Thalassa
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When the hatchlings turned the reef beach upside down, the elders of the Riptide tribe had only to say, "Thalassa's coming." The little troublemakers who had been running wild in the mud a moment ago would tuck their tails and scramble home in a flash. Thalassa was the youngest Tidewarden the Riptide tribe had seen in centuries, known for her uncannily precise control over the tides. She would blast the sea with chilly breath, freezing the heaving surf into walls of ice whenever an intruder stepped into forbidden waters. Then she would drag the offender by the back of the neck off to the shore before the whole tribe, with a constantly stern face. Behind her back, they called her the Deeptide Banshee. Countless tales followed in her wake. Some said she froze lazy hatchlings in ice coffins in the middle of the night, and sank them into trenches where no light could ever reach. Some said that the entire sea reported to her. Not even a dragon dozing among the corals could escape her notice. A few even claimed to have seen her swimming alone into the dark depths of the ocean trenches. None knew what she sought there. None dared to stop her and find out why, either. Thalassa never bothered to defend herself. Talking was a waste of time. Work was the best response to ridiculous rumors. By contrast, Leviathan, the tribe's official heir, was nothing like her. He could not keep the patrol logs straight, while the scent of roasting fish could lure him and his entire patrol miles from their appointed course. Yet when a storm rolled in, he was always the first to stand between it and his people. For all the trouble he caused, hatchlings tumbled happily across his broad back. The elders had great faith in him and believed the tribe was in capable hands. Even the shyest among all hatchlings felt a little braver about the deep when Leviathan grinned at them. Thalassa bore him no grudge. She simply found her cousin's naivety almost absurd. Long before she came of age, Thalassa had memorized every word of the Code of Sea Patrol. And the more she studied it, the more certain she became of one thing: A wave might cradle a homebound vessel as tenderly as a mother, then wrench a fleet into a lightless abyss where no sun could ever reach. The sea did not promise safety. It never had. Still, her people lived as though it did. Seven days before the Riptide Rite, an accident happened. Thalassa was making her usual patrol along the edge of the forbidden sea when she noticed the tide had come in later than usual. An inch lower than normal, but beneath its surface coiled a chill that was definitely out of place in the season. Another dragon might have dismissed it as strange weather. Thalassa knew these waters too well for that. The sea never went still for no reason. When it held its breath, it was a warning of something far worse. That night, Thalassa issued an order as Tidewarden: The sea was strictly closed. The Riptide Rite was cancelled. However, the Riptide Rite was the biggest event of their year. On the night of the full moon, young dragons would enter the ocean alone and prove to their ancestors that the currents had judged them worthy. Some had spent decades preparing for that very night. Now, with a single decree, Thalassa had taken it from them, which ignited anger across the reefs. Some said she was throwing her authority around. Others accused her of spitting on the tribe's traditions. "The banshee has lost her mind! She wants to destroy the rite!" The reefs did little to muffle the insults. Thalassa heard every word. She ignored them all. Leviathan found her alone by the forbidden sea. "Thalassa, don't let those insults get to you..." He scratched his head, clearly desperate to make the conversation less uncomfortable. "Just think of them as bubbles from a hermit crab." "They mean nothing to me." "Well... You could tell them what's actually going on—" "And watch them scatter in terror without understanding why?" Thalassa interrupted. Leviathan let a heavy sigh, then forced an embarrassed smile. "Talking to you is like crossing the rocks at low tide. Hard to walk away unbruised." Thalassa stared at the sea. Not a ripple showed in her eyes. "I would rather have them fear me until they learn to respect the sea. Their hatred is a lighter burden than their deaths." "Fair enough." Leviathan turned away before pausing. "If that burden ever becomes too heavy, tell me! I will hear you!" "See to your own burdens," she said without turning around. "And on your next patrol, stop allowing the scent of food to guide you." But even Thalassa had underestimated the arrogance of the young. On the third night following her ban, circles spread across the forbidden sea. The dragonling at the head of the group was no stranger to Thalassa's discipline. Tonight, he was determined to prove that the banshee's terrifying warning was a bluff meant to scare children into behaving. If she denied them the Riptide Rite, they would make their own. They swam hard and fast, but with every stroke toward the open depths, the world around them grew stranger. The sea was perfectly still. No swimming fish. The night algae gone dark. The warm current that had always circled the reefs was simply gone. The last hatchling in the line hunched his shoulders, his teeth chattering. "Maybe... we should head back." Then a loud moan was heard from beneath the surface before he could finish. It sounded like a massive creature that had been asleep for at least millennia, twisting in pain in a nightmare. Then, a strong current burst upward from the lightless trench. It split the ocean apart like the jagged spine of an ancient monster thrust through the waves, tearing the moon into silver fragments. Deep below the rifts, the ancient beasts opened their eyes. They were larger, crueler than legend. The maelstrom instantly swallowed the dragonlings and cut off their pleas. The pressure crushed each cry into a string of white bubbles. The tribe on the shore was thrown into panic. They plunged into the water to attempt a rescue, only to be slammed back onto the beach again and again by freezing currents. Leviathan roared and charged straight forward without a second thought, but even he was sent flying. That was not a wave at all; it was an impassable barrier raised by the abyss. Just as despair gripped everyone present, Thalassa arrived. From the moment the first hatchling entered the forbidden sea, her patrol marks throughout the waters had already warned her. The smallest hatchling's side had been torn open by shards of ice, and blood had spread into a horrifying mist. Thalassa bent down and exhaled a breath of frost, sealing the child and the surrounding seawater inside a transparent coffin of ice. The rest of the tribe was horrified. A hatchling inside the murderous ice coffin? Was the Deeptide Banshee treating the lives of her own tribe as a joke? But soon, through the ice, they saw the wound closing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The same raging sea that had nearly killed him now rocked him gently to sleep. Thalassa spread her scaled wings. Her massive draconic form blotted out the moonlight. Standing between the hatchlings and the abyssal rifts, she placed layer upon layer of ancient and intricate inscriptions, lighting up the night sky and binding the raging sea in an iron grip. The tribe held its breath as one. They were waiting for the legendary Riptide Roar, said to be able to crack the seabed. But Thalassa did not roar. She sang. It was an old song, so old that even the eldest knew only scraps of it from their ancestors' stories. Her singing seemed fragile against the raging surf, yet it somehow carried a crushing weight, like a compassionate hand soothing the frenzied beating heart of the deep sea. The tide gradually subsided. Gentle singing soothed the ancient beasts back to sleep, and they returned to the boundless darkness. Leviathan rushed in once the towering waves collapsed, pulling the shell-shocked hatchlings to safety one by one. The sea regained peace. Broken scales peeling from Thalassa's wings glowed dimly as they drifted down into the dark below. Only then did the tribe truly see it: Her body was covered in brutal wounds from the rift. Fresh injuries lay over old ones, and the deepest cut ran from the side of her neck all the way to the root of her wing. It was a horrifying sight. Those were not honors won in front of a cheering crowd. Instead, they were proof of countless lonely nights when she dove alone into the lightless trench to mend the fractured barrier and hold back the deep sea's erosion. Every scar represented a crack she had patched with her own body. So no, she had not imposed the ban to throw her weight around. She knew better than anyone else that the abyssal rift was about to give way. The rescued hatchlings collapsed, pressed together in a trembling heap. Their leader forced himself to look up. His lips trembled, but the word "banshee" seemed stuck in his throat. After a long silence, he bowed his head. "Lady Thalassa," he whimpered. Thalassa's expression returned to its familiar coldness. "You entered the forbidden sea and ignored a direct order. According to the regulations, each of you will copy the Code of Sea Patrol thirty times. Hand them to me before low tide tomorrow." Their faces went white all over again. This time, however, no one complained. Thalassa walked away, her ruined wings dragging behind her. A few steps later, she paused. "The healing crystals are behind the reef. Get them yourself. Don't push through it." Leviathan watched from nearby, his eyes slightly red. "See? I told you. She's just hard as a rock on the outside!" The tides rolled on with the same ancient rhythm they always had. Without hesitation, she swam toward the lightless trench again. There were more violent dark currents, older cracks, and a merciless, seemingly endless vigil waiting. The ice coffin melted at dawn. The hatchling rubbed his eyes and climbed out, as though he had simply woken from one long, sweet dream. The wound that should have killed him had disappeared, leaving only a pale mark. Before the tide receded, an orderly row of Riptide dragons lay on the wide reef flat, all of them scribbling furiously. The leader copied until his claws were numb and aching. Only then, in a daze, did he suddenly notice something. The very first line of the thick Code of Sea Patrol read: "Respect the deep, and you may live to return to the nest." He stared at the words for a very long time. Then he bent over the page and copied the line in the neatest handwriting he had ever managed.
Title
Abyssal Warden
Max ascension
Ascended 5★
How Thalassa compares · vs 26 Draconis Heroes
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