The Debt That Sleeps Below

The rain had stopped, but the port still smelled of rot and salt. Kaelen’s hand was a vise on your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear as he walked you down the slick stone steps toward the waterline. Maren Voss stood at the edge, her coat dark with damp, her smile a thin, patient slit. She held a lantern low, its glow cutting a pale circle on the black water.

“You know the way, diver,” she said. “The god’s heart. Bring it back by dawn, and your debt is ash.”

You said nothing. The weight of the salvage harness bit into your ribs, the knife at your belt a cold promise. You’d done this a hundred times—but never here. The ruins below were a myth, a place divers whispered about and never returned from. And yet, as you stepped into the water, the cold climbing your legs, you felt it: a low thrum in the current, a pulse that wasn’t yours. The god was real. And it was dreaming.

The water closed over your head. The lantern light vanished. And in the dark, something ancient stirred.