Chenlu hauled Bao, whose legs dragged like dead weights, around the last turn. The gatehouse loomed, a massive structure of carved darkwood and iron, now partially submerged in the churning black water. The spectral thralls, shimmering and malformed, were already gliding through the main courtyard, their vacant eyes searching. “No good,” Bao rasped, his voice raw, pointing to the gate. Its heavy bar was rusted shut, and even if it weren't, the water was too high. “We’d be trying to swim through the drowned.” He was right. The main ground floor was lost. Chenlu’s gaze swept upwards, desperately seeking an alternative. Above them, the Concubines’ Quarters rose, a sprawling section of the villa known for its delicate architecture and lattice-screened windows. One such window, higher than the rest, stood ajar. A slender, carved pillar of moonwood, part of the decorative facade, offered a treacherous ascent. “Up,” she stated, pulling Bao towards the pillar. He winced as she jostled his injured side, but didn’t argue. Her small frame scrambled up first, finding purchase in the notched patterns. She reached down, her palms slick with cold sweat, and pulled at Bao’s arm. His greater weight made the ascent difficult, but the urgency of the moment, the chilling hum of the thralls' presence, lent her a desperate strength she hadn’t known she possessed. They tumbled into a narrow, dimly lit corridor on the upper floor, gasping for breath as the villa’s ominous silence settled around them once more. This section of the Concubines’ Quarters, the Wing of Whispering Pines, was usually a realm of quiet elegance. Now, it felt like a tomb. Water seeped under the doors, a dark stain spreading across the flowered rugs. A distant splash echoed, followed by a guttural hiss. They couldn’t stay on the floor. Chenlu spotted a wide, sturdy beam crisscrossing overhead, supporting the vaulted timber roof. It was high, but offered a path. “The rafters,” she whispered, indicating the network of beams above. “We go over, not through.” Climbing was easier this time, using a tall, lacquered wardrobe as a stepping stone. Once on the beams, the world shifted. Below, the water level was rising steadily, transforming the opulent rooms into a murky, submerged landscape. Silken wall-hangings and embroidered screens drifted like limp jellyfish, their dyes running into the black tide. From their vantage point, the scale-mutated members of the Xhafen clan were visible, moving with predatory grace through the drowned chambers. Their razor-sharp scales glinted even in the dim light filtering through the high windows, their movements silent save for the occasional scuff of clawed foot against submerged furniture. Bao moved with a grim focus, his earlier recklessness tempered by the crushing weight of Mei’s sacrifice. He winced each time his side brushed against a rough beam, but he never complained. Chenlu, still clutching the pulsing carp box, led the way, her senses acutely aware of every creak of timber, every ripple in the water below. One wrong step, one loud noise, and they would fall into the embrace of the monsters. They navigated across the main hall of the Wing of Whispering Pines, a vast space where concubines once entertained. Now, it was a silent, dreadful aquarium. A bulky, mahogany writing desk, carved with mythical beasts, bobbed gently in the center of the hall, its top drawers partially open, spilling papers into the water. It was a relic of the higher echelon, out of place in this quarter. Perhaps it had floated from the Patriarch’s study, carried by the rising flood. “Look,” Bao breathed, pointing a shaking hand. “That’s… that’s the Patriarch’s seal on those papers. The dragon-eel.” Curiosity, and a desperate hope for a new path, warred with Chenlu’s instinct for caution. The desk was closer to a narrower side beam, perhaps within reach. With painstaking care, she shimmied along, her body pressed flat against the rough wood, until she was directly above the desk. The water below was dark and still, reflecting the distorted roof like a funhouse mirror. She extended her foot, hooking the desk’s ornate handle, and slowly, carefully, dragged it closer to the edge of the submerged hall, towards a sturdy, albeit lower, crossbeam. Once the desk was stable, bumping against the beam, Chenlu lowered herself, hanging precariously by one arm, her legs dangling just above the water. She reached into the partially opened top drawer, her fingers brushing against waterlogged documents. Amidst the sodden scrolls, a leather-bound ledger, still remarkably dry due to its tight sealing, had lodged itself. Its cover was embossed with the same dragon-eel insignia Bao had noted. Pulling herself back onto the beam, she passed the ledger to Bao, who carefully opened it. His eyes scanned the precise, almost obsessive script. “It’s… a record. Not just of wealth, but… of the villa’s workings. Secret passages. Supplies.” He paused, his gaze fixing on a specific entry, his mouth tightening. “The aqueduct. The… underground aqueduct. It’s not just for water. It leads directly from the villa’s spring source… all the way down to the temple pool at the base of Mount Xhafen.” A direct conduit beneath the stone foundations meant bypassing the courtyard entirely. The midnight countdown felt less insurmountable. They had a way. They had a chance. Just as the realization solidified, a tremor ran through the entire villa. Dust rained down from the rafters. A low, guttural growl, deeper and more monstrous than anything they had heard so far, vibrated through the very timbers they stood upon. It was not from below, but from *above*. Before they could react, the plastered roof directly above them exploded inwards. A shower of splintered wood, shattered tiles, and ancient plaster rained down, blinding them for a terrifying moment. When Chenlu cleared her vision, she saw it. Towering over the gaping hole in the roof, framed against the inky black sky, was a silhouette of unimaginable horror. It was the Patriarch, but transformed beyond recognition. His form was a grotesque, leviathanic parody of a man, his scales no longer mere adornments but massive, jagged plates of hardened bone and iridescent gold. His head had distended, his eyes two burning orbs of malevolent green, and from his gnarled, fish-like maw, rows of needle-sharp teeth glinted. He was no longer just a monster; he was a living, breathing, mountain-sized force of destruction, a true leviathan born of the curse, and he had found them.

Above the Drowned Court