A stone tablet sunken deep in the ocean, inscribed in golden ink with elegant handwriting, weaving countless threads of thoughts for someone from the writer's past.
Whispers from the Deep
To a certain fish lurking beneath the waves:
It's been almost fifty years since that tsunami swallowed you whole. Time, it seems, rushes by even faster than raging ocean waters.
Since you've been gone, I've grown fond of bathing, perhaps because the Marmoreal Palace has gained a certain fragrance now without any swimming fish. I now understand why a certain someone loved swimming beneath the waves. The flowing waters do wash away your weariness and concerns.
Sadly, certain melodious sounds no longer grace my ears. It's your fault for always humming tunes beside me, making it impossible to appreciate other singers' performances. What a crime to deprive the demigod of Romance of enjoying the beauty of music. I wonder when you'll ever make proper amends.
Recently, though, I've detected a familiar fishy aroma in the pool. I can tell your longing as a demigod has been quietly visiting this place, hasn't it?
You obstinate fish. If you miss me so much, why not leave those desolate, dead waters and meet me again? I've perfected the divine power of Romance, and my creations now resist both ocean and blade. But I've yet to find worthy guests to wear them. Perhaps only someone with your grace could truly honor a demigod's work.
I've woven lots and lots of new garments, all hidden in my mansion's secret chamber — you know the one. Should you ever return to Okhema, be sure to claim them. These clothes weren't designed for you, but I'd rather see them burn to cinders than grace the bodies of the hideous and cruel.
Honestly, I don't know if you'll ever see this letter. The previous forty-nine received no response. Perhaps I'm using the wrong delivery method?
Your priest claimed that sinking a teleslate into Styxia's depths would allow their demigod to sense it. Perhaps I should follow the Imperator's example and sentence that priest to the depths for deceiving royalty, offering her to you and your fish. But you've never had a taste for mortal blood, always cleaning away crimson stains after each killing. So, I'll spare her life.
I must confess, even as the curse erodes my emotions, I cannot match the Imperator's decisiveness in permanently silencing defiant subjects. I still sense people's anguish during catastrophes through the golden threads and feel the sorrow flowing through their hearts. The guests from beyond the sky mentioned this compassion had once trapped another version of me in misfortune, which both troubles and pleases me. Even after a thousand years, I could never become another Imperator, nor a cold divine statue.
Today, both the military and civilians scrutinize my every move. Their collective gaze upon a leader burns more intensely than even that upon a demigod, and I can barely escape its scorching heat. Only in my private bath, before my teacher's smile, and in these letters to you — which may never be read — can I remove the burden of my position and breathe freely, if only briefly.
At times, the golden threads capture the tremors of destiny, whispering to me about the end of fate. That end that now draws near. Though bound by the shackles of Law, the Theoros wields power far beyond any Titan. Over the past five decades, as his strength has waxed, ours has waned. A great battle approaches, and with it, a great defeat.
Yet I remain hopeful, for that Priest of Time brought promises: She and those who come after her will shoulder the burdens to come. Heroes fighting to their last breath will hold back the tide of misfortune. The Deliverer, though gone on a journey, shall return to herald our ultimate victory.
I choose to believe her promises. And I believe — no, I demand that you take up a new duty in the future and embark on a new journey. May my selfish request stand in place of a royal decree, guiding a lost fish toward new waters.
Though I've said all this, I shouldn't mourn what fate has decided, yet the waters within my heart still stir with regret...
If only we could enjoy one last feast together in these peaceful yet passing days.
If only I could receive one final lesson in swordsmanship from you in the city you've defended.
If only I could whisper one last word of wisdom to you, the night before you depart for war.
If only I could hear you sing just once more in whatever future awaits us.