Sovereign's Vow
Author: Sunless Rain
Chapter 6 – First Step or Dive?
Far below, hundreds of armed Brathen—shark-like merfolk with broad, powerful frames, slate-toned skin, and rows of jagged teeth that never fully hid behind their lips—surged upward through the depths, cutting swiftly toward the surface.
Word had spread through the great deep of a massive floating fortress looming above the sea, an impossible structure that cast its shadow upon the waters.
At the forefront swam those who had first witnessed it, their movements urgent, their expressions tense. Even now, the memory of that unnatural sight weighed heavily upon them.
"It should be here," the lead Brathen said, his voice low, edged with unease.
As they neared the surface, shapes began to emerge through the wavering light above.
They were not alone.
And they were not surprised. The other tribes had come. All who felt the subtle hum of the floating fortress—the tingling vibration that cut through water and bone alike—knew that something unnatural awaited.
The Coralyths were already present—bodies like a living reef, their coral-formed limbs branching outward in intricate, hardened patterns. Many among them drifted in slow, deliberate motion, their faint bioluminescence pulsing as they surveyed the waters in quiet vigilance.
Not far from them lingered the Kravexes, numerous and restless, their dark, slick bodies blending with the water. Fin-like blades extended from many of their limbs as they circled in shifting formations, their sharp eyes tracking every movement.
From below, the Skelmars rose in overwhelming numbers—endless pale, bone-like forms cutting through the water in silent precision, their hollow eyes scanning for danger or opportunity as they ascended.
A subtle shift in the current drew attention as the Velithars ascended to the upper waters, their ranks vast and flowing like a current of their own. Sleek and refined, long fins trailed behind them like banners as they moved with effortless grace.
And then—the Oculiths revealed themselves. Their coiling forms emerged from the depths in numbers that belied their name, each presence shifting subtly as if never meant to be fully understood, their singular gaze fixed intently on the surface above.
A quiet tension settled among them.
No greetings were exchanged. No words offered.
Different tribes. Different natures.
Yet all had come for the same reason.
Slowly, they ascended together.
Then the light above shifted.
A shadow spread across the water—vast and unnatural, swallowing the sunlight as it stretched wider than the largest reef. The sea beneath it churned violently, drawn upward by some unseen force.
And then, the fortress revealed itself.
Colossal and suspended in the sky, its dark structure blotted out the sun. Jagged spires clawed upward, lined with alien mechanisms that pulsed faintly, as if alive. The waters below stirred, as though the ocean itself resisted its presence.
The gathered merfolk froze.
An uneasy hush settled over them.
This was no ordinary construct. It carried a presence—immense and oppressive—that pressed against instinct and reason alike.
Even the strongest among them felt it.
Whatever commanded that fortress was beyond them.
Then, without warning, the image began to fade.
Its edges blurred. Its form thinned. Slowly, impossibly, the entire structure dissolved into nothingness, leaving only open sky behind.
Silence followed.
One of the Oculith shifted slightly, coiling limbs tightening as its eyes remained fixed on the now-empty surface.
"Illusion magic."
No one argued. The Oculith were masters of such arts, and their judgment carried weight.
Still, as the waters settled and the light returned, a quiet unease remained.
Because illusion or not—they had all felt it.
Then—
A shadow broke the surface.
An opening.
Massive double doors, set directly into the surface of the Floating Fortress, groaned as they slowly parted—something emerging from within.
Massive.
At first, from a distance, the Merfolk thought it was one of their own.
A Thalorim.
To their kind, the Thalorim are —nomadic, whale-like giants of the deep. Their bodies were vast and enduring, forged to withstand the crushing pressure of the abyss. Broad frames, thick hides, and immense fins allowed them to move with slow, deliberate strength, each motion carrying the weight of the ocean itself.
But this—
This was different.
The figure that emerged bore a similar scale… yet something about it was fundamentally wrong.
Its movements were too precise. Too controlled.
And in its grasp—
An anchor.
Massive. Monstrous. Its weight alone seemed enough to drag the ocean into stillness. Chains trailed from it, dark and heavy, as if they were forged not from metal alone, but from something far older… something that bound even the sea itself.
The anchor did not sway.
It did not drift.
It felt less like a tool—and more like a presence.
Dark, abyssal tones clung to the figure, heavy and suffocating, like the pressure of the deepest trench made manifest.
Not a creature of the sea.
But something that commanded it.
Without hesitation, it plunged into the ocean—anchor and all.
The surface closed behind it.
"…What was that?" one of the Brathen muttered.
No one answered.
Because none of them knew.
Then—
The ocean stirred.
A deep pressure spread through the water, growing heavier with each passing second.
And then—
Ravage."
The command echoed through the depths.
At once, the sea obeyed.
From the abyss below, the ocean itself seemed to split.
Massive tentacles surged upward—each one stretching more than a hundred meters in length, thick as ancient towers and vast enough to eclipse entire formations in their shadow.
They were not merely large.
They were monumental.
Their surface was dark and shifting, like the depths themselves given form—lined with subtle ridges and powerful muscular segments that pulsed with every movement. As they rose, the water around them warped and churned, currents violently displaced by their sheer mass.
They moved with terrifying control.
Each tentacle coiled with purpose, threading through the water before locking onto the chains. When they tightened—
The chains groaned.
Not from sound alone, but from pressure.
The pull was not sudden.
But it was absolute.
Every inch of those immense limbs worked in perfect coordination, their combined force dragging something colossal into motion—slowly at first, then with undeniable momentum.
The water roared in protest as the abyss itself seemed to strain under the weight of their strength.
And still—
They did not stop.
Three hundred meters of unrelenting force.
A will that bent the ocean to its command.
Above, the gathered tribes remained frozen.
Because now they understood—
That being they saw…
Was no Thalorim.
And whatever it was…
It ruled the deep.
An Elder Oculith muttered, its gaze narrowing as the currents trembled around them—its focus never leaving the depths.
"…A Primal Beast."
The words did not simply pass through the water.
They spread.
Echoed.
Resonated.
For a moment—nothing moved.
Then the ocean itself seemed to react.
A subtle tremor ran through the depths. Currents faltered. The water grew heavy, as though something ancient had pressed its will upon the sea.
Not in fear—
But in acknowledgment.
Because to them—
Primal Beasts were no myth.
They were the origin.
The progenitors of all beastfolk.
The first forms.
The first will.
The first to shape what the deep had become.
And now—
One stood before them.
But not all believed it.
"A Primal Beast…?" one of the Kravex murmured, its form circling slowly without breaking focus. "No… such beings do not simply appear."
"Nor act so… deliberately," another added, gaze unblinking.
A Brathen shifted slightly, tension coiling through its body as it watched the depths. "The Oculith see patterns in everything," it muttered. "Give them something vast… and they will name it ancient."
The Oculith did not respond.
Its focus remained locked downward.
Unwavering.
Unblinking.
But beneath that silence… there was hesitation.
Uncertainty.
Even it—one who prided itself in intellect—was not entirely sure.
And that alone was enough to keep it from speaking.
Yet even among the doubt—
No one looked away.
Because regardless of what it was called—
The presence was real.
The pressure.
The authority.
The way the ocean itself had answered.
The realization did not settle as belief—
But as weight.
Some drifted back slowly, bodies tense.
Others held their ground, weapons ready—but unmoving.
Not from reverence of a title—
But from recognition of something beyond them.
The ocean, as if acknowledging the truth, grew restless.
And whether it was a Primal Beast…
Or something else entirely—
None of them dared descend further.
None of them dared look away.
Then a whirlpool appeared—and vanished—taking with it the ancient creature they now revered.
....
(In the throne room)
While everyone was still reveling in the declaration of their sovereign—
Neptuneus was abruptly interrupted by a telepathic link from his subordinates. They reported a sighting—multiple intelligent creatures gathering near where the once-floating fortress is now submerged.
Neptuneus had already been aware of their existence from the moment they were transported into this new world. At the time, he had ignored them—there were more pressing matters to attend to. Now, reminded of their presence, he found himself slightly surprised by how swiftly the natives of the sea had reacted to the sudden appearance of the Floating Fortress.
His subordinates relayed further details. Without disrupting the ongoing celebration, Neptuneus instructed them to remain on standby before bringing the matter directly to his lord.
"My lord BURNING_ONES, it appears we were not entirely concealed. A vast number of sea creatures near the site of our arrival detected our presence and began investigating before the illusion magic was fully established. They exhibit signs of intelligence, though their forms are unfamiliar. I have yet to confirm their exact nature, but they are most likely a form of merfolk native to this world."
BURNING_ONES fell into deep contemplation, weighing their response to this unforeseen development.
"What of their strength?" he asked.
Neptuneus answered, "More of them have gathered near the surface and continue their search. Their numbers are steadily increasing… and with them, stronger individuals are beginning to emerge. At present, their levels range from 15 to 45, though this is likely only the beginning."
A brief silence followed.
"Observe for now," BURNING_ONES said at last. "We will not reveal ourselves to this world without first understanding our place within it."
Neptuneus inclined his head. "Understood, my lord."
With that, BURNING_ONES turned his attention outward.
His voice, amplified throughout the fortress, echoed across every hall and chamber.
"Prepare yourselves. This world is unknown to us. Until we understand it… we prepare for everything."
The merriment faded, replaced by disciplined urgency.
Moments later, he summoned another.
"Akasha."
A presence answered.
"Use your Clairvoyance . Survey the surrounding area—map everything within a hundred-kilometer radius. Land, sea… leave nothing unseen."
Akasha remained silent.
The sudden quiet was unusual—enough to catch BURNING_ONES off guard. His gaze sharpened slightly.
"…Is there a problem with my order, Akasha?"
A brief pause followed.
Then—
"My lord… since our arrival in this world, my powers… have delibitated," Akasha said.
BURNING_ONES' eyes widened at the revelation.
Akasha continued, her voice steady, yet carrying an unfamiliar weight.
"It would seem… the very consciousness of this world does not permit me to wield them as I once did."
"I can now only glimpse a few seconds into the future… and only for myself—and for those bound to the Paragons."
"Future?" BURNING_ONES echoed, his tone laced with confusion.
Once again—after only an hour in this new world—he found himself at a loss.
Akasha had never possessed foresight before. In the game, her abilities were far different; despite its advanced systems, true future prediction was impossible. Her role as a Seer functioned more like a long-range scout, granting the guild something akin to a "map hack," revealing terrain and movements rather than destiny.
But now… she claimed to see the future.
Once again, BURNING_ONES was reminded just how unfamiliar this new world truly was—and how little he understood of its workings.
He exhaled slowly, regaining his composure.
"Very well," he said. "Order Neptuneus to begin intelligence gathering."
His gaze sharpened, resolve settling in.
"For now… we will learn how this world operates."
...
Near the roots of the World Sapling, within a designated testing area, BURNING_ONES and the guardians tested their abilities.
One by one, they began to activate their abilities—Racial Skills, Job Class Skills, and item effects—testing the limits of their strength in this unfamiliar world.
BURNING_ONES stepped forward.
In his grasp was his weapon, Lord's Host.
Without hesitation, he drew the sword and made a wide slash through the air.
For a brief moment… he felt it.
Resistance.
His eyes narrowed.
That sensation was not something that should exist—cutting the air should have been effortless. Yet, something… resisted his blade.
Then it happened.
A faint light seeped from the path of his slash.
The air trembled.
Space itself… split.
A portal tore open before him.
From within, a blazing radiance surged outward—burning yet divine, like a fragment of the heavens forced into reality.
One by one, they emerged.
Angels.
Their forms carried an aura of overwhelming presence—each one radiating power far beyond ordinary beings.
BURNING_ONES, though initially taken aback by their appearance, felt a measure of relief.
One of the Guild's artifacts still functioned as it had in the game—though now… with a hint of reality woven into it.