Chapter 14: Nobles Voice Their Concerns

The light of the crown still glimmered softly above my brow, casting gentle rays that danced like flickering stars upon the polished marble floors of the throne room. Yet, the warmth of celebration that had once enveloped us had dissipated like mist at dawn. What was once a vibrant tapestry of victorious chants and jubilant cheers had transformed into an atmosphere thick with unvoiced apprehension. The air itself felt burdened with doubt, wrapping around me like a shroud of cold currents that brushed harshly against my skin.

Then, from the shadows of uncertainty, the first voice emerged, steady and resolute.

“Your Majesty,” intoned Elder Sirell, his voice carrying the weight of wisdom accumulated over decades. He was one of the most venerable nobles gathered, his long silver beard cascading down his chest like ethereal strands of ghostly kelp drifting in the deep sea. His sharp, piercing eyes glimmered with the hardness of carved coral, reflecting the tumultuous depths of the ocean from which we hailed. “You sit upon this throne, adorned by the city’s ancient, pulsing magic. But we cannot overlook the truth of your origins.”

He glided forward, his presence commanding as the tides themselves, and soon, others followed suit, forming a reluctant assembly around me.

“You were not born from the caress of the sea,” Sirell continued, his voice resonating with an intensity that filled the room. “You were nurtured in the light of the sun, among the land dwellers, breathing their air and walking upon their earth. You possess legs, not fins. You know naught of our ways, our sacred faith, our cherished traditions. The throne may have chosen you, illuminated by fate’s design, but the ocean’s depths have yet to see if you are truly worthy to wear its crown.”

Another noble, youthful and sharp in his tone, interjected, “The surface has tainted you. You hesitate before a raw catch, as if the very essence of it unsettles you. You adorn yourself like the sunfolk, draping in their vibrant colors. Your voice, while powerful, echoes their cadence. It is strong, yet your spirit remains fractured, caught between the depths of the ocean and the vastness of the land.”

A ripple of murmurs rose from the gathered assembly. They encircled me, an array of nobles drifting like a cautious school of fish, hesitantly approaching a predator they could not quite fathom.

“You’ve stirred the cities, yes,” a third voice chimed in, laced with skepticism but not malice. “Yet, awakening them is far from the same as wielding their power.”

I rose deliberately, exuding a regal calmness even as the tension in the chamber thickened and electrified the air around me.

“You are indeed correct,” I declared, my voice resonating like a clear bell, slicing through the clamor with precision. “I wasn’t born beneath the waves. I was nurtured on land, among humans. I understand what it means to walk on solid ground, to live in ignorance of one’s true nature. I comprehend their thoughts, their ways of trade, their systems of governance. I have traversed the world above—and I carry within me the memories of the world below.”

The nobles shifted restlessly, their expressions a tapestry of skepticism and uncertainty. A few narrowed their eyes, suspicion flickering like a dying flame. Yet, I pressed on, undeterred.

“You accuse me of being tainted,” I declared, my voice ringing out like a clarion call in the hushed chamber. “I tell you instead that I am tempered—hardened and sharpened by the very fires of two realms. You tremble at the thought of me erasing your cherished traditions, when all I seek is to understand and honor them. You claim I am blind to your ways, yet I stand here, open and eager to learn—seeking not to supplant, but to embrace.”

With a measured grace, I descended from the opulent throne platform, moving with a fluid elegance that echoed the swaying of my tail behind me, glimmering like a silken banner. Closer to the crowd, I could sense their unease radiating like heat from a forge.

“But understand this—” I leaned forward, my tone shifting to a cold steel, sharp and resolute. “I possess something that none of you can claim. I wield connections that stretch across land and sea. Trade routes that weave through distant ports. Political leverage that dances like shadows upon the walls of power. Allies whose loyalty runs deep. Influence that can shape destinies.”

Their eyes widened, astonishment mingling with disbelief, as my words struck like thunderbolts in the air.

“I grasp the pulse of the modern world in ways you have forsaken,” I continued, my voice infused with an undeniable authority. “You, who have slumbered in your gilded halls while the continents fractured, while kingdoms crumbled into dust, and while new empires surged forth in your wake, oblivious and unyielding.”

I paused deliberately, allowing the weight of my words to settle in the charged atmosphere.

“You know nothing of the Great Rift,” I declared, my voice echoing in the vast chamber, the rich tapestry of history woven into its walls. “The surface was reshaped forever, as if the earth itself had been torn asunder. Cities once proud and vibrant were swallowed whole, their ruins lost to the merciless depths. Entire coastlines vanished, swallowed by the relentless tide. But with this upheaval, magic surged like a river bursting its banks, bringing with it not only wondrous gifts but also the specters of fire and war. I have seen it all, lived through the chaos, and emerged with an understanding of the shifting tides of this new era.”

I returned to the foot of the throne, standing tall with resolve, the light filtering through the grand windows casting sharp silhouettes behind me, enhancing the gravity of the moment.

“You awoke to an Empress not born of the sea, but it is precisely because of that birthright, and not in spite of it, that I possess the strength to lead us into a transformative age. An era where we shall no longer cower in the shadows of crumbling ruins or cling to the chains of old fears. Instead, we will rise together, stronger and united beneath one crown.”

A profound silence enveloped the hall, as if the very stones held their breath.

A long moment passed, the weight of my words hanging thick in the air.

Then, Elder Sirell, with his weathered face etched by time and wisdom, bowed his head.

Not in defeat, I realized, but in solemn acknowledgment of the truth that resonated in my heart.

One by one, others followed suit. Some bowed deeply, their foreheads nearly touching the cool stone floor; some offered only slight inclinations, still caught in the web of uncertainty. A few stood upright, their expressions lingering between doubt and hope.

But I felt it— the tide had turned.

They had voiced their concerns, their fears brought to light.

And I had answered them, not merely as a queen, but as their Empress, steadfast and resolute.

Their acknowledgment arrived hesitantly, a series of bows that unfolded in fragmented waves—some rigid and stilted with an air of reluctant formality, while others seemed to carry an underlying tension, a silent battle of wills. It was a gesture steeped in respect, perhaps, or perhaps a submission to the potent aura of the throne that loomed above them. Yet, beneath the surface, I recognized it for what it truly was.

A mere performance.

They lowered their heads not out of understanding or conviction. No, it was driven by something deeper—fear, raw and palpable. The throne had singled me out, and in that choice lay a weight that pressed heavily upon their shoulders.

But their acknowledgment, however grand, carried little significance… for they remained blissfully unaware of the true nature of the world that had reshaped itself around us.

They stood at the precipice of the unknown, oblivious to the tempest that brewed just beneath the surface of the waves—the great, jagged scars left behind by the cataclysmic Rift, a gaping wound through the fabric of reality. Political fault lines were fracturing the once-united surface kingdoms, as tensions simmered just beneath the surface. The relentless tide of industry surged forward, with the echoes of war looming ever closer. They were unaware that humans had rediscovered the lost art of magic, reawakening ancient powers that had long slumbered. New gods, enigmatic and powerful, roamed among mortals, their divine presence reshaping the very essence of existence.

Cities, once proud and vibrant, had been consumed by the depths, only to rise again, rebuilt atop the grim remnants of their predecessors—bones entwined with salt and sorrow. The land, once steeped in tales of the ocean’s mystery, now regarded the waters not with reverence, but with a palpable sense of dread, as if the depths themselves were plotting vengeance.

I stood before them, adorned with a shimmering crown and radiating ancestral magic, my aura a vivid testament to the lineage that coursed through my veins. Yet, I was painfully aware that I was the only one in this chamber who truly understood the perilous path we were about to tread. The old world, with its quaint notions and familiar comforts, had vanished, leaving us to navigate the uncharted waters of a new, unforgiving reality.

These nobles, despite their vast power and unyielding pride, were mere echoes of a distant past, long submerged beneath layers of silt and silence. They bowed with an ancient reverence, haunted by the memories of the tremendous weight that thrones once bore upon their shoulders. Yet, they had not truly comprehended the foundations upon which those thrones now precariously rested. In stark contrast, their own seats of authority appeared almost fragile, teetering on the brink of oblivion.

I cast a glance toward the shattered remnants of the throne room doors—through which the relentless sea churned tumultuously, its waves swelling and surging as if alive, whispering secrets borne on strange, urgent currents.

The world was not poised in anticipation for Atlantis to ascend from the depths.

No, the world was already surging ahead, leaving us behind. And I, Empress Sam, would have to summon every ounce of strength to drag this Empire forward, lest it be swept away into the abyss of forgetfulness entirely.

As the nobles gradually inclined their heads—some out of ancient duty, others driven by an undercurrent of trepidation—I caught a flicker of movement at the fringes of the gathering.

Near the shattered threshold of the ornate throne room doors, just beyond the oppressive swirl of courtly tension, stood my family. They remained ensconced within the shimmering protective air bubbles conjured by the guards, observing from a respectful distance that felt both secure and painfully detached. My mother’s hands were tightly clasped at her chest, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that mirrored the tumult of emotions within her. Behind her, my father towered like a steadfast guardian, one arm encircling my sister Megan’s slight shoulders while the other rested uncertainly upon the hilt of a ceremonial blade—a relic he struggled to wear, as if the weight of it was more than just physical.

Megan, despite her harried appearance—her cheeky grin crooked, remnants of shock still echoing in her eyes from the memory of my raw fish meal—exuded a spark of pride that warmed my heart.

They were not natives of this world. The intricate web of its politics, the ancient rites that governed it, and the treacherous games cloaked behind opulent pearl columns were foreign to them. Yet, what they understood with unwavering clarity was me.

In their gazes, I discerned none of the doubt or trepidation that clung to the nobles like a shroud. Instead, I found an unwavering pride—genuine, steadfast, and unyielding. It anchored me amidst the swirling sea of uncertainty.

The nobles bowed not out of true reverence but because the throne commanded it. But my family? They stood resolutely upright, infused with a belief in who I was and who I could become.

I would propel this Empire into the future.

Yet, I would do so as both Empress of the sea...

…and as the cherished daughter of the land.

And I would guard both worlds, ensuring that neither would falter.

Just as the tension in the room began to dissipate, a new voice sliced through the air—cool, sharp, and deliberate.

“We must also discuss your betrothal, Empress.”

The words hung in the air like a blade ready to drop.

Everything came to a standstill.

The atmosphere in the vast throne room felt as if it had thickened, wrapping itself around me, while every muscle in my back tensed as if bracing for an impact. My breath hitched in my throat, but it was the abrupt shift in my family's demeanor that struck me deeper than any spoken word.

My mother spun around, her eyes wide in shock, disbelief painting her features like a sudden storm.

But it was my father who responded first, his voice echoing with the weight of authority and an intensity that reverberated off the ornate walls. “No, we certainly do not,” he thundered, stepping forward with a protective ferocity that pierced the shimmering barrier of his air bubble. “My daughter is far too young to be thinking about that.”

His declaration resonated in the silence, a fierce shield raised against the unthinkable prospect laid before us.

The nobles immediately bristled, their tension palpable in the air. Dozens of eyes, each glinting with indignation, turned toward my father, their expressions morphing from haughty disdain to outrage. Tails flicked sharply behind them like the lash of a whip, and fans rustled, creating a sound reminiscent of distant thunder. A murmur of disapproval began to swell among the gathering, rising like an ominous tide ready to crash upon the shore.

One noble—distinguished by pale green scales that shimmered in the light and striking golden eye markings that seemed to pierce through the dim atmosphere—stepped forward, his mouth twisting into a contemptuous sneer. “Human,” he spat venomously, his voice dripping with scorn, “you have no place here. You are not one of us. You have no voice in our esteemed traditions.”

That was a grievous mistake.

In an instant, my father’s countenance darkened, a brewing storm reflecting in his eyes. He pressed both hands firmly against the edge of his shimmering air bubble, leaning forward with an unwavering resolve that commanded attention. “When it comes to my daughter—you damn well better believe I do.” His voice rang out, powerful and resolute, piercing through the murmurs like a bolt of lightning.

The room erupted in a cacophony of gasps and indignant snarls, the sound swelling like a storm about to break. Several nobles recoiled, their majestic tails flaring dramatically behind them, clearly appalled by the audacity of his tone. Yet, amid the uproar, a few hesitated, their gazes drawn toward me—not with scorn, but with a flicker of curiosity and uncertainty threading through their expressions.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, the golden crown perched atop my head catching the light that filtered through the ornate stained glass windows, casting patterns of color across the marble floor.

“Enough,” I commanded, my voice steady and resonant.

I raised my hand, palm open, and an electric hush enveloped the room, punctuated only by the soft crackle of magical currents that shimmered in the air.

“My father,” I began, my tone calm yet unwavering, “speaks from the heart. And whether you like it or not, he is right.”

A murmur rippled through the assembly, filled with disbelief and intrigue.

I locked eyes with each noble in turn, holding their gaze with a fierce determination. “I am thirteen, still on the precipice of childhood. I am not ready for the burdens of courtship, marriage, or any binding union—not now, nor merely to appease some archaic political tradition. I refuse to be bartered like a precious gemstone at a bustling market. I am your Empress, not a pawn to be moved on a chessboard.”

Some scowled, their eyebrows drawn tight in disapproval, while others nodded slowly, their expressions a mixture of contemplation and resignation. A few cast down their gazes, shame playing across their features like fleeting shadows.

I turned my attention to my father, seated regally yet subtly near the dais. He met my eyes and offered the smallest of nods—a barely perceptible gesture imbued with a fierce, unwavering pride that blazed in his gaze like a fire.

Then I shifted my focus back to the gathered nobles, their fine silks and brocades contrasting sharply with the gravity of the moment. “When the time comes that I choose to share my rule,” I declared, my voice steady and resonant, “it will be by my will, not yours.”

With those words, the conversation was decisively halted, like a sudden silence falling over a bustling marketplace. The throne room seemed to hold its collective breath, the air thick with uncertainty, as everyone grappled with the implications of my declaration.

In that moment, I was enveloped by an intense clarity, a sense of purpose that burned bright within me. I had never felt more certain of my identity. Empress. Daughter. Heir of two worlds. And most importantly, I was no one’s to claim.