The observatory's basement smelled of damp stone and old magic.
I knelt beside the tunnel where Edmund had vanished, my fingers brushing the cold runes etched into the walls. The Stellar Fragments lay open on my lap, its pages now bound in a material that felt like starlight forged into metal—cool, smooth, and faintly pulsing. A new illustration had appeared: a figure (me?) standing at the edge of a cliff, a beam of light stretching from my palm to a lighthouse in the void. Beneath it, a single word: "Echo."
"Zhou." Claire's voice broke the silence. She crouched beside me, her pistol holstered but her hands still jittery. "Elias found something in the archives. A log from the Royal Observatory's last days—before the Leviathan's first wave."
I looked up. Dr. Elara Voss stood behind her, holding a leather-bound book. Its cover was marked with the same seven-pointed star as the Stellar Fragments, but its pages were filled with sketches of people—not just Edmund, but figures in 18th-century coats, 19th-century suits, even a woman in a toga. Each had a constellation glowing on their palm.
"Watchers," Dr. Voss said. "Every century, the Lighthouse chooses one. They guard the gate between the void and the living. But… they don't stop the tide. They ride it."
I flipped through the log. The entries grew more frantic:
"1742—The Watcher is a poet. He writes of stars as 'the gods' tears.' The tide rises. He sails into it, promising to 'weave the void into song.'"
"1815—The Watcher is a soldier. He carves runes into cannons, firing them at the stars. The tide swallows the fleet. He returns, his body made of starlight. Says the void is 'hungry for stories.'"
"1873—The Watcher is Edmund Voss. He steals the Lighthouse key. Says he'll 'end the cycle.' The tide swallows him. The key is lost."
I closed the book. "So Edmund wasn't the first. Just the latest."
Elias grunted. "And if the Lighthouse keeps choosing Watchers, the cycle never ends. The tide's just… patient."
A shiver ran through the room. The stars outside dimmed, as if someone had blown out a candle.
Then, the Stellar Fragments began to vibrate.
I clutched it, feeling a surge of energy—familiar, like the pull of the Leviathan's tide, but gentler. The illustration of the cliff and lighthouse shifted, the beam of light now pointing to a spot on the observatory's map: "The Drowned Archive."
"The what?" Claire asked.
Dr. Voss's eyes widened. "A myth. A library submerged beneath the harbor, where the first Watchers hid their knowledge. The log mentions it. Says the key to ending the cycle is there."
Elias crossed his arms. "Underwater? With the Leviathan's tide? That's suicide."
I stood. My body still felt the echo of Edmund's sacrifice—lightness, as if I might float away, but also a new strength, a hum in my bones that matched the stars' rhythm. "We don't have a choice," I said. "If the Lighthouse is choosing Watchers, we need to find the first one. The one who started this."
Claire nodded. "I'll check the Black Sparrow for diving gear. The Night Owl Society has old maps of the harbor."
Elias sighed. "Fine. I'll get the steam submersible ready. But if we're eaten by leviathans, I'm blaming you."
The harbor was a graveyard of ships.
Steamships with barnacle-covered hulls, schooners with masts snapped like twigs, all sunk during the Leviathan's first wave. The water was black, churning with the tide's aftereffects—eddies that pulled at our ankles, as if the sea itself were trying to drag us under.
Claire and I stood on the deck of the Black Sparrow II, a sleek submarine retrofitted with brass goggles and a steam-powered propeller. Elias manned the controls, his mechanical eye whirring as he scanned the depth gauge.
"Depth: 80 meters," he said. "Pressure's rising. If the sub springs a leak, we'll be fish food in two minutes."
I checked the Stellar Fragments. Its pages glowed faintly, guiding us toward a spot marked with a star. "There," I said, pointing.
Claire adjusted her goggles, her breath misting in the cold air. "This is nuts. The water's full of voidspawn remains. We'll be lucky if we don't get eaten."
"Focus," I said. My palm itched, the Ursa Minor constellation flaring. I could feel something beneath the water—a structure, old and made of stone, its edges sharp against the current.
The submersible shuddered as we descended. The water grew colder, and bioluminescent algae lit the darkness in pulses of green and blue. Then, we saw it: a stone archway, half-buried in silt, its surface carved with runes identical to the observatory's basement.
"The Drowned Archive," I whispered.
Elias guided the sub closer. "There's a door. Sealed with… starlight?"
I reached out, my hand pressing against the runes. They lit up, glowing blue, and the door creaked open. A current pulled us inside, and the submersible shuddered to a stop.
We climbed out, our breaths fogging in the frigid air. The archive was a cavern, its walls lined with shelves of books—thousands of them, bound in leather, their titles glowing with starlight: "Songs of the Void," "The Weaving of Stars," "The Watcher's Oath."
At the center stood a pedestal, holding a single book. Its cover was black, its title etched in silver: "The First Watcher's Journal."
I opened it. The pages were filled with handwritten entries, the ink faded but still legible.
"August 12, 1741—The Leviathan wakes. The barrier cracks. I am chosen. The Lighthouse calls me. They say I must 'hold the gate,' but I see the truth now: the gate is a prison. The tide is not an enemy. It is a key. A key to free the stars from their cages."
"August 13—I have seen the other side. The void is not empty. It is a garden. A library. A home for the dead. The stars are their voices. And the Leviathan… it is their grief. Their anger. Their hunger to be remembered."
"August 14—I will not close the gate. I will open it wider. Let the dead return. Let the stars speak. If the world burns, let it burn with their light."
Claire gasped. "He… he wanted to free the dead?"
I turned the page. The final entry was scrawled in blood:
"They call me a monster. A heretic. But they do not understand. The stars are not gods. They are us. Our dreams. Our fears. Our love. And when the tide rises, it is not to destroy. It is to remember. To bring us home."
A crash echoed through the cavern.
We froze.
"Stay back," I said, drawing the Astral Pocket Watch. Its hands glowed with a fierce blue light, matching the energy of the archive.
From the shadows emerged a figure—tall, gaunt, with skin like cracked parchment and eyes that were not eyes—voids, swirling with stars. But this was no voidspawn. This was… human. A man in a tattered 18th-century coat, his hair powdered white, his hands clutching a book identical to the one on the pedestal.
"The first Watcher," I breathed.
He smiled. "Ah. A new bridge. How… familiar."
Claire raised her pistol. "Who are you?"
"Thomas Paine," he said. "The first Watcher. Chosen in 1741 to guard the gate. But I didn't just guard it. I opened it. And the Leviathan… it wasn't a beast then. It was a* child*. Grieving. Angry. And I… I loved it."
I stared at him. "You're the one who started this cycle."
He nodded. "Yes. And I've been trapped here, watching, for centuries. The Lighthouse feeds on my pain. The tide is my tears. But now… now there's a new bridge. A new light. And I think…" He reached out, his hand hovering over the Stellar Fragments. "I think you can end it. Not by closing the gate. By* understanding* it."
The archive trembled. The books began to fall from the shelves, their pages fluttering like birds.
"You don't understand!" Thomas yelled. "The Leviathan isn't evil. It's a* symptom*. The real disease is the barrier. It traps the dead, their stories, their light. And the tide is the only way they can break free. So we ride it. We become part of it. We* help* them."
I stepped back. My palm burned, the Ursa Minor constellation blazing now, hot enough to leave marks on the stone. The Stellar Fragments vibrated, its pages shifting to a new illustration: a bridge, not between worlds, but between* hearts*.
"You're asking me to trust the Leviathan," I said.
Thomas laughed. "No. I'm asking you to trust* us*. The dead. The stars. The ones who came before. We're not monsters. We're just…* forgotten*."
The cave shuddered. Water poured in from the cracks, swallowing the shelves, the books, Thomas himself.
"Zhou!" Claire yelled, grabbing my arm.
I hesitated. Then, I let go of the Stellar Fragments. It floated, glowing, toward the water.
"Wait!" Thomas's voice echoed. "The key is not in the Lighthouse. It's in* you*. The bridge is not a path. It's a* choice*. Choose to remember."
The water closed over him.
Claire pulled me toward the submersible. "We need to go. Now!"
I looked back at the archive, now submerged, the Stellar Fragments floating in the current. Its pages were open, revealing a final message: "The tide is not an enemy. It is a call. To remember. To honor. To love."
As we ascended, I felt a shift in the air—a warmth, a lightness, as if the stars themselves were smiling.
When we broke the surface, the harbor was calm. The stars blazed bright, their light no longer sharp and cold, but warm and gentle.
Edmund stood on the dock, his hands in his pockets, a faint smile on his face.
"Welcome back," he said.