“How marvelous, a thing they made!” Sevekchus of House Paitah stood before the gilded steps emanating a gloomy iridescence, descending into his newly commissioned pool. The same iridescence the sheet of water filling the pool given off under the blazing High Illius. A quality endowed by the stone marinated in the deepest of shadows, after centuries spent in the dim halls of the Umbral Vaults.

  His servants, bearing the mark of silence and servitude stood on the ocean blue sward surrounding the pool and its contrasting lane of pristine white marble. All weary after the months of work forced upon them, though anguished more by the terror implicated by the existence of these very stones. The shadows still crawling on and within them, whispering into their minds each cold night and blazing day. Hence Sevekchus bought them and sent away the servants of his own House.

  Unlike the old servants who he had no doubt would have warned his parents on this little endeavor of his, to enhance the visions bestowed by one of the Fateweaver’s Court. Being the seventh son of a noble family came with its expectations, a supporting role Sevekchus seen it always after he delved deep into the history of the Empire’s Nobilos system. The first son or daughter inherited the role of patriarch or a matriarch, shackled into a life of endless studies on guidance and governance.

  The second and third children all learned either the profession of legionaries, joined the legions in their adolescence until they reached the rank of Elevated-Tribunes, then returned managing the Centuriai–eight contuberinium (Eighty legionaries each)–in the territories of the family. Or followed the path of commerce if that was the nature of a nobil family. Though in some Houses, the second son or daughter also learned the craftsmanship of assassins, spies.

  Fourth and beyond received the breadcrumbs of roles, often trained to be governors of settlements, advisors to the Second or Third. Unless they received the gifts of Higher Beings.

  Like Sevekchus who received a peculiar gift, manifested only beneath water. Visions that remained unclear for decades he spent meditating in the pool of their main mansion in Irimos. Decades he toiled in the Academy, in search of answers, techniques to bring focus upon the chaotic gift. Answers came once he entered on a whim, the Circle of the Great Artist, Daemeiorvoth.

  In the teachings of Disorder, Creativity, he found clarity of mind, and relief once set upon the path of an artist. A painter of great scenes and portraits, that came whilst he dove and floated in the temperamental waters of the Academy’s own pool. Where his gilded scales drawn across his arms, sides and limbs felt the soothing lips of water, where his taut brass tinctured skin dried under the constant brilliance of the Illius could refresh and seek shelter from the heat, and where his beard and hair of slim tentacles could tousle and dance as he meditated.

  Each night, he appropriated the pool of the Academy, meditated beneath its uneven, swaying sheet with an orb imbued with a spell of calm belonging to a lower magnitude. Once his legs folded, once his lids closed, and his gills flared, Sevekchus saw the darkness part, revealing lit vistas beneath the chaotic surface of Elhyrissian’s Ocean. Visions clear as day, burned into his mind to the point he could recall the arrangements of patterns on every fish, recall the sensation of hovering above the black abyss where the Deep Ones dwell, and the warmth of love brought by the singing of playful nereids and heart-wrenching sonatas of nymphs as they mourned for the lost sailors sinking into the depths.

  All these he conjured upon canvases, and within the last two years, achieved him the very same fame of heroic Chosen contending with the undying legions of Twilight; the wealth of merchants who ruled furtively through suggestions into the ears of once the lords of skies and the astral seas. And the contempt of his elder siblings, though strangely not his parents who allowed him to take their old villa on the hill, overlooking the sprawling city, greatest in the far-southern province. Though he knew, it was only a matter of time, until word reached their ears about him sending away his old servants, and his purchase of Atoning.

  But presently, he cared not for it. Merely, he surged with excitement at the work finally finished, somewhat soured by the gloomy expressions. Sevekchus expected not any of them to fear the shadows lurking in the stones, granting haunting visions that may drove one mad. Afterall, they came from the breed which fought under the black banners of the Black Pharaoh, battled besides the horrors called from the distant realms, and the teneavhei who taught Dusk’s Art of raising and puppeteering corpses. Yet now, they visibly trembled, could not take their eyes off the grass caressing their soles. Nor could they rejoice in the promised freedom from the marks upon their flesh.

  He even had to fetch the orb granting him clarity, peace in his mind to better receive those visions. Visions he expected differ in this pool, which stone the young and new head of the Laneas family assured him got saturated in the astral waves pouring from the Vault’s liminal chambers. A prospect that overcame the warning whispers of in his mind, telling him he shall receive naught but madness.

  With a sigh, Sevekchus returned to his tent facing the stairs, stood before the orb. A new, he commissioned three months ago, made from the obsidian found in the Nightlands north-east of Irimos. A vast swathe of arid lands, where the earth is utterly black, with grass and bushes blooming luminescent silver foliage, the trees bearing canopies of purple and a dark shade of red. And bulky nodes of obsidian jut forth near the river cutting through the region. There it stood on a lone legged round table, pulsating blue and violet veins adorned its rugged, sleek surface embedded upon tiered rings of gold and silver.

  Even just lifting it off its holder, he felt all the worries fade completely, even the desirous thoughts subsumed beckoning him into haste. He held the orb tight between his smooth, webbed hands whilst walking out. Then shooed away the Atoning, seeing no reason to keep them around for safety’s sake. Clearly, fear rid them of their faculties, and were as useful as a field glass for his first attempt at peering into the higher realms. Once the last retreated into the confines of the villa, Sevekchus inhaled deep, took the first step into the pool with eerie iridescent sheen, which enchanted him once again.

  Warm water tickled his naked feet, Sevekchus felt myriad tiny breaths caress his soles. Furtive whispers beckoned, unseen hands gently touched his scale covered wrists, pulled him slow and with care until his loincloth submerged, flailed in the ever-still thickness. Then came the girdle, wetted the gold of the large disk with a kraken sprawling its eight tentacles shifting to a darker brass. The rest submerged quick as he could no longer contain his excitement at the onslaught of promising whispers. Knew then and there, the vision will proper him to the greatest highs, experienced only by the lost artist, great minds of the withered old realms.

  Sevekchus never released his grip upon the orb, swam to the middle with head wet, but above the sheen, swaying not, even as he strode with great velocity. Beneath his propelling feet, peered up the All-Seeing Eye, with a pupil of lapis lazuli and azure, its elongated and slender frame inlaid with fluorite radiating energies to strengthen his mental focus. In the right position, he straightened his posture, sunk into the meager depths of the pool, until five meters his feet floated above the All-Seeing Eye, his head merged beneath the surface. Three tunnels swirled around him, its invisible tendrils bound his body in place, once he folded his legs up into a meditative stance.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Once he remained in place, Sevekchus found the water pleasantly warm, a bit strange feeling nothing beneath his haunches, though knew the black, whispery stone remained beneath. Despite the efforts of the water, the whispers did not dampen, remained in the same furtive volume as his thoughts shifted onto great beings, the Deossos who watch from afar, sleeping. He recounted the sprawling clouds on the astral seas, on the invisible waves of a cold ether, where the oldest of dragons soared the void, some freighting souls to the gray court, some written the dreams of slumbering mortals. And where Titans guarded the gates to realms of formless beings, patrolled the void between realms.

  The same procedure which created many of his masterpieces. Though now whispers adjoined his own efforts, whispers he could not grasp wholly. But felt, derailed his efforts, telling him he wasn’t worthy to peer where the greatest dwell.

  Despite his efforts, Sevekchus found himself floating above a sloping city of colorful corals. His people swam by, peered at him strange, as if they seen some phantom floating near the oceanic firmament. Before they could greet or question his sudden appearance, Sevekchus vanished, hurled into a graveyard of abyssal battlefield. Not far below, merkiin warriors in ivory or scaled plates clashed before his black disk-like pupils framed in a golden circle. Spears tore into exposed flesh, broke the bone and scaled mail, blades gnawed across the flesh of throats until heads sunk into the abyss, bereaved of their bodies. Spells sored where little light reached, balls of flame exploded and devoured shrieking warriors and sorcerers, all muffled by the water.

  A lone arrow passed by, across his sharp cheek, drawing a streak of swirling red mist from his left cheek. The blemish sobered him, delivered not just a slight pain, but the sensation of nothingness below, the weightlessness of floating above a battle far from his home. Terror trailed not far behind from these sensations, and thanks to the orb, he reached the ethereal chain, dragged himself back to the pool, where he took deep breaths, let his soles touch the whispering black stone.

  The following day, he made his second attempt. Dove into the pool with haste, channeling the mana all across his anima veins, and into his body and soul, shaping them into a scrying spell with heightened acuteness on his wished destination. Upon his arrival the water remained undisturbed, and he sunk into a valley cloaked in the utter blackness of abyss. For a moment, he rejoiced, believing he floated where the world devouring serpent satiated its appetite for withering realms, but instead spotted the skeletons of gargantuan serpents, trailing along the ridges, the jutted plateaus. Along the arcing white bones, noticed light breaking the harrowing monotony of the blackness, and dread came upon his notice of swarm of pale figures.

  Slender creatures, not bestowed with the warmth tones of his breed, with legs molded into fins, lithe arms ending in fingers wriggling and soft as tentacles, black manes of seaweed and hideous faces of protruding mandibles and snapping beaks arrayed with pointed teeth. All their unblinking, circular cadaverous yellow eyes Sevekchus felt upon himself, the dread shackled him in the abyss, where shadows circled beneath his soles missing the firmness of dry land. Once he regained some semblance of clarity, tautened his grip around the orb, reached with the greatest forced urgency for the ethereal chains to pull him back to his villa. But sensed naught, but the current generated by the great swarm of weed-kin, and the utter cold draughts of this unknown desolation.

  At once, he positioned himself towards the yawning blackness, he darted with all the swiftness he knew not himself capable of. All throughout this dashing descent, he felt their myriad hungry gazes, heard the echoing snaps of their beaks as the walls grew wider, and the blackness ceased never. Instead increased in tandem with the pounding of his heart. With great effort, he turned his head over his shoulder, noticed their numbers dwindle, with many dashing up towards the black of this abyssal firmament. When their numbers dwindled into nothing, he himself slackened into a halt, heard the drumming of his heart, the breaths he took voraciously.

  Any other moment, he may have found respite in his pursuers retreating, but not here where he saw naught, not even his own gilded scales, nor the silver ushek and scanty clothes draping about his slender torso and legs. He felt only the orb biting into his palms, and the chill rattling his bones floating and missing the not just the firmness of ground, be it soft or hardened, but the warmth or cold permeating from it. His own imaginations proved a curse, as he felt gazes all around, believed seeing in vast outlines all around, circling him before great maws sprouted upon to swallow him whole.

  Then as if the Higher Beings bestowing him his gift, Sevekchus noticed a faint blip from what came below. First a lone red broke the dreadful monotony, then came a green and blue, further away, like guiding stars on the midnight firmament to the lost traveler. More and more, in different, mingling shades strode straight in the oceanic chasm, with a few more intense than the others, alighting the vast distance betwixt the walls and a fleshy mound of a floor. Though Sevekchus decided not to follow the alighted trail, instead profited on the soothe it brought upon his mind, felt for the ethereal chains, and found them, pulling him back to the pool where he found himself floating above the mocking All-Seeing Eye.

  In the following days, weeks Sevekchus delivered upon his promise to the Atoning. Erased the arkhaine marks etched into their bodies, and arkhaine points, written them recommendations and sent them on their way, before recalling his old servants. He refrained from entering the pool, sat there contemplating, meditating. The old servants themselves seemed oblivious to the nature, merely believed it was a choice on his part to use such peculiarly dark stones, on the belief it absorbed the materias better from the Illius’s rays. Likewise, the shadows proved uncaring when it came to his old servants, whispered not into their minds, focused their all on beckoning him into the water.

  He resisted until the fourth night came, and found himself dreamless, well-rested even after blacks and purples spread across the heavens. Just like in the deep waves. Close to midnight, he ambled down to the pool, stood at its promontory, right before the descending stairs. He gazed and gazed into the tenebrous sheen of water, where he could clearly make out the dim floor, and the All-Seeing Eye gleam in the humble abyss of his pool. Sevekchus felt perfect clarity in his mind, walked fearless whilst knowing, expecting peering and being transported across thousands of kilometers.

  He heard the singing of nereids, faux and playful, the lugubrious odes be poisoned by joyful tones and chords, whilst he envisioned the dark nymphs of purple and silver flames dance in the corners, beckon with their singing and wicked sneers. Once the waves embraced his whole body, his gills flared, and felt in his snouts slit nostrils the biting of salty water, the cadaverous taste of the deepest points where no light reached, beyond those that gleamed from below.

  Before his eyes, Sevekchus peered at the endless vistas of utter darkness, where his ancestors cast and beaten back those who sworn themselves to wicked beings. No disquietude, no terror filled his being, but a tranquilness hard to put to words, which remained as the outlines of a crater, sprawling greater than the city of Irimos, or the spire city of Pyrghos, challenging the heavens. He could see through the thousands of kilometers it spread, see the sixteen or so valleys meeting at each cardinal direction. In each, the lights he saw weeks before broke the reign of shadows and darkness, grew intense with each heave of his chest. With each bubble parting from his lips, towards the surface days or weeks away.

  Once they shimmered with the intensity of the brightest stars, Sevekchus saw what slithered betwixt the jagged walls, what the savage weed-kin, the scyllas of the deepest layers, the krakens who swallow galleys whole, the sea serpents and Monks of the Sea who doom foolish explorers kept afar from. He chuckled trying to comprehend the slithering mass, the bulbous growths deceptively blessed with the guiding light of stars. His chuckle did not cease even when he felt the downdraft, felt the pull of the forming vortex dragging him down into the yawning abyss, which baying shook the ocean and all its inhabitants.