Page 94 of Magic in My Bones

Fisk watched us with open astonishment. “You…you truly mean to follow me into the depths?”

“We do,” I said simply, meeting his gaze. “If we can stop Alistair before he completes his ritual, we might save not just your people, but the surface world as well.”

The merfolk regarded us in silence for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. Follow me, surfacers. But heed my warning: the deeper we go, the closer we come to the Deep Father’s grasp. Stay close, and do not stray from the path I show you.”

With that, Fisk turned and dove into the water, his sinuous form cutting through the shadows. One by one, we followed, plunging into the cold embrace of the ocean, our bodies now attuned to its alien depths.

As the light of the surface faded, the ruins of the sunken academy stretched out before us—a labyrinth of ancient stone and swirling currents, steeped in a dread older than memory.

Massive Victorian arches rose from the ocean floor, their intricate carvings softened and worn by centuries of saltwater erosion.

“It's beautiful, in a haunting sort of way,” Ren murmured, drifting closer to me.

I nodded, watching as he reached out to touch a tendril of kelp winding through a broken parapet. Even here, surrounded by decay, his curiosity and wonder made my heart ache with affection.

“Beautiful and dangerous,” I replied softly. “Stay close to me.”

A once-proud clock tower stood at an awkward angle, its face cracked and encrusted with sea life, the hands frozen in time as though defying the inevitability of decay.

I swam closer to an enormous archway that must have served as the academy's grand entrance in its prime. The wrought-iron gates, adorned with arcane symbols and floral filigree, now hung askew, their ornate beauty dulled but still discernible beneath layers of rust. For a moment, I could almost picture a steady stream of students and scholars, bustling with purpose, their laughter and debates echoing through these very halls.

The architecture itself told a story: a blend of Gothic revival with touches of Victorian opulence. Towering spires, once designed to touch the heavens, now pointed solemnly to the depths, and stained-glass windows, shattered long ago, littered the ocean floor with glimmers of vibrant color. Here and there, remnants of carved gargoyles peeked out from their watery graves, their grotesque faces seeming to leer at us with silent judgment.

“This place…” Ren murmured, his voice thick with awe as his hand brushed against the eroded edge of a railing. “It’s like the ocean kept its bones, even after it drowned.”

Rowan swam closer to one of the stone walls, their sharp eyes tracing faint inscriptions carved into the surface. “Look at this,” they said, gesturing for us to follow. “Runes. Old protection spells, I think. Whatever happened here…it wasn’t supposed to.”

Cassian lingered near what must have been the main lecture hall, now a cavernous expanse filled with darting schools of fish and drifting detritus. Broken desks and shelves were scattered across the floor, their wood swollen and warped. A massive podium, still upright, loomed like a sentinel over the desolate scene.

“This place is as old as Massachusetts itself,” I said softly, turning in a slow circle to take in the sunken academy’s vastness.“Built during the colony’s earliest days, meant to be a haven for those who sought to understand magic’s mysteries. And now…all its knowledge, its history, lies buried here.”

Fisk swam ahead of us, his tail slicing through the water with practiced ease. He paused near a crumbled statue of what looked to be a mage in flowing robes. “The surfacers built much in their arrogance,” he said, his tone tinged with both reverence and bitterness. “They did not respect the deep or its power. Perhaps this was their punishment.”

I stared at the statue, noting the missing head and the cracks spiderwebbing through its torso. The mage’s outstretched hand pointed forward, as if beckoning us deeper into the ruins, or perhaps warning us to turn back.

“There’s more to this,” I muttered. “This wasn’t just the sea reclaiming the land. Something happened here, something deliberate.”

“The Deep Father hungers,” Fisk said ominously, glancing back at us. “And he does not forget. Follow me. The way grows darker from here.”

As we swam deeper, the ocean floor dipped into a chasm, and the ruins became more fractured, the architecture twisted and warped as though some immense force had wrenched it apart. Shadows coiled in the crevices, and the faint sound of a low, rhythmic pulse reached my ears.

“What is that?” Ren asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“The heartbeat of the deep,” Fisk replied grimly. “The closer we get to the Drowned Halls, the louder it will grow. Steel yourselves, surfacers. The Deep Father stirs.”

We swam through the final stretch, the weight of the water pressing against us, until we finally emerged into a large chamber, an air pocket suspended in the depths of the ruins. It was as though the ocean had swallowed the building whole, buthere, within this strange sanctuary of dry air, the past still clung to the walls, preserved in haunting stillness.

I felt the subtle shift as the water released its grip, and for the first time since entering the ruins, I drew in a full breath without the pressure of magic. It was strange, almost surreal to feel air once again. The space before us was vast, a cavernous room with high vaulted ceilings, cracked and peeling.

Ren's hand found mine in the darkness. “This was a ballroom once,” he whispered. “Can you imagine the parties they must have held here?”

“Indeed,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Though I prefer our quiet evenings at home to any grand soirée.”

“Even with all this splendor?” Ren asked, gesturing at the ruined grandeur around us.

“Even then.” I turned to face him fully. “No amount of architectural magnificence can compare to sharing a cup of tea with you in our kitchen.”

The moment of tenderness was broken as Cassian cleared his throat. “Speaking of splendor gone wrong...” He nodded toward the far end of the room.

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