Act 1

The golden shores of the Sylvan Reef lay atop the silver sweep of Nymera’s endless oceanic deep, the empire a floating paradise of water and gardens. Waterfalls spill endlessly into the clouds below, and coral bridges glimmer like veins of lightning brushing the surface of the ocean in the sky. Around the air lingered the scent of the tides—of the dangers above Olympus—no mortal should dare reach.

Calliane moved among the acolytes, her webbed fingers brushing over blue lilies that smelled of salt and sunlight, and her black eyes drinking in the dance of light and shadows. Invading her mind in a sweet flash of thrill, she vividly envisioned the storm that had nearly claimed her life—the roar of Thaloros himself. How the walls of water could rise higher than mountains, and to witness the electric crack of thunder roaring in the foam… she could feel again that rush of exhilaration coursing through her aquatic veins, insistent in her chest as if with the pull of gravity.

Lady Nemea waited overlooking the Coral, luminous as ever, her hands gliding through the water around it as though it could remember every Sylva prayer ever whispered.

Calliane gently knelt, the sands of the golden shore blanketing over the fins along her lower legs. Her eyes scanned over the queen and the Coral as it gently rose from the water. Its yellow shimmer faintly encompassed the shoreline, and Calliane could catch a smile run across Lady Nemea’s face. Behind her, the other acolytes observed, one resting a hand over her right shoulder as the queen held up the Coral for all to see.

“Calliane Mistbreaker, Acolyte of the tides…” she began, her voice sweetly above a whisper as her eyes gazed into Calliane’s, “you have ventured past the storms of Thaloros, as the thirtieth Stormwarden of the Sylva and survived his trials of strength where many have lost their lives. May the gods—Thaloros, Nymera, and Xaltheris—bless your soul in guiding you through your next life as Delphinae.” The queen raised her own hand, and Calliane held out hers as she was offered the Coral. “Let this be a symbol of your feat, and let this name you as a true Stormwarden of our empire.” The Coral glided through the light air, until Lady Nemea pressed the trophy into Calliane’s palms.

She possessed the prize with pride, pondering at the thundering veins of light beneath the creature’s skeleton. Around it, water curled in the air, levitating as if in microgravity. It was a true phenomenon, something very few Sylva have ever witnessed. Calliane raised her eyes from the Coral, looking back up at her queen. “Has anyone ever gone back to the storm?” she asked, a grin creeping up to the corners of her lips.

Lady Nemea could feel her brows furrow, her smile fading at the peculiar words. “Why would you ever desire it, Mistbreaker?” Gently, her hands caressed hers as she held the Coral. “No other Stormwardens have ever questioned returning to the test…unless Thaloros claimed them before they ever made it back to the empire.”

Her eyes glanced down, but Calliane still managed to grin as she thought. If no other Sylva has achieved it… then I shall be the first! “I thank you, Lady Nemea. I shall treasure my trophy.” Then she began to stand, though the Lady remained kneeling.

She ran a hand through her hair of kelp, glancing nervously back at the other acolytes as they watched Calliane’s departure.

I suppose she can take care of herself… Lady Nemea thought.

Act 2

Even as the shops smelt of lavender and citrus, of fruits and smells none have seen before, the scent of salt wafted throughout the entire city. Finally stepping up to the warped doorway of her home, Calliane heard the sudden rustling of furniture and footsteps. Through the wall a voice rang out unintelligible mumbles, cursing under his breath. She couldn’t help but raise a brow.

But still all was well as Demetros emerged from another room, his hands hidden behind his back as he blatantly failed at concealing something from her. “Oh… Calliane! Didn’t expect you to be back this early.” From his lips came a nervous laugh, though it only seemed to emerge as a series of broken sounds. “I was convinced the ceremony took a bit longer.”

Her eyes narrowed as she observed his figure, looking him up and down with uncertainty. “No, Lady Nemea was eager to move it along.” Calliane stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, each step sounding across the warped wet floorboards. “But, aren’t you supposed to be at the market, Demetros?”

“Well… I…” he hesitated, “...I went quickly, and I just… I wanted to see you.”

A smile came over her, and she tried not to laugh. “When have you ever genuinely wanted to see me?” From her hands the Coral pulsed with energy, and she gazed down on it like an eagle, observing every movement clear now out of the water.

Demetros had his eyes lingering on the floor, hesitant to decide what he could show. He let out a sigh as he made a final decision, as if he were regretting it. “I know it’s your special day, and I wanted to show my gratitude.” He carefully brought out his hand from behind his back, and between his fingers dangled a pendant. Its sturdy chain had been forged from platinum, but the gem, the carved blue jasper, was cracked and sparking with the gods’ power. “I found it on the raft after you returned, and I thought you would have wanted it back.” he murmured, his face red with something between either embarrassment, or a stern shame.

Calliane’s lips parted in awe as she saw the cracking of lightning trapped inside of the pendant, and she held out one of her hands, keeping the Coral firmly in the other. Demetros cautiously dropped it into her palm, sparking once more as it made contact with her skin. She ogled at it, proud. “I…” she was speechless until she locked her eyes back onto his. “Thank you, Demetros.” She smiled bright, placing the coral down onto a desk, but something sparked in her eyes as she stepped back up to him. “Could I ask you something?”

Demetros took a step closer, nodding with his hand held in front of him, as if he were trying to comfort himself near her presence.

She bit her lip as she thought, trying to keep focus. Until she gazed her eyes on him with an ominous idea. “Have you ever wanted to see it?”

Demetros questioned the thought, his grin shifting downward.

“I mean, to see the storm.” she spoke slowly, nervous of his convincing.

His eyes instantly widened, and he stepped back. “W-What? To be a Stormwarden? With you?!” He clenched his hands together, but he couldn’t seem to turn his eyes away from her. “There is a clear reason that there are only thirty of the seven thousand Sylva.”

Calliane kept herself close to him, holding onto his hands with convincing care. “Why not make it thirty one?” she said with an urging smile, “just imagine the raw thrill of it all… a flash of thunder ripping through your veins and flesh in a mental roller-coaster.”

“Sounds a bit… um… dangerous?”

“Exactly, and that’s not even the best part, Demetros.” Calliane was quick to pull him along, her arm wrapping around his shoulder with a grip like soft iron—an amiable coerce—although it never seemed deceitful. They both rushed down the streets, Calliane’s steps conscious while Demetros hobbled along bemusedly. “We’ll need a boat!”

Act 3

The market surrounding the Sylvan Reef’s shoreline was as loud as Calliane’s rising heartbeat, drumming in her chest with the steady rhythm of a band—a Herculean song crashing across her chest. Each step matched the pulse and its pattern, strutting to the water as Demetros struggled to keep pace.

“Are you… sure th-this is a good idea?” he whispered with a tremble deep in his throat, struggling to pull himself away from something.

“Positive.”

He could hardly argue. He was already in a hole up to his nose.

Finally, Calliane arrived at the closest boat… only it happened to be the smallest. “Here!” she smiled with determination, pulling Demetros onto the raggedy sailboat.

He clenched his teeth “But… it’s so small.”

“Trust me, the storms really aren’t that bad” she said with a giggle, guiding her hand over the hull. “Besides, I don’t see too many cracks.”

“Too many?!” he shouted out, clutching onto the mast as Calliane rocked the boat seemingly too aggressive. From his mouth slid, “Whoa!” as he struggled to keep his balance on the wet deck, though his webbed feet managed to keep him upright. “There shouldn’t be any at all!”

For a moment she looked up at him, proud to see him along with her. “They’re small, Demetros. There’s no need to worry.” Then she went to check the rudder, and at the stern she wiggled the tiller; it sticks. She wiggles it more, forcibly until it gives a faint “creek”. Through clenched teeth she whispers, “Good enough…”

“I… I’ve never been on a boat before, Calliane…” he kept his grip on the mast just before being shoved away for her to fit the boom into its hinge. Demetros stumbled again, the small boat dipping to the side as he had nearly fallen into the salty water.

“Hey!” Calliane blurted out almost subconsciously, whipping her head around to see him. She kept the boom in place as she set it up, until she lectured him, “Watch it, Demetros!”

“Me watch it?!” he argued, stepping back towards the mast for the final time. “You’re the one who pushed me!” I won’t be knocked over… not by a storm, not by anyone!

She rolled her eyes before turning her head back to prepare the boat. “How have you never been in the ocean? You practically aren’t even Sylva without rocking against the waves.”

“Eeah…” he nervously shrugged his shoulders, bobbing his head back and forth childishly as he searched his mind for an excuse. “Well… only the big ones.”

“Still a boat, dumbo!” Calliane yelled out again, this time loud enough to draw attention.

Some observed with confusion: “Isn’t that the new Stormwarden?

“Going out already?”

“You know, some stay away from water for months from just the thought of the storm.”

Until with a yank, the sail drops like a pale wing, cloth whipping out against the rising wind as it was persuaded to life. Just seeing the cloth, all tattered and sewed with varieties of fabric and patterns, seemed so interesting. Then with a firm force, she took up the halyard and pulled. Foot braced, back bent, she hoisted the sail skyward until it trembled at its full height. A sharp knot secured the line.

Demetros couldn’t help but ogle as he watched her work, how her muscles tensed, how her scales shifted, toiling away. The sheet spread wide, various spots sewed up. Some of the patchwork poor, and some sturdy, but the whole thing perfectly functional.

She worked to tighten the sheet, drawing the boom in until the sail filled with a deep, hungry breath. Only when everything was set did she release the mooring rope. The boat drifted free—willing or not—into the gathering dark of Nymera’s deep and ominous ocean.

Act 4

For hours it seemed, they traveled. Demetros sailed, Calliane guided. Moments of doubt had crossed the two far too many times, but neither dare admit it.

“There is always a calm before the storm…” only until they found the strength to travel the farthest… to the border no mortal dare reach. Thaloros, Lord of the Tides, and Nymera, Lady of the Deep, always kept their promise: No one is to be let in. No one is to be let out. It was only then that Calliane could hear the churning of the deep, the shuffling of the sands beneath the ocean. Yes, it was far down… but it could always be heard.

They found the wall Nymera... the gods whispered amongst themselves

The ocean rose high, waves taller than mountains, scraping the heavens themselves.

Inside the water, Calliane envisioned the color of distant thunder—something more than just “grey”—indigo fractures, electric green veins, lavender churn… even the shifting faces of the gods glaring down at them. Her pendant flashed and shocked towards the light already captured by divine control. At the sight, Calliane grinned like a madman.

Demetros couldn’t catch a glimpse of the thing. From what seemed down below, storm clouds blazed like coals consumed by flame, sparking and flickering across the skyline. To the Sylva man, it was a death wish. “Calliane… I-I don’t think we’re supposed to be here…”

“Then turn back.”

He hadn’t dared.

Rain strings down like needles, smashing into the boat and sail. The lightning spirals… upward, the way no ordinary storm would. They ambush from below, the way only a Stormwarden could recall. The Coral—firmly stuck to the bow—blazes with a luminous heat. Calliane rushes to it, her fingers intertwining with it. Though the heat had burned her flesh as a warning, she could only see a challenge.

Closer and closer, the storm greets them sinisterly. Finally… Waves crash to the side of the boat, and as Demetros fights hard against them, the tiller resists him, and the boat can’t turn.

Calliane stumbles as soon as the boat is struck, just barely managing to keep her balance. “Demetros!” she hollered out, loud enough for the gods to hear as she met his eyes with an incandescent gaze.

His eyes widened big as his body tensed up, his hands trembling, breath ragged, the color seeping from his face. “It’s stuck…!” A board along the deck, already cracked and seeping water, split with the evenness of a mountain path. Then went the sail, and a violent downdraft split the canvas clean through.

“No…”

The sky of water loomed over them, lightning cracking like whips across the sky. Now, they couldn’t turn back. Something she thought was so perfectly thrilling… it all rushed back to her again. It wasn’t excitement she felt on the ship, no matter how big it was. It was dread—intense in its final form. She felt like she was already dead, doomed in the next life.

First the boat tipped, until it crashed… until life couldn’t be salvageable.

Calliane fell to her knees, gripping the Coral like iron until the rock of the boat turned her over.

It was only then she had to realize:

They were called Stormwardens. Not because they survived the storm, but because they found the strength—the strength beyond that of any god—to turn away from it.

The dark doesn’t frighten me… I chose to close my eyes.

It is mine.

The night doesn’t frighten me… I chose to let it thrive.

It is mine.

It is mine…