It craved the light. It yearned for color. It dreamed of a future that did not yet exist.

This was the genesis of a world.

It was a bizarre, silent miracle. And in the midst of this metaphysical gestation, Orion remained blissfully unaware that his soul and consciousness were warping—evolving into something he would no longer recognize as entirely himself.

Orion was changing.

Silverwood Realm. The Open Sea.

A roar shattered the silence of the deep, followed by a colossal shadow tearing through the ink-black water.

Twin eyes, glowing with a malevolent crimson light, cut through the darkness like searchlights. They belonged to a predator—an Abyssal Dreadfin.

Fleeing before this leviathan was a chaotic mass of Sea-Drakes.

These creatures were a plague on the ocean. Though technically a subspecies of sea serpent, they were low-intelligence, hive-minded scavengers known for swarming and devouring true dragons. They had infested the currents of Riptide Reach, turning the nutrient-rich waters into a dead zone. To the other Sea Races, they were a cancer; they allowed no other life to exist in their territory.

But now, the hunters had become the prey.

Desperate to survive, the Drakes coalesced into a single, writhing column of scales and teeth, trying to outrun the nightmare behind them.

Orion, in his Abyssal Dreadfin avatar, didn't just kill them. He herded them.

He snapped up the stragglers at the rear of the formation, his jaws crushing bone and scale with sickening ease, driving the panic-stricken swarm toward the major ocean currents. He was flushing the filth. Once the Drakes hit the slipstream of the main current, they would be carried far away, forced to find a new hellhole to infest.

Only then would Riptide Reach be clean. Only then would it be ready for Orion and Leonidas.

Three days later, the purge was complete. The last of the Sea-Drakes caught the current and vanished into the blue, scattering to find new hunting grounds.

The Abyssal Dreadfin turned back, its massive tail propelling it toward their new home: Atlantis.

It was a name chosen by the triumvirate—Leonidas, Orion, and Kraken.

Atlantis. The promised land. A sanctuary for the Sea Races.

At the heart of this underwater metropolis lay the Dragon Nest, a structure Leonidas had donated to the cause. Inside the core chamber, the three had shrunk their forms down to humanoid size.

They sat in a circle, surrounded by the first wave of survivors—the Shellfolk.

The Shellfolk were a matriarchal race, their backs adorned with beautiful, wing-like shells. In times of danger, they could retract their entire bodies into these calcified armors. For years, they had been hunted by the Sea-Drakes, living in fear. Now, they moved through the Dragon Nest with trays of food and wine, serving their saviors not out of servitude, but out of profound gratitude.

"Bottoms up, boys!"

Leonidas raised a chalice, his voice booming. He wasn't drunk, but he was high on victory.

"To the beginning. To Atlantis!"

He gestured grandly, his voice carrying so the Shellfolk could hear. "From this day forward, this is the paradise of the Sea Races. A free city where even the Demigods have no jurisdiction!"

Leonidas, the Grand Marshal. Orion, the Second Marshal. Kraken, the Third Marshal.

A Dragon, a Dreadfin, and a Kraken. It was the most dysfunctional, terrifying lineup the ocean had ever seen.

The Shellfolk refilled their cups and quietly withdrew, leaving the commanders to their strategy.

"Those slime-ball serpents are gone," Leonidas said, leaning back. "We're sitting on a goldmine here. Riptide Reach connects four major ocean currents and countless undercurrents. It's the ultimate trade route."

He grinned, swirling his wine. "Every year, millions of Sea Race travelers ride these currents. Give it three years, and everyone from the surface to the abyss will know that Atlantis is the place to be."

Leonidas had an eye for real estate. He was smug, but he was right.

"In peacetime, this would be the most contested water on the map," Orion added, his voice rougher than usual. "But in war, it's a no-man's land. It's too exposed."

He was correct. Before the Sea-Drakes moved in, a massive city had stood here. But when the Cult of Four invaded, the city was abandoned, leaving the ruins for the scavengers.

"Hell, doesn't matter who lived here before," Kraken laughed, downing his wine in one gulp. "It's ours now."

The massive octopus—currently in the form of a burly man—let out a contented sigh.

For centuries, Kraken had been a lone wolf. He had built everything with his own tentacles, fighting for every scrap of resource. It was exhausting.

But now? Things were moving at lightspeed. With Leonidas and Orion, obstacles that would have taken Kraken decades to overcome were smashed in days. The synergy was intoxicating. He finally understood the appeal of having a crew.

"Just wait," Leonidas said, picking at a plate of roasted kelp prepared by the Shellfolk. "Once we make some noise, both the Sea Race alliance and the Cult of Four will come knocking. We need to be ready."

"We've got the base," Orion said, stretching his arms. "Now we need muscle. Patrols. Guards."

Orion was enjoying this avatar more than he expected.

When he was herding the Sea-Drakes, he hadn't just killed them. He had eaten them. Raw.

In the past, the idea of eating a sentient creature without at least cooking it would have turned his stomach. Now? He didn't care.

Meat is meat. Power is power.

He felt a ravenous, indiscriminate hunger growing inside him, a desire to swallow the world whole.

"Squids, that's on you," Orion said, looking at Kraken. "We don't need an army yet. Just basic security."

Leonidas nodded. "Right. The goal isn't to look like an invasion force. That scares the neighbors. We want to recruit the locals. Let them defend their own sanctuary."

Kraken grinned, a look of calm competence settling over his face. "Consider it done. I've already sent out the call. The recruits are on their way."

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