The sea answered the blows.
Water surged outward from the impact points where shadow and magma had torn into the Gatekeeper, churning violently in a tight radius around the ship. The funnel didn't collapse. It warped. Currents twisted back on themselves, angles shifting as if the ocean were correcting a flawed equation rather than abandoning it.
The pressure eased just enough for people to breathe again.
Just enough.
The massive presence beneath the surface slid away from the bow, not fleeing, not breaking contact—simply repositioning. The dark bulk adjusted its depth and angle, armor-like segments scraping against unseen currents as if the sea itself were a map only it could read.
"It's not running," Marcus muttered, wiping steam from his forearm. "It's… thinking."
