An island a short distance from the Hynix archipelago, one named Toruk, was one of the few places with a branch guild of both the Adventurers and the Atlanteans that possessed equal influence. The island was shaped as a crescent, the two thin arms surrounding a moderately sized bay, which had a rather sharp drop to about seven meters deep. While not very deep, it allowed for a guild building right by the shore, set up next to an adventurers building of similar size and shape. The twin guild buildings were a short distance apart, their doors facing each other in a show of symbolic cohabitation, or so the official statement went, anyways.

A rather large man was waiting in line inside the adventurers’ guild, he held a bundle of paper with the seal of the guild plastered on it, a simply designed sword, in the other hand was a similar parchment, this one emblazoned with a rather bland looking harpoon. Rok had gone about getting the required documents to set up an official hearing by both guilds at once, something helped by his standing. These official petitions were lengthily worded, and incredibly contrived. He considered just running through the streets shouting “I found a dungeon! Follow me!” when he saw how much jargon the guilds managed to fit onto even a single page, but he knew that would end poorly.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t required to state why he wanted the hearing, only to swear an oath that it was over something that he, as an A+ rank Amphibian, considered vital to both guilds. He also chuckled at that term, “Amphibian”, which must’ve been introduced sometime after he retired. He certainly appreciated the shortened term, though, his previous title was quite the mouthful.

As he reached the counter, he handed the first document to the receptionist, a pretty young thing that must be new, as she had to take a moment to take in Roks striking appearance. He cleared his throat, snapping her out of whatever thoughts were playing in her head, something he tried not to think too deeply of when he saw her blushing. He gestured to the paper that he’d worked into her hand, and she took a moment to look it over. She ran off, presumably to go find the people who actually deal with these sorts of things, and he left to repeat the process with the Atlanteans.

He hopped into the bay, the splash drawing the attention of passerby on both sides of the surface, and his robe fluttered in the waves he’d made, but didn’t reveal anything important. He caught sight of the Atlanteans petition making its way out of his pocket, the waterproof parchment going along for the ride caused by his sudden change in scenery, as it were.

He swiftly put that back into his robe, sinking down to the bottom of the bay. There weren’t many people still paying attention to him by this point, his grand entrance being only slightly unusual. He looked around and found that little had changed, the Bay still appeared less of a Reef town and more and Island one, the waterproofed wooden buildings being uncommon under the waves.

He ignored the few lingering looks he got, smirking at the scowl he got from one rather dissatisfied sea-kin whose attempted courtship was rudely interrupted by the man of a man before him who plunged from the surface. He made the short swim to the Atlantean building, largely repeating the process, right down to the new receptionist ogling him, the merman before him apparently unused to what appeared to be a surface race, or at least one of Rok’s own dimensions, in his reception area, though his forms were processed all the same.

He was well aware it would take a while for anything to come of this, meetings between the guilds were rare, and the bickering that took place between the two at every little thing to get a leg up on one another left him dumbfounded. How the two hadn’t had a war yet was something he couldn’t fathom, though with the news he had planned on giving them, it might honestly spark one. He would rather not deal with that, so he was going to take every precaution to make himself unbiased, as even an apparent favor to one side or the other could lead to him alienating the guilds from himself, and make it that much easier to spark conflict. In the likely weeks or months leading up to the conference, he would make sure he did everything right.

By this point, the sun had begun setting, the lines really were as awful as he remembered. He went to the local inn that he’d spent more than a few nights at, having a large meal of some pretty standard fare, and drinking away the stress. It didn’t help as much as he’d wished, unsurprising as that may be. So, he retreated to his room, the raucous revelry reminding him of his own before retirement.

As he climbed into bed, he thought back to the end of his Atlantean days, his small party had just received the summons to one of the Wild Trenches. He’d already dealt with Rogue Dungeons by then, even conquering a few that made him a decent fortune. He’d thought that this would be similar, except instead of fighting his way to the bottom of the Trench, he’d just have to hold out against the usual Trench dwellers until it became spent.

A normal Trench, what he’d based this misconception off, has the occasional creature rise out of its depths, at a decently regular interval. The greater the strength of those creatures, the shorter that interval that was, gave its ranking. This one was a former B+, before it went Wild. So, he’d gone in prepared for huge waves of B+ Trench Dwellers.

What he’d met with was something decidedly worse.

The things that made their way out of that Trench made him shudder to this day, there was no order, no definition, nothing that made these something that could be considered alive. And yet, they were. He’d held his own, something he was proud of, he witnessed quite a few simply swim away, in any direction but there.

The conditions were even worse than those Trenches he’d been to before, it felt like the very waters around them were infected by that sickening gluttony radiating out of the gaping mouth of that abyss. There was absolutely no mana in those waters, and the mana shells were eaten away at, the efficacy reduced to near zero. Mages were suffering, any who’d actually shown up overdrawing their reserves by simply casting a single spell. Even the little color they could see seemed dull and muted, as if Vol itself couldn’t bring itself to acknowledge the fact that this area was truly a part of its grand creation.

He’d found no joy when the waters seemed to come alive, the mana trickling into those waters signaling the end of the Wild Tides. He remembered feeling simply spent, and then falling asleep, as did many others. He wasn’t injured, nor did he suffer any real injuries to begin with, but those starved waters ate away at his mana, at his muscles, even at his mind. Not a single part of him felt clean, it was as though he’d truly been in the mouth of something far worse than he cared to think about.

He retired as an Atlantean that day, his accomplishments earning him an A+ with the guild, along with the rest of his party. He went back to the surface, becoming an A+ rank Adventurer not too long afterwards with the land-capable members of that party, conquering a final Rogue dungeon. Then, they split up, he decided to go back to the Reef he was raised and explore it, he’d never even been to the ReefHeart, and he wanted to change that.

He spent the next thirty five years there in those “wildlands” before he felt he’d had his fill, and eventually wandered his way back to that little town that started him and his old party on their journey, and built that little place for people to eat. As he drifted off to sleep, his mind playing over the ups and downs he had faced on his journeys, he only hoped he could go back to those short lived days of peace eventually.