listens."
The Seven Douluo exchanged glances. Then, one by one, they gave solemn nods—some grudging, others awed, but all united in reluctant acceptance.
Bo Saixi placed the crystal in a locket of woven kelp and silver, then fastened it around Shen Ling's neck. The moment it touched his skin, the crystal's glow intensified, casting eerie blue patterns across his face. "May your song reach where even silence dares not echo," she murmured, her breath frosting in the suddenly frigid air.
And with that benediction, the path to the Folded Rift began.