Where the Sea Dreams of the Moon

  Selara swam deeper toward the Moondail, a sacred bloom of coral ringed by swaying Harkspire seaweed. From its fronds rose delicate bubbles of light, drifting upward like newborn stars.   A memory stirred—an echo of the one sailor she wished she had saved. She had shared her breath with him once. He was sinking, panic bright in his eyes as he drifted down toward Korelune, clinging to life. She had never seen anyone like him.   Selara circled him carefully, then pressed her mouth to his, breathing life back into his lungs. She wasn’t meant to form attachments to mortals—she was meant to let them go. Yet when her gaze met that of a passing lunar stingray, her scales flared with a soft, radiant light. The sailor’s lips still touched hers when he tore the pendant from his neck and pressed it into her hand, just before she passed him to the ray to carry him back to the surface.   Now her fingers often found the medallion at her throat—a small token etched with the silhouette of a raven. She thought of him often. He ached in her bones on the lonelier days, when her duties weighed heavy on her chest. Tonight, she swam the reef with him on her mind, her song beginning like a hush in the water:   Selara’s voice rose like a soft current beneath the waves, her song carrying the reef’s ancient rhythms:     As she glides around the Moondail to take a closer look, the shadow of the waning moon has fallen. The tides will soon shift, and with them, the reef begins to transform. The Shimmerspine Staghorn arches bend and weave, reshaping the pathways through the coral. Lunar stingrays glide gracefully over star-stitched patterns on their backs, glowing like distant constellations. In their wake, they leave trails of shimmering light—star dust that brings food and bioluminescent plankton to nourish the reef. They come with each change of Lunestra’s phases.   Her hair framed her face in a silvery halo, and her deep, pearlescent eyes watched intently as the stingrays swam gracefully through the shifting arches. The Moondail—ancient and encrusted with time—rested atop a long-forgotten atoll. It shifted with each phase of the moon, its gnomon casting a slow shadow that marked the reef’s transformation.   Some say the Moondail was a gift from the Sea God—the Sunken, Father of the Sea and Guardian of the Water Sanctuary. Selara, a deep-sea Aquarii and guardian of the Korelune Reef, glows like the coral around her and sings with the tides as the cycles turn. Korelune has its songs as well—it gurgles and bellows, and parts of it even chime with her voice and those of the other guardians.       The Moondail rests atop a glistening, ancient atoll at the heart of the Korelune Reef. It hums with a soft, magical glow—an enchantment that wards away barnacles and creeping sea life from clinging to its surface. A halo of glittering seaweed drifts around it, intertwined with schools of twinklefins and star-eyed angelfish. Legends say the Moondail was the first structure to rise from the depths of the Sea of Veil—a gift from the Sea God, the Sunken—marking the beginning of the reef’s sacred tides.     The reef of deep tides—this sacred place is said to move in tune with the moon. With each lunar phase, the corals shift and stir, their forms reshaping in silent accord. Even the sea life oscillates with Lunestra’s pull, weaving through the currents as if guided by an unseen melody.   Unlike most reefs that demand precise conditions—perfect sunlight, stable temperatures—Korelune thrives not on constancy, but on change. It survives on what the moon provides. When Lunestra turns and tugs the tides, her silver light transforms the waters, and the corals rise to meet it, folding and blooming like living tide-flowers in a dance as ancient as the sea itself.   New Moon: The reef retracts slightly, compressing its branches to protect delicate polyps from the darkness. Bioluminescence dims almost completely, making the reef nearly invisible to passing predators and curious explorers.   Waxing Moon: The reef slowly expands, sprouting vibrant new coral fronds that shimmer in gentle shades of silver and indigo. Bioluminescent organisms multiply, creating dazzling light shows that ripple across the water like underwater auroras.   Full Moon: At its peak, the Tidereef blossoms into an intricate, vast network of coral towers and tendrils. Its bioluminescence reaches maximum brilliance, lighting the surrounding waters with radiant moonlight hues. Many nocturnal sea creatures gather here, drawn by the light and shelter, making it a thriving hub of life and mystery.   Waning Moon: The reef gradually contracts and the glow softens, signaling a time of rest and regeneration for the coral and the reef’s inhabitants.   New Moon: The reef rests and glows gently in the night.     Selara is one of seven Pelagic Aquarii who tend to Korelune, each with their own song and sacred duties. As the Guardian of the Small, she cares for the tiniest fish and attends to the delicate needs of the reef’s smallest creatures. She is also the keeper of the reef’s records—a living memory of its ancient cycles and stories.   Selara has lived here for centuries and will continue to watch over Korelune until her time comes to return to the deep, to rest with Sunken, Father of the Sea. The other guardians each have their own tasks—some patrol for threats, others shield the reef from the corrupting touch of umbral waters, protecting this beloved sanctuary from harm
Though Korelune flows with peace and memory, it is not without defense. Beneath the Moondail and woven into the coral’s shifting bloom lies the Pelagic Guard—a sacred formation of Aquarii guardians trained to protect the reef and the ancient deep-sea treasure known only as the Lunestran Vault.   They are not soldiers in the traditional sense. The Pelagic Guard is formed of seven elite Aquarii, each bonded to a phase of the moon, and each responsible for one aspect of defense—observation, misdirection, direct engagement, restoration, underwater signal relay, deep pursuit, and arcane containment.   But recently, their sacred duties have grown dire.
 

The Umbral Threat

  Dark currents have begun to infiltrate the Sea of Veil—the Umbral Water, a black, viscous cloud of death. It clings to hulls and driftnets, to forgotten wreckage and the fins of fleeing beasts. Touch it, and it leeches not only the color from your skin, but the life from your bones. A contagious sickness that renders even the strongest into husks of gray and shadow.   There is no cure, only one known reprieve: Prism Flowers, rare and luminous flora that must be applied in the earliest stage of infection. Few are saved. Fewer survive. Those who do are called the Marked, and even they are changed.

 

A Formation of the Moon and the Sea

  The Pelagic Guard moves with the reef, adapting to Lunestra’s tides. Each phase of the moon brings a new form, new tactics:   New Moon: The reef retracts to near invisibility. Selara’s unit drifts silently, guarding the Vault with stealth and songs that disrupt Umbral pulses.   Waxing Moon: New coral sprouts like barbs and barriers, forming mazes that confuse and trap infected sea-beasts.   Full Moon: Korelune shines like a lure—drawing Umbral creatures close before collapsing paths behind them, trapping them in blossomfold chambers.   Waning Moon: The Guard enters a phase of regeneration, healing reef damage and searching the sea for pockets of Prism Flower growth.
 

The Unfolding War Beneath the Waves

  What was once a sacred duty is now a war of attrition. Every moonphase brings new incursions of Umbral Water. Every loss weakens the reef’s ability to transform. The Guard does not sleep. They sing. They fight. They remember.   For beneath Korelune lies the Lunestran Vault—and what sleeps within must never fall into shadow.

---