Sovereign of the Deep

Aika emerged from her room like the world's laziest ghost.

She didn't so much walk as drift—each step slow, fluid, and unhurried, as if gravity hadn't fully claimed her yet. Her black bob was slightly mussed, bangs pushed messily to one side, and her mist-gray eyes blinked at the morning light like it had personally offended her.

She wore a short black hoodie—cropped just enough to leave the pale skin of her abdomen exposed, the fabric hanging off one shoulder. Her legs were bare save for high socks, and soft-soled black slippers whispered against the polished floor. There was no makeup, no attempt to look composed. Just Aika, the way she always was—like she'd been dragged halfway out of a dream and hadn't agreed to come the rest of the way.

Anyone looking at her might've wondered if she was lazy, half-asleep, or drunk before noon. The truth was less flattering: she simply didn't care.

And yet—even like this, with her hair rumpled and eyes half-lidded—there was something quietly magnetic about her. She didn't try to look beautiful. Somehow, that only made her more so.

Ren was already waiting in the lobby, fully dressed and far more alert than he had any right to be this early. He didn't say anything. Just glanced up when he heard her slippers and tilted his head slightly.

Aika yawned into her sleeve.

She didn't like work, obligations, or people. All of it made her tired just thinking about it.

Still, Sami had promised her the only two things she liked in this entire godforsaken world:

Money—and his stupid, overpriced bike.

So, she moved. Slowly. But she moved.

She turned the corner and headed toward Sami's sanctuary—her next headache.

The penthouse was quiet. 

Only the soft hum of the air conditioning filled the space, punctuated by the occasional clink of glass settling in the walls of the glass room she was headed toward… and the gentle shuffle of feet padding across the marble floor.

Aika stood just outside the sliding door of Sami's sanctuary—a minimalistic room veined with softly glowing glass panels and circular mirrors that reflected fragments of his silhouette. He sat cross-legged in the center, haloed by faint shards of vireglass, his eyes closed and breath even.

She knocked once.

Then opened the door anyway.

"You promised."

Sami's eyes didn't open. "If I pretend I'm asleep, will you go away?"

"No," Aika said, deadpan. She stepped inside. "I'm here for the keys."

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face as one eye cracked open.

"I can't believe I'm handing my poor baby over to you. You look like a hangover wrapped in bad decisions."

"You can mourn it while we're gone," she said. "Deal's a deal—I help Ren, I ride."

Sami groaned, standing. He plucked the keys from a small obsidian bowl and tossed them toward her. She caught them midair, twirling them once.

"Try not to crash it. That thing cost me a year of work and one illegal favor."

Aika gave the faintest nod—barely a shift of her chin.

"Relax. I only crash things I don't like," she said, heading off to meet Ren.

"That's what worries me."

***

Ren and Aika made their way down to the parking lot, walking side by side until they stopped in front of a sleek, luxurious motorbike.

The motorbike gleamed beneath the parking lot lights like a predator at rest—poised, powerful, and unmistakably expensive. Its body was a deep obsidian black with a mirror-finish sheen that reflected every detail around it like liquid glass. Subtle lines of silver trim traced its frame, glowing faintly with embedded tech that pulsed like a sleeping heartbeat, waiting to wake.

Its design was aerodynamic to the point of artistry—minimalist, aggressive, and effortlessly futuristic. The seat was cushioned in custom-stitched leather, embossed with a rare sigil only found in black-market tuning houses in northern Virelia. Twin exhausts curved like blades near the rear. The wheels were whisper-silent, magnetically balanced with self-healing treads, and a digital dashboard was designed to project a translucent overlay directly onto the rider's visor.

This wasn't a bike. It was a statement—crafted for speed, precision, and unmistakable class.

Only a handful of these existed in the entire country.

And Sami owned one.

Without a word, Aika grabbed one of the helmets and handed it to Ren.

"Put this on," she said, already sliding her own helmet over her head before swinging her leg over the bike.

Ren adjusted the helmet on his head, then climbed on behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her cropped hoodie rode up slightly under his hands—her skin cool, smooth, and pale beneath his touch.

"Hold on," Aika added, gripping the handlebars. "And try not to scream."

The engine purred as the bike rolled out from the underground garage, leaving a thin trail of exhaust mist that shimmered like fog.

Ren sat behind Aika, the wind pushing back his hoodie as the city blurred around them. He leaned slightly to the side and said—

"Aika… you can slow down. Seriously. No one is chasing us."

Aika didn't respond immediately. She only increased the throttle.

"Hold on tighter, then."

The bike surged forward, then veered onto the highway that led into a different sector.

They rode for nearly forty minutes—past the high-rises and glass towers, cutting through the heart of Sector Four until the city's tempo began to slow. Eventually, the skyline gave way to open air, and the roar of traffic softened beneath the rising hum of water.

Aika pulled into a small, paved lot overlooking the waterfront—the kind built for high-end diners, boat owners, and tourists looking to take photos they'd never post. The bike rolled to a stop, its engine quieting as Ren pulled off his helmet.

Beyond the polished guardrails, the lake stretched wide and glimmering—its surface catching the morning sun like silk drawn over glass. A few sleek yachts drifted lazily in the distance, their reflections slicing through the water. Chrome speedboats were docked along the curved edge, bobbing gently with the motion of the lake.

A broad walking path lined the shore—smooth stone underfoot, broken now and then by benches and lantern-like lights. A half-bridge arched out across the lake, designed more for the view than for function. It looked like it belonged in a painting.

It was calm here. Not wild or untouched—but composed. Carefully preserved.

And beautiful.

Aika stepped forward, mist forming lightly at her heels.

"Why here?" Ren asked. 

"Because this is our environment. Water. Natural water. The Vira here is still raw—close to the source. That's what you need, especially if you're trying to sense it for the first time."

Aika turned to look at Ren. Her gray eyes fixed on his.

"Let's sit over there," she said, nodding toward a low stone platform near the water's edge, just past the railing.

They sat at the edge of the lake, side by side.

Aika's posture was perfectly upright, her eyes half-lidded, serene. Ren sat beside her, cross-legged, hoodie still on, his hands resting on his knees. The morning light spilled gently across the lake, casting soft gold over the rippling water. Everything was quiet.

Aika broke the silence, her voice soft.

"We start here."

"By staring at a puddle?"

"By listening," she corrected. "Vira is energy. It flows through everything—fire, water, air, even earth. But you need the Vira from your source."

She gestured toward the lake.

"To begin resonating with your element, you need to draw Vira from it—pull it into your vessel."

"Vessel?"

Aika turned toward him, then reached out and tapped his chest with a single finger—right over the sternum.

"The vessel's here. It's not physical, but it feels like it is. It's like a core inside you—it's what lets you absorb Vira and hold it."

Her gaze shifted back to the water.

"Vira isn't something you grab—it's a presence. Your body already knows how to feel it; you've just never been quiet long enough to notice. Your whole system runs on Vira. Start by listening to your body, then to everything around you."

Ren exhaled, closing his eyes.

At first, there was only silence.

Not just around him—but within.

He opened one eye.

"I don't feel or hear anyth—"

Aika smacked the back of his head—lightly, but sharp enough.

"Shush."

"Ow."

He sighed and closed his eyes again.

For a while, it was still quiet. But now—beneath that same silence—he could feel it.

Something. A pulse. Quiet, steady. An ache?

He felt a subtle ache deep in his chest—like something was nestled at its center, slowly leaking. Whatever it was, it didn't hurt. In fact, the more it leaked, the lighter he felt.

'Is that my vessel?'

He turned to look at Aika. She was already watching him.

"What does it mean to leak Vira?" he asked.

Aika crossed her arms, her voice as even as ever.

"The body needs Vira. Without it, you die. Simple as that."

She stared at the water.

"Normally, you draw it in from your environment. Just enough to keep your body running—and the rest goes into your vessel."

She nodded toward his chest.

"You haven't been drawing Vira naturally. The little you had came from drinking water, bathing—indirect exposure. But without sensing your vessel, you had no control over how much you used."

She paused.

"Your body was starving, so it kept pulling from your vessel nonstop—more than it needed."

"The excess?" She gave a small shrug.

"It just leaked out. Wasted."

She turned back to him.

"For someone like you—barely replenishing, and unable to control how much the body takes from its vessel—that's a death sentence."

Ren swallowed and looked away, his voice low.

"I think I can feel my vessel."

Aika nodded slightly.

"That's good then. What you're feeling leaking out—that's Vira. Try to understand it. Remember the feeling."

She gestured toward the lake.

"Then, see if you can sense that same presence around you. In the water. In the air. And when you do—"

Her eyes met his.

"Pull it in."

Ren closed his eyes again.

He focused inward—tried to feel his Vira. Then outward—searching for that same presence in the water. And when he found it, he pulled it in.

Almost like his body already knew how.

It felt like the world had exhaled beneath the lake, and his body was learning how to breathe for the first time.

The ache in his chest deepened—not pain, not sorrow. Just presence.

The same presence as the lake.

Something cold and clean was flowing into him. Alive. Steady.

"It's coming in, isn't it?" Aika asked.

Ren didn't answer right away.

"It's... heavy," he said at last. "Like fog in my lungs. But it's not choking me. It's just... there."

Aika rested her cheek against her palm, silently watching him.

Ren didn't move.

He kept drawing Vira in. Seconds slipped into minutes.

The lake didn't ripple. The air remained still. But his chest rose—slow, steady—like his lungs were drinking the world in long, deliberate sips.

And somewhere deep within, something stirred.

A corner of himself he'd never been able to reach… softened. Awakened.

It wasn't dramatic. It didn't rush.

But it was real.

When he opened his eyes again, they were glowing—clearer, brighter.

A sharper blue, like ocean glass held up to sunlight.