Tangxue’s small body lay pinned under the trident’s heavy form, like a shell trapped under a fallen wave.

Her face tightened with discomfort, pale as moon-sanded coral, yet her body held no wounds, and Yaya’s breath finally loosened like a receding tide.

Yaya reached to lift it, but the metal was cold as a stranger, and the Sea God Trident no longer knew her name.

“Strange,” Yaya frowned, a storm-crease cutting her brow. “It only changed shape, so why can’t I use it?”

“Little Tangxue, can you forge a link with this heavy trident?”

Tangxue gave a small nod, like a minnow flicking its tail.

“But it’s too heavy. I can’t lift it,” she whispered, breath thin as mist over tidepools.

“No need to lift. A Divine Artifact isn’t weight for ordinary folk. Try controlling it. Let it carry you.”

“Eh?” Tangxue froze, eyes round as pearls. Under Yaya’s guidance, the trident whooshed skyward, and she hung on, hands locked like seaweed knots.

“All right, let go. Higher and your safety shorts will start peeking,” Yaya sighed, helpless as a wave against rock. She hugged Tangxue down to the ground.

“Don’t tell anyone what happened today,” her voice lowered, like night settling on the reef. “I need to dig through records. Tell Dreamsound to sleep early. I might not come back.”

“Oh…” Tangxue’s nod wavered, her expression complex as ripples in a moonlit pool.

They returned the Divine Artifact to its cradle, then warped straight outside, light bending like water. Tangxue trotted off, and Yaya headed for the palace library.

Night fell like ink over the deep. Yaya yawned into her chair while dust-soft books piled up like towers of old coral.

It was the most serious she’d been since birth, a long tide of effort with no pearls.

After a whole night, she found nothing useful. No notes on another form. The Merfolk had never seen such a shift.

“Maybe the Ice Dragon clan will know,” she thought, resolve sharpening like frost on steel.

As Yaya moved to act, the librarian granny called out, her voice creaking like driftwood.

“Little Yaya, why so many weapon tomes today? From your face, you found nothing. Care to tell me? Maybe I know.”

Yaya studied the aunt in aged robes, lines like tide-maps. She recalled Aunt Ziruo was royal blood, older than her grandmother.

“It’s like this, Aunt Ziruo. Do you know about another form of the Sea God Trident?”

“The Sea God Trident… another form?” Ziruo’s smiling eyes opened, then gravity settled, heavy as storm-clouds over the sea.

“Little Yaya, was it that child you picked up?” her tone dropped like an anchor.

“…Mm.” The sound was small, a pebble sinking.

“A Divine Artifact changes with its wielder. At first, the Sea God Trident wasn’t this shape. I didn’t see her version. But if it sensed her, our Merfolk must be bound to her deeply.”

“I see. Thank you, Aunt Ziruo, for clearing the fog!” Joy flickered across Yaya’s face like sunlight over waves, and she left light-footed.

After she left, Ziruo’s expression tangled, a net caught on rock.

“If the Artifact has changed… will that strike the already unstable ley lines even harder?” Her whisper rustled like dry kelp.

Because of the Sea God Trident, this region became the darling of the plane, magic flowing like rivers into the ocean.

Other races were merely dissatisfied at first, like barns short of grain. Magic leaked outward; a little less didn’t hurt.

But years drained the world. Magic thinned to bone, and tensions between others and sea-life sharpened like teeth. War feels unavoidable.

If the Trident’s influence grows with its new state, those old giants won’t sit still; they’ll rise like storm-waves.

“Is war truly coming…” She sighed, the sound a tired tide. “I should inform His Majesty.”

…

Back home, Yaya’s troubles eased like knots loosening, and even sleep tasted sweeter, like warm salt on the tongue.

At dawn, Tangxue was up early, breakfast steaming like little clouds, floors gleaming like wet shells. Yaya sniffed the scent, startled, then understood.

Since growing up a bit, Tangxue had taken on housework, gathering tedious tasks like fallen leaves. Maybe she’d heard Yaya’s old mutters.

Yaya flushed, color rising like dawn. She coughed twice, embarrassed. She was the mom—how could a child be cleaning for her?

She hurried over, greeting Tangxue with a bright smile, then stepped in and finished the remaining chores like a swift current.

They’d lived together more than a year. Dreamsound had shifted from elder sister to little sister—Tangxue was nearly twice her height now.

By now, both treated Tangxue as true family. If she tried to leave, they’d cling to her leg like barnacles and never let go.

At noon, Yaya sprawled lazy on the couch, boneless as a sea slug. A bad habit was growing back like moss.

Her days were sleep and tending the flowerbeds. Exercise meant sword practice with Tangxue. Tangxue’s stamina had improved, waves steadying.

About Dreamsound’s level now—thanks to sharp technique—she could trade a few moves with Yaya, blades ringing like rain on stone.

Living with Tangxue made time drift slow, like seaweed swaying. Watching her grow, Yaya felt decades pass in a long sigh.

But counting true, only a year and a half had gone. And her lover still hadn’t returned, a blank horizon.

When Tangxue and Dreamsound went out to play, Yaya walked to her flowerbeds, a private reef of color under the dark sea.

Without sunlight below, she raised blooms by special means, coaxing light like fireflies into petals. Childhood made her love these quiet beings.

They couldn’t speak, yet their scent poured feelings, like warm tides over stone. She’d told her mother back then; a gentle pat was her reply.

Her brother laughed hard, waves slapping. Her sister didn’t mock, but her lips struggled not to curl.

Growing up, Yaya still sensed the flowers’ voices, soft as rain through kelp. Maybe that was her special gift.

After trimming stray branches, she exhaled lightly, breath like a bubble, and turned to head back to her room.

Suddenly, the flowers stirred, petals quivering like startled fish. Their smell sharpened into anxiety, and Yaya felt something wrong.

Earthquake warning? An undersea quake? The thought dropped cold, like ice in brine.

Undersea quakes aren’t small. One blast can cripple cities, a leviathan’s swipe, and there’s no real way to prevent it.

Yaya frowned, tension tightening like a net. The source felt close. She needed to tell her parents.

As she moved toward the palace, the city barrier wailed, a white siren flashing. Points of white light fell from the sky like hail.

Magic surged in a straight climb, a tidal tower. By the time Yaya reacted, it was already too late.

A piercing ring flooded her ears, like steel on ice. She blinked awake to ruins spread before her, a broken reef under gray water.