The following morning, long before the sun had burned away the sea mist, Bo Saixi stood before Shen Ling once more. Her robes were simpler than usual, woven in shades of soft gray and white coral—ceremonial garments, though subdued.
"Today," she said gently, "you will not be a student. Nor a singer. You will be… a listener."
Shen Ling, still attuned to the remnants of his trance, tilted his head. "I thought I already heard what I needed."
"No," Bo Saixi said. "You heard what was given to you by the Sirens. But you carry something else."
Her gaze deepened.
"The Sea God has not forgotten you."
They traveled in silence, far beyond the usual sanctified paths of Sea God Island. Through dense kelp forests, across shallow tideways, and into a cove hidden beneath a rockfall accessible only during low tide. There, behind a waterfall that glowed faintly with spirit energy, lay an ancient passage.
Bo Saixi pressed her palm to the stone and whispered in an old tongue.
The waterfall stilled—froze in midair like glass—and parted.
Shen Ling followed her through.
Inside was a tunnel of black pearl and coral bones, older than any structure on the island. The pressure in the air was different here—thicker, as if each breath carried salt from ancient oceans long forgotten.
"I never bring others here," Bo Saixi said. "Even the Seven Sea Douluo are forbidden. But you… must see this."
They emerged into a cathedral-like space carved from the belly of the island itself. Great spires of crystal reef jutted upward in spirals, glowing with faint blue light. In the center was a stone dais etched with concentric circles—each bearing a mark, a sigil.
A throne stood at its end—half shattered, half preserved in impossible beauty. It was forged not of coral or spirit stone, but of hardened tide.
Frozen, eternal ocean given form.
Shen Ling took a step forward and froze.
He could feel it.
Something was waiting.
Bo Saixi's voice dropped to a whisper. "This is the Throne of Drowned Kings. Not for the rulers of empires, but for those who surrendered themselves to the sea in exchange for the right to carry its voice."
She pointed to the sigils.
"Each of these belonged to a wielder of the Sea God's martial soul. Some never ascended. Others vanished in obscurity. But their essence… remains."
Shen Ling moved closer.
And then—
His Sea God Martial Soul appeared on its own.
No summoning.
No chant.
It simply emerged, hovering behind him—a shimmering projection of oceanic light that pulsed with quiet strength.
The throne responded.
The air around it shimmered, and a presence filled the chamber—not hostile, not oppressive, but vast.
Bo Saixi stepped back.
"Go," she said softly. "You will not battle. But you must be seen."
As Shen Ling placed his hand upon the throne's edge, the world once again shifted.
The moment Shen Ling's hand touched the tide-forged throne, the entire chamber rippled like a pebble had struck the surface of a still pond. Light refracted off the coral walls. Water pooled upward from the floor, not soaking his boots but rising like mist. It carried no wetness—only memory.
His Sea God Martial Soul pulsed faintly behind him, and something in his chest stirred—not his heart, not even his soul core, but something older.
The throne was not merely a seat.
It was a gate.
A bridge.
A final convergence point between what had been lost and what sought to return.
Then, with a sound like a wave falling in reverse, Shen Ling was no longer in the coral sanctum.
He stood in the middle of a boundless sea, beneath a sky lit by twin moons. The water was ankle-deep, but its surface reflected constellations he didn't recognize—star-maps of forgotten ages.
And surrounding him in a wide circle stood seven figures—each radiating a quiet, sovereign dignity.
All of them bore the Sea God's mark. Not the trident—but the deeper presence of the ocean's will. Some wore robes. Others bore armor. One even appeared shirtless, muscles like sea-stone and tattoos of whirlpools carved across his chest. A woman cloaked in kelp chains watched him with eyes like ancient sapphires. A silver-haired child floated just above the water's surface, smiling softly with unspoken wisdom.
These were the Heirs Who Never Ascended.
The drowned voices of the Sea God's will.
One among them stepped forward—a tall woman in flowing robes of black and gold, her voice rich and weathered. "You are young. And yet the sea has spoken your name."
Shen Ling bowed, his breath steady despite the pressure.
"My name is Hai Shen Ling. I carry both the Siren and the Sea God."
Another figure stepped forward—a man with half his face covered in coral scars. "Do you understand what it means to carry the Sea God's light?"
"I'm trying to," Shen Ling said. "I haven't taken a spirit ring for it. Not yet. It doesn't feel right to force it."
That answer rippled through the circle like thunder.
The silver-haired child spoke next. "You wait for resonance. Not strength. That is rare."
Another voice, low and sharp, rang out. "What will you do when the sea turns against you? When it no longer whispers—only drowns?"
Shen Ling inhaled.
"I'll remember."
"You'll remember?" the kelp-chained woman echoed, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded. "The sea's power isn't in its fury. It's in its memory. Every soul skill I've awakened comes from listening. Not conquering."
A long silence followed.
Then, one by one, the seven stepped forward and raised their hands.
Each placed their palm over his chest—no contact, just hovering.
And one by one, they sang.
Not words.
Not melodies.
But imprints.
Experiences.
Pain.
Exile.
Sacrifice.
One had given up their humanity to save a sinking tribe.
Another had lost their love to a rival sea sect and chose silence over vengeance.
The child—who had never spoken until now—showed him the memory of watching their island vanish beneath a storm, and feeling responsible simply for having been born.
Shen Ling trembled. The water around him began to swirl. Not violently, but with recognition.
He wasn't crying—but something in him wept.
And then came the final test.
The coral-scarred man stepped forward again.
His voice boomed. "You carry the Sea God's legacy. But you are also born of the Siren—the voice of sorrow."
He pointed a finger at Shen Ling. "What makes you believe you can carry both? That you deserve either?"
Shen Ling stood taller—not defiantly, but with clarity.
"Because I never asked for either," he said. "I was abandoned. I was carried by the sea. I didn't choose the Siren. I didn't seek the Sea God. But I listened. And I kept listening."
He spread his arms.
"I don't want to rule the sea. I want to remember it. To keep its voices alive, even when the storms rage too loudly to hear them."
The tide froze.
The silver-haired child floated forward and placed both hands over his heart.
"Then we name you the Tidebound, heir to our silence, keeper of the throne."
A great wave surged behind the ring of echoes—and as it crashed down, the world dissolved into light.
Shen Ling gasped awake once more, kneeling before the throne of drowned kings.
The coral did not glow.
The sigils no longer shimmered.
But something inside him had changed.
His Sea God Martial Soul pulsed with a new frequency—not a skill, but a promise.
Bo Saixi was there, kneeling quietly across from him, waiting.
"What did they show you?" she whispered.
Shen Ling looked up, his voice raw with reverence.
"They didn't show me strength," he said. "They showed me sacrifice."
Bo Saixi smiled faintly. "Then they have accepted you."