The air in the Seafoam outpost seemed thicker as if Bryle Pyrestone had been wrested from that interrogation chamber under some compulsion. For although beforehand the room could be so still that one may have almost felt the drop of a needle to the floor, now the soft humming of pulsing enchanted glyphs seemed to fill this air like a rippling on calm water. Larin trailed after Myrith Crestfoam and Lysara Tidecrest down a twisting corridor as his mind reeled with images and truths the Pyremarch unwillingly revealed.
They changed into a massive hallway lined with streams of water that created glowing, shimmering patterns which moved and morphed like they were alive. Myrith stopped and swirled around to Larin, her tentacle hair dancing gently as she spoke, "This revolution isn't about freedom, Pyrestone's version of it at least. It's about anarchy masquerading as liberation, a flame that burns everything it touches instead of warming the soul.".
"Pyrestone offers an illusion," Lysara continued, her tone sharp. "A world where strength alone rules. They manipulate the desperate with promises of breaking free from what they call our 'chains.'"
Larin furrowed his brow as questions tangled inside his head. "But what if the people they're recruiting don't see it that way? What if they genuinely believe Seafoam is just another conqueror?"
"They believe because it is easier to follow the simplicity of rage than to grasp the complexity of balance," Myrith said. "It is a siren's tale: us versus them, order versus freedom—but truth is rarely simple."
They stepped out into a courtyard where magical fountains flowed crystal clear water into broad stone basins. The night was cool, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of the desert earth. Above, the stars reflected the rippling water below, making it seem as if the sky had no end.
He nodded for her to take a seat on the bench by the largest fountain. Their reflections rippled in his direction, diagonally distorted by the shifting ripples.
She broke the silence. "We cannot act too hastened. If we crush this rebellion with brute strength, we will only prove the lies that Pyrestone has been feeding into the mouths of the people."
"But if we delay, they will strengthen, Larin pushed his case forward with desperation in his tone. "You have seen the webs they established. They are equipping and training militants. Delay gives them a chance to spread their seeds."
"That's right," Myrith admitted. "And that's why we need to strike so cautiously. Seafoam isn't a blade that cuts heedlessly. We are the waves that devour boulders, shape it without shattering".
"Why not take over?" Larin burst out, his frustration evident in the tone of his voice. "You are the most powerful house. Why do you not call the shots? Why must we dance around at the edges, instead of simply taking over the whole?"
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Myrith darted a glance across the table at Lysara and responded thoughtfully, "Seafoam is powerful, but influence isn't total. We're a part of that great current of houses pulling apart in different ways. Decisions aren't made purely by us alone."
She leaned forward, her sharp eyes finding Larin's, and said: "Some within our own house prefer speed over balance. Others see purity as strength and abhor how we weave other cultures into our harmony. We guide as best we can, but there are forces that would drown us if we push too far.
The weight of their words sat deeply on Larin, digging into his chest like a net. "Even Seafoam cannot go where it wills. What's the use in steering a vessel when others aim to sink it?
"Because the ship carries more than us," Myrith said softly. "It carries those who cannot swim. The dreamers, the builders, those who believe in a world where power doesn't always win. If we throw away the helm, they drown."
He gazed into the fountain, where light and shadow danced in endless twists. Water flowed but was never still; it reminded him of what they spoke of-a delicate balance between forces that could nourish or destroy.
"You fight for them," he whispered, his eyes filled with realization. "Not for control, but for the ones caught beneath the tide."
"Exactly," Lysara said, the ends of her lips curving upward. "Control is an illusion. But influence, guided well, can push even the strongest currents."
They sat there in silence now, the only sound the soft gurgle of water dropping into the basins. For the first time since entering Larake, Larin felt a small sense of peace beneath the caressing anger of the storm that lashed outside.
"Do you miss the sea?" he asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
Myrith's smile was wistful, her eyes reaching up. "The sea is never gone. It lives within us, in every breath, every thought. The tides of the cosmos are just another ocean, deeper and wider than we can see."
"And you, Lysara?" Larin asked.
"I miss the storms," she said with a glint of fierce pride.
Their laughter welled up as if from the water, that fictive effervescence amidst the weight of approaching war. Yet beneath all the laughter was a unspoken agreement which kept them balanced—an implicit acceptance to hold the centre even as waves of rebellion and tyranny sought to drive them asunder.
---
At one point much later that evening, when all three were huddled around the fountains, they began recounting stories about their travels. They were vignettes of lived lives in different waters of experience:. Myrith spoke of a time she had soothed a blood feud between two warring tribes of aquatic men and women through the weaving of a spell imitative of their songs from old times. And that there was this war in the north Lysara told me, how she shatter an armada of black obsidian warships with a tempest which lasted seven days.
Larin listened as his mind pieced together what he had learned. Each tale had a pattern, a reminder that power wasn't only in strength, but in understanding how forces flow and guiding them according to one's intent.
As the sun rose, a messenger came, bowing low before Myrith and Lysara. "A report from the southern quarter, Lady Crestfoam. The Pyrestone insurgents are on the move. They seek to destabilize the trade routes before dawn."
Lysara's eyes sharpened. "How many?"
"A small force," the messenger replied. "But well-trained. They have begun recruiting from the desert tribes."
Myrith rose gracefully. "Then we act as the tide—swift, silent, and certain."
Larin stepped by their side, ready. "And I learn to swim deeper."