Octavian Guile's lab was a whirlpool of activity, the waters around him swirling with the currents of his frantic movements. His skin flickered between shades of deep blue and stark white, reflecting his inner excitement and the urgency of his task. The Emperor's deadline loomed like a shark's shadow, vast and menacing. A challenge he was now reveling in. The reason he became a Nautorr, the satisfaction of creation. Octavian knew this would be far more powerful than any previous design.

As he worked, a presence darkened the doorway of his lab—a figure tall and sinuous, its form undulating with grace. It was Calix Squidra, a fellow Nautorr and Octavian's most cunning rival. Calix's skin was a tapestry of shifting patterns, each ripple a testament to his mastery of camouflage and deception.

"Octavian, still toiling away in the shadows, I see," Calix's voice was smooth, a velvet darkness that filled the room. "Or should I say, floundering?"

Octavian paused, his tentacles ceasing their frenetic dance around his instruments. He turned to face Calix, his own colors momentarily settling into a dull, defensive gray. "Calix, your penchant for dramatic entrances is as predictable as your interference. To what do I owe the displeasure?"

Calix floated closer, his movements deliberate, a slow circling of his prey. "I heard about your little ultimatum from the Emperor. Five days to surpass the Whale-song, is it? Ambitious. Or perhaps, desperate."

Octavian resumed his work, trying to mask his irritation. "Ambition and desperation are two currents in the same ocean, Calix. You of all should know that."

Calix chuckled, a sound like the distant rumbling of a seaquake. "Indeed, I do. But tell me, Octavian, do you truly believe you can deliver on such a grand promise? Or is this just another of your masterful bluffs? Oh don't look at me like that, we both know you're just teasing our Great Emperor along."

Before Octavian could reply, Calix's tentacles swept over a nearby table, lifting a delicate piece of machinery—a component critical to Octavian's new invention. "This looks fascinating. May I?"

Octavian's colors flashed a warning red. "Put that down, Calix. Unlike you, I do not take kindly to others meddling with my creations."

Unperturbed, Calix examined the device, his eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and malice. "Oh, I have no doubt of its significance. After all, your gadgets have always had a certain... flair. But tell me, does the Emperor know about your little secret?"

Octavian stiffened. "What secret?"

"The one involving your true intentions for this device. Or perhaps the fact that your loyalties might not be as anchored to the Empire as you claim."

A cold current seemed to sweep through the lab. Octavian's gaze hardened, his body coiling with tension. "You overstep, Calix. My loyalty is to the Empire, and my intentions are to serve it."

Calix placed the device back on the table, his expression unreadable. "Of course, Octavian. But we both know the depths are full of secrets, and some are more dangerous than others."

With a flick of his tentacles, Calix turned to leave, his form blending into the shadows of the corridor. "I'll be watching, Octavian. I'm eager to see if you can pull off this miracle... or if you'll drown in the attempt."

Left alone, Octavian's mind raced. Calix's threats were not to be taken lightly. He knew that his rival would stop at nothing to see him fail, to usurp his position as the Emperor's favored innovator.

Turning back to his workbench, Octavian's tentacles moved with renewed purpose. The device, a complex array of runes and mechanical parts, was his only hope. Not just to appease the Emperor, but to shift the balance of power within the Empire itself.

The device he envisioned was not just revolutionary; it was audacious. A self-empowering rune, capable of imbuing its bearer with profound magical abilities. According to the voice, the concept was gleaned from fragmented texts salvaged from the abyssal depths, ejected by the void as if worthless to the enigmatic Eldritch below. These beings, residing in the darkest crevices of the ocean, were known to occasionally discard artifacts of immense power, treating them as mere detritus. Octavian's heart raced as he pondered the potential of harnessing such power. To wield the energies that dictate the very fabric of reality... what a triumph that would be!

Yet, his ambitions were clouded by the machinations of Calix who had long viewed Octavian with a blend of envy and disdain, ever since Octavian had risen to prominence with the creation of the Whale-song. Rumors, dark and insidious as the depths from which they sprang, had begun to circulate, questioning Octavian's loyalty and the true intent behind his research. Calix's deceit knows no bounds. But soon, I'll close his beak for good.

As he worked, Octavian couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. The shadows of the lab seemed to pulse with unseen eyes, and the waters whispered of betrayal. But Octavian was no stranger to the treacherous currents of court politics. He would navigate these waters as he always had—with cunning, determination, and a healthy amount of fear.

The self-empowering rune, as Octavian envisioned, would require not just his knowledge in magical theory but also the unparalleled skills of the Froggies. Their mastery in metalwork was crucial to encapsulate the rune in a form that could endure the immense energies it was meant to channel. Planning his journey to their forges, Octavian felt a surge of anticipation. Watching the Froggies shape the future with their hands... Yes, I must be there to guide each strike, each rune etched.

As he prepared for his departure, Octavian's mind was a whirlwind of strategy and calculation. The Froggies, though not deeply versed in the intricacies of Nautorr magic, had a pragmatic understanding of runic enchantments, often embedding their crafts with durability or elemental resistance. But what Octavian needed from them now was far beyond their usual fare. He needed a conduit capable of channeling raw, primordial magic, the kind spoken of in hushed tones and written in the ciphered language of the abyss.

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***

Leaving the court, especially for a Nautorr as prominent as Octavian Guile, was akin to navigating a labyrinth of bureaucratic seaweed and political jellyfish. The court of Emperor Timberious Klawitzer was not only a center of power but also a vortex of intrigue and surveillance, where every move was watched and every absence noted.

For a Nautorr, whose very existence was intertwined with the arcane and the secretive, stepping away from this center—even for critical missions—required a delicate dance of permissions, excuses, and assurances. The process was mired in a tangle of administrative procedures that could ensnare the unwary in endless loops of approvals and counter-approvals.

Firstly, Octavian had to craft a request that sounded both urgent and indispensable. This document would weave through the hands of various clerks and advisors, each capable of adding a delay with a stroke of their quill. The request detailed the necessity of his visit to the Froggies, emphasizing the direct benefits to the war effort and, crucially, to the Emperor’s glory. It was a narrative carefully tuned to resonate with the court’s overarching ambitions.

Once the written request was submitted, Octavian had to personally visit the Chamber of Movements—a grandiose name for a cramped room filled with maps and ledgers, manned by officials who seemed to mirror the room’s overstuffed and confined nature. Here, he had to argue his case before a panel of court navigators, whose job was to coordinate the comings and goings of the court’s key figures to ensure that no critical function was left unmanned.

“Octavian Guile, your role in the court is too critical at this juncture. The Whale-song project alone ties you to the immediate needs of the Empire, not to mention the bandits,” one of the navigators, a crabby old turtle named Scleris, argued, peering over his spectacles with a skeptical gaze.

“Honorable Scleris, while I am flattered by your estimation of my indispensability, I assure you that the Whale-song is but a precursor to what we can achieve with the Froggies. This new project could turn the tide of the war. I must oversee it personally to ensure its success,” Octavian replied, his tone a blend of humility and firmness.

After what felt like hours of debate, marked by the slow ticking of a nearby coral clock, the panel reluctantly granted Octavian provisional leave. However, this leave came shackled with conditions: he must report his progress daily via messenger fish, and his absence could not exceed a fortnight lest it jeopardize his standing and responsibilities at court.

With the navigational clearance finally in his grasp, Octavian then faced the social labyrinth of the court. News of his departure spread like ripples through water, reaching ears that thrived on gossip and speculation. Calix, ever the opportunist, would likely seize this chance to sow further doubts about Octavian’s loyalties and ambitions.

Before his departure, Octavian made rounds of strategic farewells, framing his journey as a necessary sacrifice for the Empire’s greatness, a narrative designed to stifle rumors and reinforce his loyalty to the Emperor. Each goodbye was a carefully placed stepping-stone to combat the rumors that were sure to crop up in his absence.

Finally, as Octavian’s carriage pulled away from the court, escorted by a squadron of armored seahorses, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being a pawn in a much larger game—a game played in the shadows of the ocean depths, where every move was both a risk and a necessity. The weight of the court’s eyes seemed to press against him even as he moved towards the Froggies, a reminder that in the Emperor’s waters, one was never truly free. Well, Oth'ikarius might be free.

Oth'ikarius was still nowhere to be found. Most assumed him dead, but no body had ever been discovered. If anything, the mysterious stone he left behind implied to Octavian that he may yet still live. Refusing to leave the stone in his lab while away, he retrieved it from his belongings and held it carefully through cloth wrapped tentacles.

"Where did you go you old mollusk?" he pondered aloud to the stone. It stared back blankly, unchanging. The rune on its surface glowed slightly, never dimming or brightening.

As Octavian's open carriage cut through the currents, the dim light of the bioluminescent corals cast eerie shadows in the water. The journey had been tense so far, with Octavian constantly peering into the murky depths, starkly aware of the precious cargo he carried. His anxiety was not unfounded; Scleris had been right, the ocean was rife with dangers.

Suddenly, a swift darkening of the waters ahead signaled imminent trouble. Octavian's heart sank as he discerned the shapes of several large, aggressive-looking fish converging on his path.

"Bandits!" shouted the lead seahorse, a seasoned warrior with scars that told of many battles. The carriage came to a halt as the fish bandits encircled them, brandishing jagged coral blades and shark-tooth spears. The leader of the dozen or so ragged fish, a particularly large barracuda with a scar across one eye, swam forward, his teeth glinting menacingly.

"Hand over your valuables, and you might just swim away with your lives," the barracuda snarled, his voice a gravelly threat that chilled the water.

Octavian, though inwardly alarmed, maintained a calm exterior. While bandits were not the same courtly game he was used to playing, they still played by similar rules. He knew that the contents of his carriage, especially the nearly completed magical device, could not fall into the wrong hands. His mind raced, searching for a solution that didn't involve violence, which could damage the precious cargo. An idea flashed through his minds.

"Very well," Octavian said smoothly, reaching into a small chest beside him. "I have something far more valuable than gold or jewels. But beware, it is not for the faint of heart."

The bandits murmured among themselves, curiosity piqued. Octavian pulled out the stone, its surface glowing faintly with an eerie light. He held it out, and the bandits leaned closer, their eyes wide.

"This artifact," Octavian continued, his voice taking on a mysterious tone to hide his unease, "contains the power of the abyss itself. It can grant you visions of the future, but only the worthy can withstand its truths. It was given to me by the Emperor himself. Take it carefully and know he will find it again."

The scarred barracuda reached out a fin to grab the stone, ignoring Octavian's warnings. As his scales made contact with the rune-inscribed surface, the stone activated, and the voice of Oth'ikarius boomed out, although only in his and Octavian's minds.

"Stupid child! Stupid child! Stupid ch--" the voice thundered, a sound so unexpected and terrifying that the bandit recoiled in horror. The stone continued, its voice a cacophony of power, "I'll lock you in the pantry you little carp! Disturbing my works! Blasphemy!"

The bandit, one of a superstitious lot, had been obviously shaken; panic overcoming greed. The scarred barracuda, eyes wide with fear, shouted, "It’s cursed! Flee, before he consumes us all!"

In a flurry of bubbles and frantic splashes, the bandits dispersed, disappearing into the murky depths from whence they came. The guards, though bewildered, quickly regrouped, and the lead seahorse nodded at Octavian.

"Quick thinking, sir," he said, his voice filled with newfound respect. "I was worried for moment there."

Octavian, relieved, placed the stone back into its chest. "Sometimes, the legends we carry are more powerful than the weapons we wield," he replied, a hidden smile playing on his beak as he settled back into his seat.