The Elements of Zion: The Vine, The Branch, and The Thorn

Chapter 15 Twighlight Trench

I began to hear it again in the dark recesses of my mind, where dreams are spun from the fabric of memory and the warp of desire. That voice, neither wholly male nor female, carried by a breeze that never touched the skin but always chilled the soul. "Wake up," it whispered, a siren song of simplicity laced with complexity as if the words themselves were crafted from the shadows that danced at the edge of my consciousness. It was familiar, this voice, as if it had always been a part of me.

My eyes, weighted by a thousand sleepless nights, drifted open like leaves finally succumbing to an autumn wind. Above me, a face hovered, painted with the soft brush of dawn's light. Maridel, with eyes that held the depth of the night sky just before the stars awaken. "You've returned to me." Her hand, a warm presence in mine, pulled me up and into the embrace of her arms.

I blinked away the remnants of sleep, the dreamscapes that clung like cobwebs, as Maridel's words washed over me. "Where are we?" My voice was a rasp, a sound alien and far-removed. It seemed to hang in the space between us, a creature awaiting judgment.

Maridel, with a smile gently directed my gaze with a nod towards the porthole. "Look".

Reluctance and curiosity waged a brief war within me as I disentangled from the warmth of the bed, my legs unsteady as if they remembered a different kind of earth. Grabbing my side in pain, step by hesitant step, I approached the porthole, the room tilting slightly with my movement as if it, too, was curious about what I would see.

And then, there it was—a city beneath the waves, aglow with lights that shimmered through the water, casting prismatic spells of light. Structures that defied the logic of architecture as I knew it, spiraling gracefully into the depths, interconnected by bridges that seemed spun from moonlight and the dreams of fish. It was a phantasmagoria of wonder, a silent testament to the impossible, lying serene under the weight of the ocean.

"Twilight Trench..." I whispered.

Maridel's presence by my side was calming, her warmth a contrast to the cool glass of the porthole. She leaned close, "Incredible, isn't it?". 

The sight of Twilight Trench sparked a sudden realization within me. How did we arrive at this submerged wonderland? The last fragments of my memory were clouded, obscured by the labyrinth of my dreams. Turning towards Maridel, her face alight with the reflection of the city's luminescence, I found my voice. "Maridel, how did we get here?" My question hung in the air, mingling with the silence of the deep.

Her eyes flickered, holding within them a storm of thoughts before settling into a serene calm. "Oak saved you," Maridel finally said, her voice carrying a weight that seemed heavier than the ocean above us. "We brought you here, to safety. That's all you need to know for now." The simplicity of her answer, juxtaposed with the complexities of our surroundings, did nothing to quell the tempest of questions within me. Yet, the trust I had in Maridel anchored me, reminding me that some answers could wait.

I nodded "understood" and turned back to the window, my eyes tracing the contours of a building that resembled a cathedral more than anything else.

Maridel gestured for me to follow her, and without hesitation, I obeyed. Her movements were full of purpose, and as I trailed behind her, I glanced down, suddenly aware of a critical absence. My armor, my second skin in times of peril, was missing. "Maridel, where is my armor?"

She paused and turned to me, her expression softened by understanding. "Your armor is safe, Issac, right now, you're healing, and the weight of your armor isn't what you need. Trust me, you're safe here."

"Great," I muttered under my breath, a wry smile touching the corners of my lips. A naked branch in a city beneath the waves. Just how I always pictured my recovery.

We walked through corridors that seemed alive, pulsing gently as if the walls shared the ocean's rhythm. The air grew heavier with salt and secrets, our footfalls echoing softly alongside whispers of currents. As we explored further, the surroundings transformed subtly. Plain walls turned into opulent canvases, merging stone and coral in breathtaking artistry. Lights in azure and emerald hues flickered, casting revealing shadows across Maridel's face. The scent was rain on old stones, mixed with something ancient, like discovering treasures from a sunken ship. The silence enveloped us, making even whispers feel sacrilegious in ancient halls. In a grand chamber with vaulted ceilings lost in shadows, coral thrones waited for their deep-sea monarchs.

We rounded the corner to be met with a grand doorway. At Maridel's command, the stone faces of the centurion guards shifted almost imperceptibly before they stepped aside, their spears parting. I followed Maridel through the threshold, my feet barely touching the ground, each step heavy with apprehension and awe. As we stepped into the room beyond, a shiver of realization danced down my spine. This was no ordinary chamber; this was the king's throne room, a place where the fabric of our world intertwined closely with the mysteries of the deep.

The grandeur of the room struck me first—the vast, sweeping space, the intricate mosaics of shell and stone that adorned the walls, whispering tales of the ocean's heart. At the far end, on a dais, stood two thrones, carved from ancient coral, their presence commanding even in the absence of their occupants. The air was charged with a silent power, a testament to the rulers who governed this submerged realm. My eyes were wide, drinking in every detail, realizing the gravity of standing in a place where few land dwellers had ever tread.

Maridel moved with a grace that suggested she was no stranger to this solemn chamber. Glancing at her, I caught the flicker of pride in her eyes, a silent message that this moment was as monumental for her as it was for me.

Maridel led me up the royal pathway, her poise unwavering as we advanced. The guards, stoic and imposing, stood on either side of us, their spears a silent barrier we could not pass without consent. One by one, as if acknowledging an unspoken command, they lifted their spears, allowing us passage. With each step, the anticipation within me grew, a taut string vibrating with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Then, as we continued forward, the pathway ended, and there, in the full majesty that the grand chamber had hinted at, sat two figures upon their thrones. A king and queen, their presence commanding, enveloped in an aura of sovereign dignity and power that seemed as deep and timeless as the ocean itself. My breath caught in my throat as our eyes met, and for a moment, the weight of centuries seemed to rest upon that gaze.

Maridel's sudden bow snagged my attention. Her head dipped low, a gesture of deep respect. "Your Grace," she intoned, her voice resonating with deference and admiration. Instinctively, I mimicked her, bending at the waist, although my movement lacked the elegance of her gesture. The silence that followed was profound, filled with an expectation that pressed down on me with an almost physical weight. I kept my head lowered, not daring to rise until given leave.

The king's voice, deep and resonant, broke the silence, a ripple of sound that seemed both alien and familiar. "Hesten sahver deszendan Adaman nyr sprekun av? Tis bara en kvistun, inte en gren..." The words echoed in the grand chamber, their meaning elusive yet oddly stirring something within me. Maridel, her posture still a picture of reverence, glanced at me trying not to laugh, a subtle nod indicating it was time to rise. Standing upright, I felt the full gaze of the king and queen upon me, their eyes searching, assessing. The language was unknown to me, yet the tone suggested a query, perhaps even a challenge. I turned slightly towards Maridel, seeking guidance.

A shiver ran down my spine as the king and queen locked eyes, like a pair of hawks eyeing a particularly scrawny mouse. Then, a voice smooth and laced with royal mockery cut through the air, right behind me. "My father asks if this be the fabled descendant of Adam?" Tis but a twig, not yet a branch..." I turned, heart skipping a beat, to find Prince Liamaris. His eyes, alight with an inscrutable blend of humor and challenge, met mine.