The morning after Quinta stood on the hill, glowing like a beacon in the storm, the sea had changed.
It no longer lapped gently at the shore. It pulled at it—tugging sand and stone back into its depths with each retreating wave, as if preparing for something vast to rise.
Quinta walked barefoot along the wet sand, her boots abandoned hours ago. She felt the cold but didn't shiver. Her body was different now—warmer, humming with something just beneath the skin.
Frank followed silently behind her, his feet leaving no prints.
They reached the tide pools first—usually teeming with life. Now, they were empty. Shells cracked open like husks, crabs lay motionless on their backs, and jellyfish pulsed weakly before going still.
"Something's wrong," she said.
Frank crouched beside one of the pools, dipping a hand into the water. He pulled it out slowly, fingers glistening with something black and slick.
"This isn't natural," he murmured. "Not even for us."
Quinta frowned. "What do you mean?"
He looked up at her, eyes like polished driftwood. "The ocean is afraid."
Further down the shore, near the jagged rocks where the cliffs met the sea, Quinta saw them.
Symbols.
Carved deep into the stone.
She hadn't seen them before, but they weren't new. They were old—ancient, worn by centuries of wind and salt. Yet tonight, under the pale light of the half-moon, they glowed faintly—blue and pulsing like veins under skin.
She traced one with her fingertips.
It was warm.
A low hum vibrated through her bones.
And then—
A sound.
Not from above.
Not from around.
But from below .
It came from the earth itself. From beneath the sea.
A slow, guttural groan, like the grinding of titanic stones buried deep beneath the ocean floor. It wasn't loud—but it was huge . Like the breath of something ancient stirring in its sleep.
Frank stiffened.
"You heard that too," Quinta whispered.
He nodded. "Yes."
"What is it?"
His face darkened. "The Waking."
Back at the cottage, Frank lit a fire without speaking. Quinta sat across from him, arms wrapped around herself, staring into the flames.
"The Waking," she repeated. "What does that mean?"
Frank leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Before your kind rose, we ruled the shores. But not all of us left willingly when the tides turned against us."
She swallowed. "You mean some stayed behind."
He nodded. "Some slept . Buried themselves deep beneath the waves, waiting for the right time to return."
"And now?" she asked.
He met her gaze. "Now, they're waking up."
Quinta's heart pounded—not with fear, but with recognition. As if this knowledge had been inside her all along, waiting for the right moment to surface.
"Why are they waking now?" she asked.
Frank hesitated. Then finally said, "Because you've returned."
Silence fell between them.
Outside, the wind howled again. But this time, it carried something else.
A whisper.
Faint. Distant.
Calling her name.
Quinta.
Quinta.
Quinta.
She looked toward the window.
"It's happening," she said softly.
Frank stood. "Then we must prepare."
"For what?"
"To meet what lies beneath."
The next day, Quinta began to dream again.
Only now, they weren't dreams.
She stood in the city beneath the sea—Veythra , Frank called it. Towers of coral and bone stretched toward a sky made of shifting water. Creatures moved through the streets like living shadows, watching her pass.
At the center of the city, there was a temple.
Its doors were sealed with chains of silver and bone.
Inside, something stirred.
Every night, she approached the temple in her visions.
Every night, the chains grew weaker.
And every night, the voice calling her name grew louder.
Quinta.
Quinta.
Quinta.
Wake up.
On the seventh night, the sea brought her a gift.
Washed up on the shore, tangled in seaweed and foam, was a bundle wrapped in silk that shimmered like fish scales. Inside, she found a piece of coral carved into the shape of a key.
It fit nothing she knew.
But she understood what it meant.
It was time.
She turned to Frank.
"I'm ready."
He smiled—a sad, knowing thing.
"They've been waiting for you," he said. "All this time."
She looked out at the sea.
And for the first time, she didn't feel fear.
She felt hunger .
For the truth.
For the tide.
For the home she never knew she remembered.
Quinta stepped into the water.
And the ocean welcomed her.