The Hall of Whispers was colder than Caelum remembered.
Every noble, elder, and council member sat in a perfect circle, their faces expressionless, their eyes watching every move. Virellan stood beside the Sapphire Throne, regal as ever, robes flowing like midnight currents. His smile was faint, unreadable.
Caelum entered alone.
His voice didn't tremble, though his heart did.
"I accuse Grand Advisor Virellan of practicing forbidden soul magic. I accuse him of binding a siren's soul into a pearl."
Gasps rippled across the hall.
Virellan simply raised an eyebrow. "A grave accusation, young prince. And your evidence?"
Caelum took a breath. "I followed him. I saw the ritual. I watched him cast the Old Song. And I recovered this."
Caelum hadn't come to the High Council empty-handed.
What the nobles didn't know—what even Tirien didn't know—was that hours before his outburst in the Pearl Glove, he had done something unthinkable.
He had entered the Maw.
Not the shallow waters that kissed its edge—he had descended into its belly.
The Maw, forbidden and endless, was a swirling vortex of ancient magic and forgotten death. The currents there moved like sentient claws, pulling at his limbs, whispering false names in his ears. The light dimmed the deeper he went, until all that guided him was the faint glow of souls long stolen.
He had to tie himself with an ironline rope, a technique only deep-sea wardens used. Even then, he nearly didn't make it out. But what he saw inside changed everything.
Bags. Dozens of them. Weighted and knotted with royal sigils. Floating gently in the abyss, resting just outside a jagged trench. When he opened one, pearls spilled into the water like bleeding stars. Glowing. Pulsing.
He didn't know how long he stayed there, staring. He only took one. One pearl. Just to prove it.
And so now, in front of the Council, he stood with that same pearl in his hand.
It pulsed faintly in his palm, the glow weaker now—the soul inside nearing its end.
"I accuse Grand Advisor Virellan of soul-binding. Of casting forbidden rites and burying them in the Maw. I found this," Caelum said, lifting the pearl, "in one of dozens of sealed bags, at the trench's edge."
The hall held its breath.
But Virellan stepped forward, his expression calm, his voice gentle.
"Your Highness… what you hold is a common soul mimic. A false echo. Nobles craft them in mourning—to honor the dead, not bind them. It's tragic that grief has clouded your judgment."
He was lying.
Caelum knew it.
The pearl in his hand shimmered brighter for a brief moment, as if responding to his conviction.
"If I don't return this soul soon," Caelum said, voice low and trembling, "it will die. Truly. Permanently. You all know what that means."
There was silence.
If a soul, turned into a pearl by a forbidden spell, stays in that state for too long, then it will forever rest in that way, the soul will disappear and the siren shall never wake again.
The silence of the council hall rang louder than any accusation.
Caelum stood tall, bruised, one pearl clutched in his trembling palm. The light inside it still flickered—weak, but alive. He didn't beg. He didn't scream. He simply held it high.
Proof.
The court stared, unmoving. One by one, the nobles exchanged glances, some startled, some ashamed. At last, the High Voice broke the silence.
"…So it was true."
The air shifted.
Caelum didn't let himself collapse, even though his body screamed for rest.
"I brought one back," he rasped.
The High Voice nodded slowly. "You did."
He turned to the magicians sirens who hovered at the edges of the chamber—those few who still held their connection to the old magic. "I brought one back," he said. "And there are more."
One of the sirens stepped forward, her fingers glowing faintly with waterlight. She knelt beside Caelum, brushing her hand over the pearl. The glow strengthened.
"The soul is still intact," she whispered. "But only just," she turned to there other magicians sirens. "We can turn it back to its original form."
"Then let us save them," Caelum said, voice hoarse. "Let me go back. Let me retrieve the others. I'll bring them to you. Just let me try. But not alone. I'll go inside, retrieve them, but I need people outside to take them as I pass them out, and other magician sirens to turn them back from pearl to siren."
A long pause.
Then: "You will go," said the High Voice. "You will return to the Maw, and if you emerge with the rest, we will speak your name without shame."
Relief almost knocked him breathless.
But then the shadows stirred.
And Virellan smiled.