From the depths, Mergiayim shimmered like a fractured jewel—brilliant, ancient, and on the brink of ruin.
As the trio floated through the final stretch of the enchanted current, the silence broke. Dull thuds echoed through the water, followed by the eerie, muffled roar of voices—screams, commands, war cries. The closer they drew, the clearer the chaos became. Fires of blue flame flickered inside water-wrapped structures, and beams of energy arced across domes of coral-glass. Dark shapes twisted and darted—sea monsters unlike anything Koach had ever seen.
"No..." Nadir's voice was thick with dread. "It's just as I feared. They've come back."
By the time their feet touched the coral streets, the city was under siege.
Mergiayim, sacred home of memory and mystery, was in the midst of war.
The trio had no time to speak. A massive serpent-beast crashed through a market plaza ahead, its body coiled in jagged armor. Warriors in bioluminescent armor clashed with the invaders, their spears glowing with runes of protection. The air stung with salt, magic, and blood.
Koach wasted no time. The trees of his homeland were leagues above; the vines that once danced to his call were faint, sluggish in the underwater air. Still, his sword was swift. He ducked under the swipe of a sea beast's claw, rolled, and brought his blade across its belly with a roar. Blood darkened the water around him.
Shordet, meanwhile, moved like a man listening to a voice none could hear. His hand glowed faintly with the symbol of his family line, but the magic had not answered him yet—not clearly. He fought with desperation, striking with what skill he had and relying more on instinct than knowledge. Each breath was a prayer. Each strike, a cry for purpose.
And Nadir—Nadir became something else entirely.
She moved like a current unleashed. Twin blades sang in her hands, her movements swift and sure. She shouted in the language of command, rallying a line of Mergiayimite soldiers, guiding them through collapsing alleyways and back into formation. Every move she made was precise, purposeful. Koach, between swings, saw her eyes—fierce, royal, like someone born in battle.
"She was one of them," he muttered to himself. "She's not just a maid…"
He was right. Nadir had once worn the uniform of the palace elite, and she had stood beside the Princess of Mergiayim as her closest friend.
The battle raged. Koach took a cut to his shoulder, searing and deep. He gritted his teeth, kept fighting. Nadir vanished into the thick of the clash, leading a counterattack with fury and grace.
And then—Shordet faltered.
His limbs ached. His vision blurred. A monster loomed over him, a towering creature with three arms and a mouth of writhing tendrils.
"No more," he whispered.
He reached for his pendant.
It was warm—alive.
He closed his eyes and fell to his knees. Water churned around him as he whispered a prayer, ancient and unfamiliar even to him. Then louder:
"Sheyhaya lehem shlum bim!"
The words came like thunder.
They echoed across the battlefield—through the minds of warriors and monsters alike. Time seemed to hold its breath. The sea stilled. The creatures froze mid-attack, their eyes wide with something like fear.
From Shordet's chest, the pendant burst with radiant light—not fire, but a living essence. A shimmer of Ka Mua's light filled the space above Mergiayim. It pulsed once, then spread like a wave. And as it passed, the sea monsters shrieked, recoiling, then fled. They vanished into the deep, the darkness swallowing them whole.
Silence.
Then, murmurs.
"Did you see that?"
"A Maaminim…"
"The prophecy…"
The warriors of Mergiayim began to gather around, whispering, pointing. Some bowed their heads. Others fell to their knees. It was clear—the city remembered what it meant to see a Maaminim call light into the dark.
A tall, armored figure stepped forward, helmet in hand. His face bore the deep markings of an aged fighter, his eyes sharp with both suspicion and awe.
"I am Commander Erav of the Coral Guard," he said. "If what I saw is true… then you must come with me. The Queen will want to speak with you."
Shordet looked to Koach, who leaned on his sword, breathing hard. Nadir wiped her blade clean, expression unreadable.
The trio nodded.
And together, they followed the commander into the heart of Mergiayim.
The Coral Guard led them through winding, luminescent streets until they stood before the Palace of Depths—Bet Hadar Mitohamayim.
It was a wonder.
Carved from living coral and enchanted glass, the palace stood as a song frozen in form. Its spires bent like sea lilies, layered in soft blues, golds, and shimmering greens. Pearlescent vines crawled along archways, and every wall bore flowing runes that pulsed with magic as if the structure itself was breathing. Light danced across everything, refracted through currents of memory. Within its halls, water flowed through stone veins like blood through a heart, and gentle currents hummed ancient songs long forgotten by land-dwellers.
Koach slowed to take it all in. Even Shordet—ever watchful, ever guarded—was struck silent.
But silence did not last.
As they entered the grand audience chamber, they found not just a throne—but a full council of Mergiayim's highest authorities already waiting. Arrayed in semi-circles around a great shell-shaped dais, were scholars, war-captains, tide-scribes, and seers of the deep. Their eyes fixed on Shordet. Their heads bowed slightly—not in worship, but in reverence.
Shordet felt it. The weight. The recognition. The overwhelming respect, not for himself—but for what he carried.
For who he might be.
A soft voice, regal and steady, rose above the murmurs.
"Welcome, children of purpose."
The Queen of Mergiayim descended from her throne like a stream of royal current. Her robe, stitched with kelp-silver and mother-pearl, trailed behind her like flowing tide. Her crown shimmered with pearls of memory, each one holding the echo of a prophecy.
Her gaze fell first upon Nadir.
"To Nadir, daughter of the deep, you have done well," she said, her voice both warm and commanding. "You played your part in the awakening of the prophecy."
Nadir blinked, clearly confused. "But I… I never accepted any mission. I fled Mergiayim for my life. I wasn't part of anything."
The Queen smiled gently, almost mournfully. "Do you truly believe you left Mergiayim because we could not stop you?"
She stepped closer. "You only did the will of the prophecy. You were never outside its current. It carried you where it must."
Nadir stood frozen, her expression a whirlwind of disbelief and wonder.
Then the Queen turned toward Shordet. "A Maaminimite has risen to restore Vahuriel, just as was foretold."
Shordet stepped forward quickly, voice firm. "I am not he."
The room hushed.
"I am only a relic," Shordet continued, "one searching for the Elyat Hagualim. My purpose is not redemption but preparation. I seek the four Mehimanim—those destined to restore Vahuriel. I only wish to guide them."
The Queen studied him in silence, her eyes deeper than the sea.
"What is your name, Maaminimite?" she asked.
"Shordet," he said.
A murmur rippled through the council.
The Queen lifted her hand and pointed—to the edge of the dais.
"To the one you seek."
All heads turned.
The princess.
She stood quietly among the royal guards, cloaked in sea-blue, her head slightly bowed. Her presence had been unnoticed until now.
Nadir's eyes widened. "I knew it," she whispered.
Shordet stepped toward her slowly, uncertain of what to expect. The pendant around his neck pulsed faintly, sensing something ancient nearby.
"Princess," he said softly. "May I see your ruine?"
Princess Yirudi extended her wrist without hesitation.
Etched into her skin was the mark—curving lines of light, elegant and alive.
Shordet reached out and touched it.
A flash.
Yirudi's ruine ignited in a brilliant gold-white glow—and in perfect resonance, Koach's ruine flared as well. The chamber was bathed in light. Warm. Pure. Divine.
The council dropped to their knees. Even the Queen lowered her head.
Prayers to Sielu echoed through the chamber like waves colliding with eternity.
When the light faded, silence lingered.
The Queen stepped forward once more.
"Princess Yirudi," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "the day we've all waited for has come. As foretold, you are one of the Mehimanim who will help restore Vahuriel. And your journey begins today."
Yirudi bowed low, her voice steady. "I will not fail you, Your Grace. Nor the people of Mergiayim."
The Queen embraced her. Then, turning to the three travelers, she said, "You will have shelter, food, and rest. Three days' peace to gather your strength. And then… the currents will call you onward."
As the royal attendants led them to their chambers, Shordet lingered. His thoughts swirled like the currents outside. Yirudi—a Mehimanit. The second of four.
But more than that, something in her ruine resonated… differently.
He knew he had to speak with her. Alone.
That night, as the palace quieted and the waters outside dimmed into night, Shordet made his way to the royal gardens, hoping to find Yirudi—and understand who she truly was.
Excellent—this twist adds a perfect layer of warmth, camaraderie, and a spark of light romance, while also deepening the trio's dynamic. Here's your scene, written in a style consistent with the rest of Elyat Hagualim:
The royal gardens of Mergiayim were unlike anything Shordet had seen before. Streams of glowing water floated through the air like ribbons, coiling among trees of translucent coral and pearl-blooming vines. Magic pulsed through the roots of the city itself here, humming a lullaby older than memory.
He walked quietly through the garden's winding paths, guided only by moonlight and thought. Five meters from the heart of the glade, he paused—his ears catching not one, but two voices.
One was soft, graceful—Princess Yirudi.
The other, unmistakably, was Koach.
Shordet blinked, surprised.
Koach's laugh cracked through the quiet like a falling branch. Yirudi's melodic giggle followed, lighter, easier than anything he'd heard in the palace halls. They sat near a pool of silver-still water, Koach gesturing wildly as he reenacted something that apparently involved a runaway goat and a half-baked wooden cart.
"…and then the thing just rolled down the path and smacked right into old Mira'el's spice tent!" Koach finished, holding back another laugh.
"Tell me he didn't eat the spices!" Yirudi grinned.
"Oh, not only did he eat them—he sneezed for three days straight!"
Yirudi laughed again, covering her mouth with one hand. "I would pay to see that."
Shordet stepped forward silently and, before they noticed him, gave Koach a gentle pat on the back.
"So," he said with a raised brow and a chuckle, "this is your new favorite hide spot?"
Koach jumped a little, then turned, grinning. "'So this is your new favorite hide spot'," he repeated in a dramatic mimic of Shordet's deep voice. "Must you always sound like an echo from a prophecy scroll?"
The three of them burst into laughter, the moment airy and full of life—rare warmth after days of war and weight.
When the chuckles faded, Shordet looked to Yirudi, his tone softening. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just came hoping to speak with you… if I may?"
Yirudi straightened slightly, her expression open. "You've got my audience, Shordet."
He hesitated only a breath before asking, "What's your take on all this—this prophecy, this saving of Vahuriel?"
There was no judgment in his voice, only the quiet curiosity of someone who had seen too many people run from purpose.
Yirudi's gaze didn't falter. "Are you wondering whether I'll truly follow?"
Shordet said nothing.
"You don't need to," she continued, a soft confidence in her voice. "I love my people. I would take up any mission to save them—and Vahuriel. That part of the prophecy, I don't fear."
Then she smiled—a glimmer of mischief behind the grace.
"And... I've always wanted to leave Mergiayim. See the forests, the sky, feel wind that isn't filtered through coral walls. Koach promised to show me Vahuriel—to the best of his very questionable knowledge."
Koach raised a hand in mock defense. "Hey, I may not know all the fancy places, but I can carve a decent map and lead you to the best soup in Atzimor."
Shordet chuckled quietly, nodding in genuine acceptance. "That's all I needed to hear."
He looked at them both—young, brave, laughing—and saw not just the heirs of prophecy, but people willing to carry it with heart.
"I'll leave you two to yourselves then," he said, taking a step back.
As he walked away, something unspoken settled in his chest. Yirudi was not a princess bound by duty. She was a choice. A flame lit not by command but conviction.
And for the first time in many years, Shordet felt something stir beyond the weight of his mission.
Hope.
That's a phenomenal escalation of the story—rich, prophetic, and cinematic. You've beautifully blended the moment of hopeful departure with a devastating awakening beneath the palace. Here's that entire sequence written in a vivid, story-true tone, continuing Chapter Four and transitioning us into an epic cliffhanger:
Deep beneath the Palace of Depths, where coral met stone and light could not breathe, a silence had lasted millennia. It was held in place not by walls, but by prophecy—by the lingering presence of Ka Mua's will, etched into bloodlines and sealed with oaths.
Long ago, one of the shards of RO'A—a sliver of the destroyer's ancient essence—had fallen here, cast into the abyss beneath the throne. The ancestors of the Okianiot, guided by the first Lightbearer, bound it in a seal powered not by chains, but by the living line of royal spirit. The bloodline that bore prophecy in their veins.
But now… that blood was preparing to leave Mergiayim.
And so, the seal began to fracture.
After days of rest and quiet wonder in the floating cities of the deep, the time had come to depart. Shordet and Koach arrived at the Mergiayim Light—the first glowing spire ever built by their people—to meet Princess Yirudi and begin the next phase of their journey.
To their surprise, the entire royal council had gathered once more, just as on the day of their arrival.
The Queen, standing tall beside a glowing tide-crystal, placed her hands on Yirudi's shoulders.
"You carry the hopes of Mergiayim and all Vahuriel," she said. "To guide you, I entrust this—"
She held out a crystal vial of swirling golden liquid.
"The Elixir of Life and Truth. When the purpose for this arises," the Queen said softly, "I trust you'll make the right choice. Use it wisely."
Yirudi bowed, receiving the gift with reverent hands.
But as the Queen was about to bless their departure, her gaze shifted—drawn to Nadir, who stood near the back, her expression unreadable.
Her eyes were not saying goodbye.
They were already missing someone.
The Queen smiled knowingly. "Nadir," she said gently, "you need not stand aside. Your task has not ended. You are to protect Princess Yirudi. Though touched by Sielu, she still needs her friend."
Nadir gasped, her hand pressed to her chest. But before she could reply—
"BLESS YOU, YOUR MAJESTY!" Shordet blurted out in a raised voice, clearly relieved. The sudden shout cracked the formal stillness, and laughter erupted across the room.
Even the Queen chuckled. "May that voice guide armies someday, Shordet Amiti."
With the final blessings spoken, she lifted her hand—and a portal of shimmering blue and silver spiraled open before them, glowing with the breath of the ocean.
The four stood side by side—Shordet, Koach, Yirudi, and Nadir—and together stepped forward into the portal.
A journey that began with a single wanderer was now a band of four friends, bound not just by prophecy—but by trust, love, and choice.
The Queen raised her hand in farewell, a serene smile on her lips as the portal closed.
And then—
the palace trembled.
The stone beneath her feet quaked, and a deafening roar shattered the stillness, reverberating from the lowest depths beneath the throne. Light flickered. Cracks split the eastern wing of the palace—and from within, a shadow burst forth like a tidal scream.
A black being, formless yet massive, rose from the depths, shrieking as it plunged the eastern dome into total darkness. Magic shields buckled. Guards fell to their knees, blinded. And before a word could be spoken, the creature launched upward, tearing through coral and enchanted barriers, and escaped into Vahuriel—a streak of shadow racing toward the surface, toward a world already in chaos.
Within the Library of Ancient Wisdom, the eldest seers of Mergiayim gathered in desperation. They tore through scrolls, chants, fragments—seeking knowledge long buried.
And there, floating mid-air, the Scroll of Wisdom opened itself, pages rustling without wind. One line, seared in golden light, burned before their eyes:
"Korok echad mi'shloshet harsisim shel RO'A ala."
"Koruk, one of the shards of RO'A, has risen."
Gasps. Silence. Despair.
Outside, the waves no longer hummed. Mergiayim was still. Watching. Waiting.
The shadow had left. But its return was certain.