Sovereign of the Deep

'Woah…'

The couch was deep and plush, upholstered in soft blue velvet that seemed to pull them in. Ren sank into it cautiously—and was surprised when it nearly embraced him.

Anya sat beside him, her little frame swallowed by the cushions. She just folded her legs beneath her, hands lost in the sleeves of her hoodie. Her hoodie was too big, and the hem grazed her knees. She tucked her hair behind her ears with slow fingers, eyes low. Present, but not here.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Marie asked, her voice smooth, refined. Like she had never screamed in her life.

"Water, please," Ren replied calmly.

Marie turned to Anya. "And you, dear?"

Anya didn't speak. Not even a shake of her head. She simply looked to Ren, eyes flicking up to his without asking anything out loud.

"A glass of orange juice," he said, already knowing.

Marie's nod was small but elegant, like she'd just been handed the final piece of a puzzle and already expected it. Then she turned and disappeared into the kitchen—gliding, not walking, her black blouse catching the gold of the pendant at her throat.

Ren exhaled softly.

Across from them, Sami leaned lazily against a pillar, arms folded, phone in one hand. He hadn't said a word since they got into the apartment.

He caught Ren looking.

A pause—then a small smile. Half-hearted. Barely there. He lifted his phone in a tiny wave, like see? Still me.

Ren smiled back with an awkward nod. The kind people gave when they were caught staring.

A minute later, Marie returned, balancing a tray with two crystal glasses—one filled with water so clear it looked like light, the other faintly golden with pulp.

Ren accepted the water.

He took one sip—and froze. Then drained the glass in three long pulls. His throat stopped aching.

Across from him, Anya took the juice with both hands and sipped slowly.

Marie gave a small, satisfied nod and disappeared again—only to return moments later with something far stranger: a transparent glass bowl filled with water and two slow-moving silver fish, their fins whispering like silk.

She placed it on a pedestal table near the couch. The glass caught the room's light and shattered it into quiet prisms.

Ren stared at it frowning. Something in his chest tightened when he remembered what he did when he first woke up in the hospital a while ago.

"This space isn't your environment," Marie said softly, still not looking at him. "Glass everywhere. It's Sami's. The water is for you."

Ren didn't understand a word she said. But did not ask any questions. Yet.

Marie crossed to a low seat across from them and sat with deliberate grace—straight-backed, legs crossed, fingers folded. Not as if to dominate. As if to share.

And when she finally spoke again, her voice lowered—less polished. More human.

"Lady Rhesa was kind," she said. "Gentle. But she wasn't always that way."

Her gaze slid to the fireplace at her side—artificial and low, its light flickering gently across the marble like it didn't want to intrude.

"The way the affliction affects those with an earth affinity is gentler than most. But it's still there. Still real. She worked every day to master it."

Ren frowned faintly.

'Affliction?'

But Marie continued, not noticing—or pretending not to.

"She believed in something radical. That mastery came not through dominance… but through acceptance. That the element you're born with will never obey you unless you understand the cost of carrying it."

Her voice was beautiful. Steady. But to Ren, it all sounded like poetry without a map—philosophy instead of answers. Like she was walking him in circles.

And maybe he was tired of circles.

He leaned forward slightly, voice low, steady—but lined with frustration.

"My mom was a Viran," he said. "Why didn't she tell us? Why keep it a secret from me… from Anya?"

He paused. Just for a breath. Then:

"That man—Anele. Who is he? Why did he come to kill her?"

Marie looked at him for a moment. Really looked.

Her expression didn't crack. But something in her eyes dimmed—like the air had thinned.

"I'm sorry, Ren," she said quietly. "I don't know why she kept the truth from you. And I don't know what Anele's reasons were. Only that he chose his moment with care."

Her voice didn't falter. But it didn't offer comfort either.

Only truth. Stripped clean.

And silence stretched between them again.

Ren looked down at the polished glass table, his own reflection staring back at him in fragments.

He gritted his teeth.

'I thought I was going to get answers today.'

Marie seemed to catch the tension in his silence. Her voice shifted—gentler, but firmer.

"But I'll tell you this."

She paused. Her gaze drifted—not to Ren, but somewhere behind memory.

"Lady Rhesa was powerful," she said softly. "Her derivative was Steel. Even among the Kyrios, it stood out. She commanded respect—from Virans and humans alike."

There was a subtle shift in her voice. Lower now. Weighted.

"But she had a condition. Something rare. It's called VRS—Vira Rejection Syndrome."

She let the words hang before continuing.

"Virans need Vira to survive. It fuels them, sustains them. Without it, their bodies begin to degrade. But Lady Rhesa's body rejected it—constantly. It fought back against the very thing keeping her alive. She could barely store enough to function."

Marie met his gaze again. Steady. Direct.

"But she didn't let it stop her. She endured. Trained. Climbed the stages—one by one. She made it to the fifth."

She hesitated.

"She did that… for nearly a century."

Ren blinked.

"A century?" His voice cracked slightly.

Even Anya looked up.

"But… we just celebrated her thirty-sixth birthday two months ago," Ren said quietly.

Marie gave a small, tired smile.

"That's one of the secrets Virans keep," she said. "The higher you climb, the more Vira reshapes your body. It slows aging. Strengthens you. Preserves what's already there."

Ren swallowed.

She continued, tone matter-of-fact now—clinical, almost.

"Most Kyrios have lived for over three centuries. Anele… likely much longer."

The name hit the air like a dropped weight. No one spoke.

Marie's voice dropped again.

"Anele knew about her condition. He understood that if he couldn't defeat her in combat, he could outlast her. So he didn't come with fury or spectacle. He came with patience."

Her hands folded in her lap. She spoke like someone still grieving in silence.

"He gave her a war of attrition."

Ren sat still. But something turned cold and sour in his gut.

The room fell into silence. The electronic fireplace on the wall flickered quietly. The mood of the room had grown somber.

Marie let the silence stretch, then gently broke it.

"You've felt it, haven't you? The need to drink constantly. The way your throat burns. The way your skin dries if you go too long without water. The calmness — unnatural, even when everything around you is falling apart."

Ren looked up, slowly. His eyes met hers.

"That's the affliction of the water affinity," Marie said. "It's called The weight of stillness." She leaned forward.

"Ren… you are a Viran.

One with affinity to the core water element."

Silence.

"Huh?"

It slipped out before he could stop it.

He blinked, like her words had landed in another language.

'What?

Viran?'

That didn't make sense. He didn't shoot fire. He couldn't fly. He wasn't throwing lightning bolts or freezing lakes. All he ever did was drink too much water and wonder what was wrong with him.

Marie didn't speak again.

She let it settle—let the weight of the truth hang untouched in the air.

And after a few moments, Ren looked up.

"You see, I find that hard to believe," he said, slowly, voice tight. "I don't have… powers. Or magic. Or whatever it is Virans are supposed to have. I mean—if I really was one, don't you think my mom would've told me?"

He stopped mid-sentence.

And then it hit him.

Hard.

She hadn't told him.

Not even about herself.

His thoughts began to spiral, colliding too fast to hold.

"She knew," he whispered. "She knew what I was."

He looked up at Marie, jaw clenched.

"Why?" His voice cracked slightly, barely restrained. "Why didn't she just say something? Why let me think I was dying for no reason? I went to hospitals. I sat under fluorescent lights, hooked to IVs like some medical mystery, and she just... played along. Pretended she didn't know either."

His breath caught in his throat.

"She let me believe I was broken."

The room felt too quiet.

Ren dragged a hand through his damp hair. His skin felt cold. But now—now everything made awful sense.

Marie's tone softened.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I wish I did. The Kyrios… they don't share things. Not even with other Virans. And certainly not with a human like me."

Ren blinked up at her.

His confusion spiked again. From the way she spoke, from how much she knew—and the fact that she'd claimed to be his mother's vassal—he'd just assumed she was a Viran.

"…You're human?"

Marie nodded once, her gaze steady.

She leaned back slightly, her hands folding in her lap.

"That was one of the things that made Lady Rhesa different from the other Kyrios," she said softly. "She accepted human vassals."

A quiet sigh escaped her lips.

"Virans," she went on, "are a species walking the path toward apotheosis. Whether they speak it aloud or not… their end goal is godhood. As they rise in power, their abilities evolve beyond mere weapons or techniques. They begin to create. Give life. Govern realms. Claim dominion. The stronger they become, the less they resemble anything human at all."

Her voice lost its calm polish then—just slightly.

It grew heavier.

"I don't know why Lady Rhesa chose to keep your nature a secret. I won't pretend to. To be honest… it isn't my place to tell you this at all. But if I don't…" she paused, gaze tightening, "you won't survive the month."

Ren froze.

"…What?"

It wasn't Marie who answered.

From the far side of the room, Sami finally pushed off the wall, his voice casual—but the weight behind it was anything but.

"When I first met you," he said, "you were dying."

Ren turned toward him, startled. Marie did too.

"Your body was overdrawn," Sami continued.

Ren frowned. That word again.

He opened his mouth to ask—but Sami was already a step ahead, as if reading the question straight from his expression.

"I don't know what Anele did to you," Sami said, "but whatever it was—it left you wrecked. Your body had to burn through what little Vira it had left just to stay alive. Just enough to breathe. But that's the problem."

He took a step closer, no longer hiding behind his usual smirk.

"A Viran without enough Vira goes into exhaustion. And when that happens… the body starts to degrade. Organ failure. Sensory collapse. Skin cracking. We've all been there, at some point." His voice dipped, quieter now. "And now you have too."

Ren didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

Sami looked at him a moment longer, then added, quieter this time:

"Your affliction makes it worse. With water affinity, you need hydration just to stay stable. But without absorbing Vira, you can't awaken properly. And without awakening, your body's stuck—draining itself faster than it can recover."

Ren swallowed hard.

"…What the hell is an affliction?"

Sami continued, his tone more even now—less casual, more deliberate.

"Every Viran suffers an affliction. It's the cost of resonance with your element. The price we pay for what we are."

He glanced briefly at Ren, then looked away again, as if making sure not to overwhelm him too directly.

"It's part of what makes us Viran. Each element carves its own mark into those who bear it. A wound you carry in both body and mind."

Ren's jaw tightened. He still didn't quite understand—but he felt it. The weight. The way his throat was never truly quenched, no matter how much he drank. The unnatural calm he couldn't shake, even when everything was falling apart.

"It's not just physical," Sami added. "It gets in your head too. Shapes your emotions. Messes with how you process the world."

He shrugged slightly. "I can't say what the affliction does to you exactly. I'm not of the water element."

Ren said nothing. He just stared forward, lips pressed into a thin line.

"But there's one thing I can say," Sami went on. "The higher a Viran climbs in the Stages of power, the more they come to understand their affliction. It doesn't go away—and yes, it still takes its toll—but they learn how to live with it. To manage it. To shape it into something that serves their path instead of breaking it."

His eyes flicked toward Ren, firm now.

"But first things first—if you want to survive past this month, you need to properly attune. You need to resonate with your element. Fast."

He let the words hang.

"Because right now?" Sami added, a touch more softly. "The affliction is winning."

There was a pause.

The kind that didn't break the silence so much as thicken it.

Then, finally, Ren spoke. His voice was low. Quiet.

"So… what am I supposed to do?"

He glanced between them. "I don't know anything about… any of this."

The words hung there for a second. Not bitter. Just honest.

Sami pushed a hand through his hair, exhaling.

"I get it," he said. "No one ever told you. That's not your fault."

He straightened slightly, then added,

"And look—I may not be the best person to advise you. I'm of the core earth element."

His tone darkened a beat later.

"…But I know someone who can help."

Ren looked up.

Sami hesitated—just for a second. Then sighed.

"Water element. Dangerous. Smart. Strong as hell. She'll understand what's happening to you better than anyone else I know."

A long pause.

"…Only thing is," Sami muttered, eyes narrowing slightly, "she's also a pain to deal with."