There is nothing more empty than water. 

Air is alive. Air is life itself. This has been true since Zeus breathed life into the clay sculptures of Prometheus. Air is sister to fire, sister to lightning. Water is by comparison dead, inert. When it rises it is because it has been driven by the air, because it has been compelled by the moon. But always it seeks to fade away and drain back to the lowest place that can be reached. It falls endlessly, building up crushing pressure in its shadowed depths. Gather enough water in place and the exterior will burn as it forces out the veins of air that have been trapped within it. Gather enough water in one place and it will condense even further than that. The Azura knew this when they built the Gravity Rail; singularity is but the craving of water.

So the sails billow and flap. Air alone rises. Air alone survives. A little bubble of air squeezed out of the immense, dark pressure at the bottom of the world. The last breath of air escaping from the Underworld. This is a ship of wood and ropes, of wheels and copper, of white paint and the speed of knots. Against it, Oceanus in all its might. What a terror to face an ocean without Poseidon; without the unknown and the dangerous. To face an infinite wine-dark sea with no beginning or end. To sail the void that crushes time and space. To sail it using only breath.

So if life is, at the last, breath then tell us of yours. Tell us how each of your breaths propel the Ferryman's boat onwards.

*

[b]Dyssia![/b]

"Oh!" giggles the Pix in a way that is charming but also deeply undermines her radiant goddess illusion. "You charmer!" she punches Dyssia's arm flirtatiously. It's very much the atmosphere of a dork who only understands intellectually the effect her makeup has. "But yes, I'm Tidal specialization. Mostly I work with crabs, but Azura are so fascinating, I'm lucky to have this chance!"

The jellyfish tentacles are wrapping tighter and tighter, layering around arms, neck, tail, body. Your body will figure out the paralytic in time, so they're getting a solid physical grip before that happens.

"But... I have to ask..." there's a furtive look in the Pix's eyes as she glances upwards. "Are you a girl of your word? I mean, I've caught you, so does that mean if I offer you parole you'll be good and do what you're told? Because - well, just hypothetically, there could be opportunities in both our futures if we play our cards right."

You know what you're dealing with here, with that glittering contemplation from this disguised angel, with the twitch of the fox ears above a supernaturally beautiful face. This is a scorpion and her nature is to sting. Most servitor species have some encoded Hubris, a fatal flaw that runs through their society unless it is actively suppressed by human or Azura masters. In the event that that a servitor population runs rampant then it quickly becomes a slave to its self-destructive impulses, creating a vulnerability for ruler species to reassert control. It's what bought the Pix here in the first place, it's why they agreed to the Sleeper's deal in the first place, and now at last the tendency towards betrayal is working in your favour.

But be careful, because she'll sting you too.