The choice between the passages feels weighted with meaning. The hunt speaks of violence and conquest, of taking what you want by force. The choir speaks of music and harmony, of voices joined in common purpose. Even as my warrior's instincts urge me toward the familiar territory of battle, I know which path will lead me to Eurydice.
"Music calls to music," I murmur, swimming toward the choir passage. "Song finds song, even in the depths."
I begin a hunting round—not the violent pursuit depicted in the murals, but something gentler, older. A song my father taught me about tracking wounded deer through winter forests, about patience and persistence and the careful art of followinga trail that others might miss. My voice rises and falls in the ancient pattern, each verse building on the last, creating a net of sound that spreads through the water around me.
"Track by track through winter wood,
Read the signs in snow and mud,
Follow where the shy heart goes,
Patient as the morning rose."
The melody masks my approach while simultaneously calling to her, and I hear it working almost immediately. The carved figures in the choir frieze seem to turn their heads slightly, their stone mouths moving as if trying to echo my song. The water grows warmer, and phosphorescent fish begin to gather around my lantern, their bodies pulsing in rhythm with my voice.
Then I see it—a flash of red caught in a formation of black coral, bright as fresh blood against the bone-white polyps. My heart pounds so hard I nearly lose the rhythm of my song, but I maintain the melody as I swim closer. Red silk, torn from something larger, flutters in the current like a prayer flag.
The fabric is unmistakably from Eurydice's dress, still carrying her scent beneath the salt and brine. I press it to my face, breathing in the faint traces of lavender soap and the perfume oil she wears on special occasions. Hope punches through my chest like a physical blow, so powerful it steals my breath.
"Found you," I whisper to the silk, tucking it carefully into my belt. Soon I'll find the red ribbon you left in the pillar crack, my clever love.
As I continue through the passage, dead currents begin to press against me—strange, unnatural flows that seem designed to steal sound from the water. They wrap around my throat like cold fingers, trying to choke off my voice before it can fully form. When I try to sing the hunting round, the notes come out strangled and weak, barely carrying beyond my own lips.
I switch tactics, reaching for a different kind of song—a cradle-song my mother used to sing when I was small and frightened by winter storms. The melody is simple but pure, with a warmth that seems to cut through the dead currents like sunlight through fog.
"Sleep now, sweet child of storm and sea,
Safe in these arms you'll be,
When the winds cease their cry,
Dawn paints the morning sky."
The lullaby works where the hunting song failed, its gentle power flowing around the dead currents instead of fighting them directly. The water warms by several degrees, and I feel the oppressive weight of the necropolis lifting slightly. Somewhere ahead, I hear an answering hum—faint but unmistakable, carrying the harmony that only Eurydice knows.
She's alive. She's conscious. She's singing our song back to me through the dark water, and the sound of her voice is more precious than any treasure the dark elves might have hoarded in their drowned city.
The passage ahead brightens with a different kind of phosphorescence—not the sickly green of decay, but something warmer, more golden. The cradle-song seems to awaken sleeping beauties in the coral formations, causing them to bloom with colors I've never seen in the depths before. Tiny fish dart between the polyps like living jewels, their scales catching my lantern light and throwing it around in rainbow patterns.
I follow the warming current, my voice growing steadier with each verse of the lullaby. The dead currents fall away behind me, unable to maintain their grip in the presence of such pure, living music. My shell-bell chimes in harmony with my song, its clear tone slicing through water like a beacon.
"I'm coming, Eurydice," I sing softly, letting her name weave through the melody. "Hold on to the warmth. Hold on to the light. Don't let them make you forget who you are."
The passage curves ahead, and I can see the faint glow of phosphorescent gardens beyond. But more importantly, I can hear her voice growing clearer, stronger, more real with every stroke of my arms through the water. She's close now—close enough that I might reach her before the necropolis claims what remains of her warmth.
I swim faster, the cradle-song pouring from my throat like liquid gold, calling her back from whatever darkness has tried to claim her.
10
EURYDICE
Tiny lantern-fish begin to circle me as I continue humming the sailor's tune, their translucent bodies pulsing with soft bioluminescence that responds to the rhythm of my voice. They move like living stars in the perpetual twilight of the necropolis, and when one dares to drift close enough, I cup my bound hands to catch it. The little creature settles into my palm like a warm stone, its light growing brighter at my touch.
"You're beautiful," I whisper to the fish, marveling at the way its scales shimmer with colors that have no names. "Do you remember sunlight? Do you remember the taste of surface water, clean and bright?"
The lantern-fish pulses once, brilliantly, as if responding to my words. Its light seems to push back against the creeping numbness in my limbs, and I feel a spark of warmth return to my fingertips. When I whisper Theron's name, the creature glows even brighter, its radiance cutting through the gloom like a tiny beacon.
"You hear him too, don't you?" I murmur, watching as more lantern-fish gather around us, drawn by the quiet sound of my voice and the promise of living warmth. "He's coming for me.He's singing his way through your dark halls, and nothing the dead can do will stop him."
