SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

They walked deeper into the market, the vendors now quieting as the pair passed—less out of fear and more from reverent curiosity. Something about them pulled at the threads of fateful tension.

Manuka didn’t speak for a while, digesting her mistake. Then: “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Showing me off. Humbling me. You’re not here to prove your superiority—you’re too smart for that. You’re baiting me for something else.”

Phillip turned to her, slowing his steps.

“I told you I needed to understand you,” he said. “But really—I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?”

“The woman behind the frost. The one who works tirelessly. Who talks to herbs like children. Who holds too much pride to cry in public when a rare flower dies. You’re fascinating, Manuka Lan.”

The words hit harder than she expected. Her jaw clenched. Her heart stammered.

“I don’t need flattery,” she said.

“Good,” Phillip said. “I’m not offering any.”

She paused near a tea vendor, pretending to look at dry Spirit Rose petals. He leaned in again.

“Do you know what the most interesting herb in this market is?”

She shook her head.

“You,” he said. “Untamed. Proud. Potent. And most importantly… still discovering yourself.”

A silence fell. Long. Heavy. Not uncomfortable—but thick with something unspoken.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Phillip Salt.”

“Only if you’re not enjoying it.”

She laughed softly for the first time, eyes lowered.

“You’re dangerous,” she admitted.

“But effective,” he said.

Just then, the old vendor near them dropped a jar, spilling dream thistle pollen into the air. A sparkling fog formed around them, and people stepped back coughing.

Manuka grabbed his hand instinctively. Her touch was cold, firm.

He smiled as he held her hand tighter.

“See? You trust me more than you think.”

She let go quickly. “I was protecting myself.”

He said nothing. Only looked at her, calm and knowing.

As the market winds cleared, she adjusted her sleeves and stepped forward. “We’re done here.”

“Already?”

“I have herbs to tend. Unlike you, I work.”

He followed behind her as they exited the market square.

“Manuka,” he said.

She turned slightly.

“You’ll come to my courtyard tomorrow. I have something new to show you.”

“And if I refuse?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to find another reason to make you come.”

The look she gave him was unreadable. Somewhere between challenge and anticipation.

And then she was gone.

But her scent remained in the wind—like crushed herbs and moonflowers after a summer rain.

Phillip stood there, grinning like a man who knew exactly how to set the next game into motion.

–

Outside Sea World…

Within the deepest chamber of the Sea Ancestral Temple, the Naga Clan Patriarch sat cross-legged upon the throne of tide-born stone. He stared silently at the luminous orb before him—one that pulsed faintly with the sight of enemy camp.

A faint ripple stirred the chamber waters as Princess Nyara stepped inside, her expression troubled. Her armor, still marred by the scars of recent battle, clinked lightly with each graceful step. Though she wore the composure of a princess, her heart pulsed with questions she could no longer suppress.

“Father,” she said with a gentle bow, “it has been many days. There is no message, no sign. Is this silence normal?”

The Patriarch did not open his eyes. Instead, he exhaled, and the orb’s glow pulsed with a heartbeat.

“The legacy of a God is not something that answers to time, child,” he said. “It is a sea of eternity. The tides rise only when the moon wills it.”

Nyara’s brows furrowed. “But… if something went wrong…”

Before she could complete her thought, soft footsteps echoed from the corridor. A colder, gentler energy entered the chamber, and the first princess, Neela, appeared in her moon-silver robes. Though her skin remained pale from the enormous toll of unleashing the Eternal Night Witch Transformation, her presence was steady and unwavering.

“You worry too much, sister,” Neela said, moving beside the orb. “The legacy doesn’t test cultivation. It tests the soul.”

The Patriarch opened his eyes and studied Neela. “You’ve seen something?”

Neela nodded slowly, folding her arms. “Not clearly. But during the final formation defense, when my soul strained through the veil of battle, I felt the tremors of divine illusion. Kent is being tested not just as a warrior, but as a man. His desires, his virtues, his ambitions, and his ability to shoulder sorrow. Only one worthy of all burdens may earn the Sea God’s blessing.”

Nyara turned to her elder sister. “But why him? Of all the scaled ones, of all those who came before…”

“Because he does not chase the legacy to rule,” Neela said softly. “He walks with pain. He shares strength. He lifts others before lifting himself. He may not be perfect… but he is unshaken. That is rarer than any talent.”

The Patriarch leaned back in his throne, a small smile playing on his lips. “Spoken like one who’s grown fond of the boy.”

Neela did not deny it.

Just then, footsteps approached—four elder ministers entered the chamber with grim expressions. Elder Luro stepped forward and bowed.

“Patriarch,” he said, “reports confirm that the Coral Spirit Clan and the Abyssal Shark Clan are still encamped at the Forbidden Abyss. They’ve merged their defensive perimeter, and scouts observed reinforcement formations being laid. They’re preparing for Kent’s return.”

Elder Roan added, “They may fear the legacy falling into our hands more than death itself. They are waiting to strike… or claim him before we can retrieve him.”

The chamber tensed.

But the Patriarch chuckled—a deep, gravelly sound that echoed like the undertow of a wave crashing in moonlight.

“Fools,” he muttered. “Let them camp. Let them wait. Let them rot on the threshold of divinity.”

The elders exchanged glances.

“No one,” the Patriarch said, rising from his throne with a sudden flare of sea aura, “can stop the Scaled One chosen by the Sea God. No chain, no army, no scheme can halt the current of fate once it begins to flow.”

Neela closed her eyes. “Still, we must prepare. If Kent returns… we must reach him first.”

Nyara nodded. “Our warriors are ready. The Sea Temple’s formations are recharged. And the Nine-Heaven Serpent Array has been reinforced.”

The Patriarch raised his hand and summoned a sea scroll, glowing with divine ink. He unfurled it and began marking ancient sigils with waves of his finger.

“I will activate the Tide Reversal Plan.”

The elders gasped.

“Patriarch,” Roan warned, “That plan can only be used once every hundred years! Are we certain?”

“We are not protecting a boy,” the Patriarch growled. “We are protecting the legacy of our lineage. The prophecy of the Scaled One is upon us. And if he succeeds—then the sea shall rise under our banner once more.”

A wave of awe rippled through the chamber.

Nyara stepped beside her sister, her gaze fierce. “And if they try to strike him… I’ll burn their armies to coral ash.”

The Patriarch looked upon his daughters and smiled—the pride of a father who had seen too much war, and yet found hope in a young man who had fallen from the stars into their sea.

“Let them camp outside the cave,” he whispered again. “But when Kent rises…”

His voice grew deep with divine certainty.

“…the tides will turn.”

And with that, preparations began again—not for war—but for the return of a legend.

–

Note: Thank you guys for the support! You are the only reason for me to publish even during hard days. Thank you so much for sticking to this amazing journey and I am proud to say we are gonna hit a 1000 chapters Soon. Kudos! Ola! Namasthe!