"I should probably explain it better. You seem… rather perplexed," Kainal said at last, his voice dipping with faint amusent, though the weariness beneath it couldn't be hidden.
I gave him a curt nod, my eyes fixed on his face. "Go on," I gestured for him to continue.
He let out a quiet sigh then began idly swirling the glass in his hand. The faint liquid inside rippled under the dim blue light of the coral lamps.
"You've heard about our deity, haven't you? The Red Sea…"
"Yes," I replied. "I've heard of it, but only in passing. I know it's the deity of your kind, but nothing more."
"Hmmm…" His expression darkened as he humd thoughtfully. "That's how it usually is. Even among our people, the na is spoken with reverence but not with understanding. For most of the rfolk, the Red Sea is nothing more than a protector—a divine guardian whose benevolence supposedly knows no bounds."
He let out a hollow laugh, one without joy, without even the pretense of faith. "But that… isn't the truth at all."
His tone grew quieter, heavier, as if each word was being pulled from the depths of the abyss itself. "The personification of confinent and freedom… misery and joy… suffering and euphoria. The being who veils the seas, who drapes the oceans beneath a blanket of blood. Our deity—the sovereign of the seas—is none other than The Red Sea."
The phrasing struck imdiately. I'd heard those exact words before from Denus. The sa rhythm, the sa solemnity, the sa contradiction between reverence and dread.
Kainal's eyes, which monts ago had been dull and tired, suddenly sharpened. He looked at with that deep, oceanic glare.
"Tell , Arawn," he said in a low voice that rumbled like the echo of thunder through the water, "don't you find sothing amiss with that incantation? Sothing that feels… off? Words that don't fit the portrait of a kind and rciful god?"
I paused, letting the phrase roll in my mind once again. Confinent. Misery. Suffering.
"Those words… Confinent, Misery and Suffering," I said slowly, eting his gaze. "They don't belong in an invocation for a benevolent being. Not unless that being embodies both cruelty and compassion."
Kainal smiled—a grim, knowing smile that never reached his eyes. "Exactly. You see it, don't you? That's precisely what most of my kind ignore. They chant the na of the Red Sea, sing praises of its 'grace,' and yet turn a blind eye to the chains embedded in their hymns."
He leaned back, his tone turning almost wistful. "Most rfolk worship out of habit, not comprehension. They call the Red Sea their savior because they fear what it truly is. They pretend it is kind because the truth… the truth would drive them to despair."
For a mont, silence reigned between us—thick and heavy like the pressure at the sea's floor. I could hear the faint pulse of the ocean through the walls, the sound of sothing vast and ancient breathing just beyond reach.
Kainal took another sip of his drink, his voice softening. "To know the Red Sea is to understand that benevolence and malice are not opposites. They are the sa current flowing in different directions. And those who swim too deep into that current…"
He trailed off, setting the glass down gently. "…They never return unchanged."
His words ca out tangled, half-truths woven with hesitation. He wasn't telling the real reason, not directly at least.
Sothing was stopping him, as if invisible chains bound his tongue. Each sentence felt like a cipher, a riddle I was ant to piece together. And damn it, it worked—my curiosity toward the Red Sea only grew sharper, hungrier.
Nai's expression didn't do much to ease the tension either. If anything, it amplified it. His lips quivered slightly; his gills fluttered unevenly.
He was trembling—not enough for an ordinary person to notice, but I did. And though sweating underwater was impossible, I had the distinct feeling that if it weren't, he'd be drenched by now.
The small, involuntary gestures gave him away—the way he kept rubbing his palms together, the quick darting of his eyes that refused to settle on mine, the subtle gulp that echoed faintly through the water. Every bit of his body language scread discomfort, fear even.
But fear of what?
What exactly was making him this uneasy? It wasn't —that much was clear. His fear wasn't directed outward; it was inward, like sothing unseen was watching him, waiting for him to slip.
Was there really a force preventing him from speaking? A curse? A vow? Or sothing far more sinister, sothing that silenced him even now, deep beneath the crimson waves?
I decided not to push it—at least, not yet. I'd pry the truth out eventually, perhaps after having a word with Wannre. She might know sothing; she usually did. For now, I forced myself to focus on the scraps Kainal had given .
Let's see… from what he'd said, discrimination in the Red Sea wasn't born out of arrogance or pride—it was survival. A grim necessity, not a choice. The Yellow-Tailed rfolk, the ones they treated as nothing more than expendable tools or even livestock, were tied into that grim logic sohow.
But survival from what?
The question gnawed at as I pieced the fragnts together in my mind. His words, his fear, the strange weight pressing around us—it all hinted at sothing deeper, darker.
The Red Sea wasn't exactly a benevolent being that much was already clear. But what kind of malevolent act it did for the yellow tailed rfolks to try into livestocks…
'Wait a minute… livestocks!'
What exactly did livestock an? It was a term used for dosticated animals which were used for comrcial products. Not exactly for expense as monetary currency didn't exactly work here.
But in the simplest of terms. The term itself was used to associate animals which were disposable. Or raised for a specific purpose.
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