The sky was wrong.
Aric stood at the edge of the black shore, staring out at the dark expanse. The sea rolled in slow, soundless waves, each crest glowing faintly blue as if lit from beneath. Above it wasn't sky at all but rock—a vast cavern ceiling threaded with thousands of glimmering pinpricks. At first glance they were stars; then one blinked and drifted, revealing itself as a swarm of luminous insects spiralling through the air.
He breathed in. The air was heavy, salty, tinged with the metallic bite of ozone. It filled his lungs like cool water. His skin prickled with static.
Lyra joined him, hugging her arms. "This place feels…backwards."
He nodded. 'Feels like a dream someone forgot to wake up from.'
Aloud, he said, "Second Domain. Sea Below Stars. I've read scraps about it—just myths."
Lyra gave him a sceptical look. "Myths with tide schedules?"
He smirked faintly. "The myths say this was once a reservoir where the Pathmakers stored echoes. A place between places."
She crouched, scooping a little of the glowing water. It clung to her fingers like oil. She sniffed it and recoiled. "Tastes like… electricity."
The fragment-child stirred inside its cage. Its tiny eyes glowed brighter. "Not water," it whispered. "Memory. All who drown here…become the tide."
Aric felt a chill crawl up his spine. 'Memory sea. Great.'
He set the cage down. "Okay. No swimming."
Lyra flicked glowing drops off her fingers. "Noted."
They turned from the water. Behind them, the black shore stretched into mist. Spires of stone jutted from the ground like broken teeth. In the distance Aric could see faint shapes—ruined structures clinging to the cavern walls, glowing sigils etched into their stone like lighthouses. Faint, mournful horns echoed from somewhere deep under the waves.
He thought, 'This isn't empty. Somebody built here.'
"Look," Lyra said softly.
He followed her gaze. A figure stood on a distant spit of rock—a tall silhouette wrapped in tattered sailcloth, holding a lantern that glowed blue. It didn't move, just watched them. When Aric blinked, the figure was gone, leaving only a swaying light.
Lyra swallowed. "Friendly?"
"Let's hope," he said. "But assume not."
The Mirror hummed at his hip, overlaying faint threads across his vision. Pathlines rose from the black sand, spiralling out toward the ruins. Symbols flickered: Safe Anchorage – Breathstones – Toll.
Aric frowned. "Toll?"
The fragment-child whispered again, "Always a toll. Breath for passage."
Lyra muttered, "I hate cryptic guides."
Aric crouched, tracing one of the glowing pathlines with his finger. 'Breathstones. Toll. Passage. That's the rule set. Payment in breath or blood?' He looked at Lyra. "We need to reach one of those structures. They're called Anchorages. If the myths are right, you can breathe there without losing yourself."
She tilted her head. "Losing yourself?"
He hesitated. "Memory tide. It pulls at who you are. Stay too long in the open and—"
A splash interrupted him. Both spun toward the water. Something large slid just beneath the glowing surface—a dark shape, ridged like a spine, moving parallel to the shore.
Lyra's voice went thin. "That's not a fish."
"No," Aric said quietly. "It's hunting."
The shape slid closer, the glow of the waves intensifying around it. Then it stopped, only a few metres from shore. A smooth, dark head rose from the water—featureless except for a vertical slit that opened like a gill. A sound like a whispering choir spilled out, dozens of voices overlapping.
"Breath…breath…breath…"
Lyra took a step back. "It talks?"
Aric kept his eyes on it. 'Toll collector.'
Aloud, he said, "We're just passing through."
The creature tilted its head. The whispering choir rose. "Breath…toll…"
The Mirror pulsed at his hip. A faint thread of light ran from the creature's gill-slit to the pathline under Aric's feet, as if confirming a connection.
He sighed. "It wants a toll. Breath. Maybe a piece of memory."
Lyra frowned. "What happens if we don't pay?"
The whispering choir turned harsh, like wind tearing through reeds. The water at the creature's base began to churn.
Aric muttered, "We're about to find out."
Lyra's threads glimmered, ready. "Any bright ideas?"
He thought, 'If it wants breath, give it a decoy.' He slipped the Mirror from his satchel, fingers brushing its surface. Symbols flickered, showing him a spiral of air, a pocket echo.
He grinned. "Yeah. One."
He pressed the Mirror to his lips and exhaled slowly. The glass swallowed his breath, turning it into a small orb of mist that hovered above his palm. "Toll," he said, and flicked it toward the creature.
The orb drifted over the water. The creature inhaled, the orb vanishing into its gill-slit. The choir softened to a single sigh. Then the creature slid back beneath the surface, the glow fading.
Lyra blinked. "That actually worked."
He tucked the Mirror away. "Always pay the ferryman."
She gave him a sideways look. "How much of your breath did you just give?"
"Enough," he said, though he felt lightheaded. 'More than I wanted.'
They started along the pathline glowing faintly in the sand. As they walked, Aric kept glancing at the ruins ahead. Pillars of black stone rose like masts, each crowned with a lantern of blue fire. Strange shapes moved between them—other travellers or something else, he couldn't tell.
Lyra adjusted her pack. "So Anchorages are safe?"
"Relatively," he said. "They're pockets of still memory. Built by Pathmakers for those who crossed."
She exhaled. "I hate 'relatively.'"
The fragment-child spoke, its voice stronger now. "Safe only if claimed. Unclaimed stone…drifts."
Aric raised an eyebrow. "Drifts?"
Lyra muttered, "This keeps getting better."
As they neared the first ruins, the air grew thicker, the static on Aric's skin intensifying. The glow of the pathline flickered. The sound of the sea faded until he could hear his own heartbeat louder than the waves. He thought, 'This place wants to unmake us. The Anchors are the only fixed points.'
Ahead, a stone archway opened into a courtyard littered with broken statues—humanoid shapes with faces eroded smooth. Blue fire burned in bowls along the edges. Carvings on the walls depicted figures carrying lanterns across a black sea.
Lyra slowed, eyes wide. "This is…"
"Anchor One," Aric said softly. "The myths call it Breathstone Hall."
He stepped inside. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the oppressive static vanished. He inhaled sharply—the air here was cool, clear, almost sweet. His headache faded.
Lyra exhaled. "Oh. That's better."
The fragment-child relaxed inside the cage, curling up like it was finally at home.
Aric looked around. The carvings glowed faintly, lines of script running along the base. He couldn't read it, but the Mirror hummed, projecting meanings: Claim this stone with your Name. Name binds. Name protects.
He frowned. 'Name binds. Protects. That's the rule.'
Lyra noticed his expression. "What?"
He said, "To make it safe, someone has to claim it. With their name."
She raised a brow. "Your turn then."
He hesitated. Giving a Name here felt like handing over a piece of himself. But behind them the black shore stretched empty, and out at sea something vast moved again, closer now. The horns sounded louder.
He thought, 'No choice.'
He stepped to the central stone, placed his palm on its cold surface, and whispered, "Aric Vale."
The stone pulsed under his hand. Blue fire raced along the carvings, and for a moment he felt a tether wrap around him—thin, strong, like a thread tied to his heart. The courtyard brightened.
Lyra blinked. "What happened?"
"We're anchored," he said quietly. "For now."
The horns sounded again, a long mournful note. Out beyond the black shore, a shape rose from the water—huge, ribbed like a ship's hull, eyes glowing like twin suns.
Lyra's voice went thin. "What…is that?"
Aric stared. 'That's no ferryman.'
The fragment-child whispered, "The Deep remembers. The Deep hungers."
The shape began moving toward the shore.
Aric's grip on the Mirror tightened. "Welcome to the Second Domain," he muttered. "We've just met its landlord."