The Alchemist’s Accidental Coven: The Tincture of Volatile Tides Book 2: A Slice of LIfe Harem Fantasy Adventure by Elara Windrow

Author:Elara Windrow [Windrow, Elara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2026-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The ascent wasn't graceful. It was a violent, shuddering rejection of the deep.

"Blowing forward tanks!" Valerius roared, his voice booming through the cramped bridge. He yanked the newly repaired release lever with his steel hand.

KA-CHUNK. HISS.

Compressed air, stored at three thousand PSI, slammed into the ballast tanks. The water that had been weighing them down was violently ejected. The Iron Lung, which had been pinned vertically in the silt like a lawn dart, lurched.

Kaelen Vance grabbed the periscope railing, his knuckles turning white.

"Brace!"

The ship shot upward.

It felt like being in a runaway elevator. The G-forces pressed Kaelen into the floor grating. Loose tools, shattered glass, and the debris of their survival rained down toward the tail of the ship, clattering against the rear bulkhead.

"Stabilizers are offline!" Valerius shouted over the groaning of the hull. "We are corkscrewing!"

"Just get us out of the crush zone!" Kaelen yelled back. He looked at the depth gauge. The needle was spinning counter-clockwise.

25,000 feet... 20,000 feet... 15,000 feet.

The high-pitched screaming of the metal hull began to drop in pitch. The compression eased. The ship expanded, popping and creaking as the ocean relaxed its grip.

"Leveling out at five hundred feet," Valerius announced, easing back on the throttle. "Neutral buoyancy achieved."

The violent shaking stopped. The ship drifted, bobbing gently in the current.

Kaelen slid down to the floor, exhaling a breath he felt like he’d been holding for an hour. He looked at his leg. The canvas of his hazard suit was torn where the harpoon had pinned him, and underneath, his trousers were soaked with blood. It was a graze—deep and painful—but the harpoon hadn't hit bone.

He looked across the bridge.

Elara Vane was sitting against the wall. She had stripped off the heavy brass helmet of the diving suit. Her hair was matted with sweat and seawater. She was shivering, a low, rhythmic trembling that rattled the buckles of her suit.

"We made it," Kaelen wheezed. "Elara. We made it."

Elara didn't look up. She was staring at her hands—the hands that had boiled the ocean. They looked pale. Gray.

"I’m cold," she whispered.

Kaelen limped down the corridor toward the crew quarters. His leg throbbed with every step, but he needed to get Elara into the Dry Room. He needed to get the humidity down before she went into shock.

"Come on," Kaelen said, supporting Elara as she stumbled along. "We’ll get you into the bunk. I’ll mix up another batch of desiccant. We’ll get it bone-dry in there."

They reached the door to the quarters—the room Elara had welded shut in her panic earlier.

Kaelen turned the wheel.

SPLASH.

Water poured out over his boots.

Kaelen froze. He pushed the door open.

The "Dry Room" was a swamp.

The stress of the crash, combined with the extreme pressure of the trench, had popped the rivets in the ceiling. Seawater had sprayed in, soaking the mattresses, shorting out the electric heater, and turning the floor into a wading pool.

It smelled of brine and wet wool.

Elara stood in the doorway. She looked at the soggy bunk. She looked at the dripping ceiling.

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