Sylas lingered at Swan Harbor on the seashore.
The white sand beneath his feet was strewn with pearls, gemstones, and fragnts of crystal glass, treasures casually scattered by the Taylor elves as if they were ordinary pebbles. Sylas paid them no attention. His gaze was fixed on the sand itself, searching intently for sothing hidden within it.
"What are you looking for, Sylas?"
Sylas looked up to see Círdan approaching. He did not conceal his purpose and replied calmly,
"I'm searching for an ancient kind of sand, sand that can endure countless ages without being worn away by ti."
Ordinary grains of sand, no matter how fine, would eventually be ground down by waves and years, reduced until nothing remained. What Sylas needed was different: grains hardened by imasurable ti, material that had survived erosion across epochs.
Unfortunately, the sand along this shore, though preserved by Valinor's immortal nature, still failed to et his requirents.
Círdan pondered for a mont after hearing this.
"If that's the case," he said slowly, "I may be able to help you a little."
Seeing the doubt in Sylas's eyes, Círdan smiled faintly and explained,"This beach is only made of remnants washed ashore by the tides. The true essence lies beneath the sea. Only there have sand and earth settled undisturbed through countless ages."
At once, Sylas understood. His eyes lit up.
"Thank you for the reminder, Círdan. You've done a great favor."
"There's no need for thanks," Círdan replied with a light laugh. "Aren't we friends?"
Just as Sylas prepared to head toward the sea, Círdan raised a hand to stop him.
"Wait a mont. I may be able to call upon so friends from the ocean to assist you."
"Friends from the sea?" Sylas asked, surprised.
Círdan took out a golden conch shell and lifted it to his lips, blowing gently toward the ocean. A deep, lodious sound echoed across the water, carrying a strange resonance that penetrated far beneath the waves.
Monts later, several swift figures surged upward from the sea, approaching the shore with graceful speed.
They were rmaids, the Aulëni, sea spirits who served the ocean realm, attendants of the Valar Ulmo and Ossë. They had guided ships earlier on the voyage to Valinor, and it was their singing that had first been heard when the silver ship erged from the mist.
The rmaids were breathtakingly beautiful. Their upper bodies rose above the waves, pale arms glistening with seawater, long tails shimring beneath the surface. Their snow-white hair reflected sunlight like scattered pearls.
"Círdan, what do you require?"
The leader, veiled in silver and adorned with a necklace of pearls, asked in a familiar tone.
"Greetings, beautiful ladies of the sea," Círdan said warmly. He gestured toward Sylas.
"This is Sylas. He seeks ancient sand, but the shoreline does not suffice. You know the ocean better than any, so I ask for your guidance. Can you tell us where such sand might be found?"
The rmaids turned their gaze toward Sylas. As servants of the Western Sea and the Ocean Lords, they could imdiately sense the imnse aura surrounding him. Though they could not compare to their divine masters, Sylas was unmistakably a being of refined and elevated stature.
Respect naturally surfaced in their expressions.
"Greetings, esteed Master Sylas," the rmaids said together.
"The Sea Court offers you its respect."
Sylas waved his hand gently.
"Please, don't be so formal. I rely seek your guidance."
Reassured by his calm and courteous deanor, the rmaids conferred softly among themselves. After a brief exchange, their leader stepped forward.
"Sylas," she said, "we know of a place, a basin deep beneath the sea. There, sedints from the Perot Mountains have accumulated for tens of thousands of years. The stone and sand there are extraordinarily hard. After endless washing by the ocean, they have not been eroded, instead, they have been refined, becoming as hard and pure as diamonds."
"Beautiful one, are you searching for ancient sand?"
Hearing the rmaid's words, Sylas's eyes lit up. He asked without hesitation,
"Could you take there?"
The rmaids exchanged uneasy glances, looking slightly embarrassed.
"Master Sylas," the leading rmaid said gently, "that place is our seabed farm, a domain under the authority of Lady Ulmoa. Without her permission, we cannot bring outsiders there."
She quickly added, reassuringly,
"However, if you need the sand, my sisters and I can fetch it for you. We can bring it directly from the seabed."
Sylas instinctively sensed that there might be complications. Though hope flickered in his eyes, he still asked cautiously,
"Would that put you in a difficult position? Would Lady Ulmoa be displeased?"
The rmaid smiled and shook her head.
"Those grains of sand are everywhere on the seabed farm. So are even too hard to be useful to us. We routinely sift and discard them, as the seabed spirits prefer softer ground. If you require hard, ancient sand, we can bring it to you imdiately."
"In that case, I'll trouble you," Sylas said, finally relieved, offering his thanks.
The rmaids nodded and slipped gracefully back into the sea.
Sylas and Círdan remained on the shore, waiting patiently.
Half a day later, the rmaids returned.
Sylas, who was rarely impatient, stepped forward at once, only to be surprised when he saw that they were empty-handed.
"Master Sylas," the leading rmaid said respectfully, "our masters, Ulmoa of the West and Ossë, have heard of your deeds. They have instructed us to invite you as their guest."
Invited… as a guest?
Sylas was genuinely taken aback.
He had not expected that rely searching for a few grains of ancient sand would draw the attention of two great ocean sovereigns, much less prompt a personal invitation.
Ulmoa and Ossë were high-ranking ocean rulers who served the Lord of the Seas. As a bonded pair, they governed vast regions of the deep and were counted among the most powerful oceanic beings. Aside from the supre Sea Lord himself, few could rival their authority.
Sylas couldn't help but feel puzzled.
By all accounts, his strength was only comparable to that of an ordinary Mairon-tier existence. The gap between an entry-level being of that rank and a true apex ruler was imasurable, like comparing a candle to the sun.
Why would such figures take notice of him?
Yet despite his doubts, Sylas saw no reason to refuse.
On one hand, he still needed the ancient sand.
On the other, offending ocean rulers was never a wise choice.
Thus, Sylas bid farewell to Círdan and followed the rmaids into the sea, descending toward the depths.
Soon, one of the rmaids placed a golden pearl into his hand.
The mont he held it, the surrounding seawater parted on its own, forming a clear vacuum. Sylas could breathe freely, as if standing on land.
Though he could have relied on his own transformation abilities or alchemical ans to move underwater, he did not refuse their goodwill.
He gently turned the pearl in his fingers, it resembled a legendary water-repelling treasure, and followed behind the rmaids at an unhurried pace.
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