The horns sounded again, longer this time, vibrating through the stone courtyard like the pulse of an organ. Aric felt it in his ribs, in his teeth, in the threads tied to his name. The black water outside the arch churned and bulged as if something vast were turning over beneath it.
Lyra whispered, "It's bigger now…"
"No," Aric said softly. "It's closer."
The sea parted.
A ridge like the back of a sunken cathedral broke the surface, black and slick. Water poured off it in silver sheets, each droplet glowing faint blue as it fell. Then another ridge rose beside it, and another, until Aric realised they weren't ridges at all but ribs—massive, arched bones curving up from a body too huge to comprehend. Between them stretched skin like stained glass, translucent and veined with light that shifted in slow currents.
He thought, 'It's wearing its skeleton on the outside.'
A head emerged last, breaching the surface with the inevitability of a rising moon. It was not a head like any beast he knew; it was a tapering prow, long and narrow, layered in plates of bone and black crystal. Along its sides opened gill-slits like cathedral windows, each glowing blue within. Where a mouth might be was instead a lattice of interlocking tendrils that moved as one, flexing and closing with a sound like wet silk. Two eyes burned above the tendrils—enormous, lidless, gold flecked with star-like motes. They didn't blink.
Lyra took a step back, bumping against the Breathstone. Her voice was a thread. "It's beautiful…"
Aric's throat was dry. "It's a Depth Titan."
The creature shifted, and its mass displaced the sea with a booming crash. Waves of glowing water rolled toward the shore but broke short of the courtyard, hissing against the invisible line of Aric's claim. The air filled with ozone and a smell like rain on hot stone.
Then it sang.
The sound was not a roar but a chord, deep and layered, vibrating the stone under their feet. The statues lining the courtyard cracked, their faces sliding off like masks. The blue fire in the bowls flickered in time with the sound.
Inside Aric's head a voice formed, not words but images: a spiral of lanterns, a thousand travellers sinking into dark water, threads snapping.
Lyra pressed her hands over her ears. "It's in my head—"
Aric forced himself to breathe. "Stay anchored. Name holds you."
He gripped the Mirror. Symbols raced across his vision, frantic. The fragment-child in its cage curled tighter, glowing like a trapped star. "Landlord," it whispered. "Collector of lost Names."
Aric thought, 'It collects Names. It devours unanchored travellers.'
Aloud he said, "We're not here for you."
The Titan tilted its head, and a curtain of glowing water cascaded from its tendrils. Its eyes fixed on him—twin suns pinning a moth.
Another chord rolled through the air. This time it came with a scent—salt, copper, and something sweet like bruised flowers. Images burst behind Aric's eyes: himself walking through endless tunnels, Lyra dissolving into blue mist, the Mirror shattering like ice.
He clutched the Breathstone with his free hand. "No," he hissed through his teeth. "I'm not yours."
The tether to his name thrummed, holding him. Lyra staggered but caught herself, gripping another stone. "Vale…what is it doing?"
"Testing us," he said. "Trying to pull us out of ourselves."
Lyra's lips were pale. "It's working."
He took a step forward, still inside the circle of blue fire but closer to the edge. The Titan's tendrils flexed, tasting the air. He raised his voice. "We're anchored. This stone is claimed. By Name and Path. You can't have us."
The creature's eyes narrowed—an almost human gesture. Then one of its tendrils uncurled, a single filament as thick as a mast, and reached toward the courtyard. It stopped just shy of the invisible boundary, hovering there. Drops of glowing water fell from it, hissing when they touched the sand.
Lyra's voice trembled. "It's going to cross."
Aric's mind raced. 'Rules. Every Domain has rules. Anchored stones protect. But it's testing the edge. What does it want?'
The fragment-child lifted its head and whispered, "Toll…toll…Landlord hungers…"
Aric stared at the Titan. "You want a toll?"
The voice in his mind shifted—this time a single image: the basin at the Bloodgate filling with blood, the seam opening. Then the image of a lantern burning blue on a dark shore.
"A lantern," Aric murmured.
Lyra glanced at him. "What?"
He drew the Mirror, feeling its cold weight. "It wants a lantern."
Lyra's eyes flicked to the fragment-child. "We don't have—"
"We have echoes," he said. He pressed the Mirror to the Breathstone, calling up the echo he'd stored. Threads of light spiralled from it, condensing into a small flame of blue—a miniature lantern glowing in his palm.
He held it up. "Toll."
The Titan's massive head tilted. The tendril quivered, then extended slightly, as if sniffing. Aric stepped to the very edge of the circle, heart hammering. "This is all you get."
He cast the lantern toward the tendril. It floated across the invisible boundary and hung there, flickering. The tendril wrapped around it with delicate precision and drew it back. The blue flame sank into the Titan's skin like ink in water. The golden eyes blinked once—slow, enormous.
The voice in his mind softened. An image formed: a path of glowing stones across the sea, leading to a distant archway carved into the cavern wall. Then the Titan slid backward, its massive ribs vanishing beneath the surface one by one. The waves calmed. Only the horns lingered, fading like a memory.
Lyra let out a shaky breath. "I think you paid it off."
Aric lowered the Mirror, his hands trembling. "For now."
They stood in the courtyard listening to the quiet. Out on the dark water faint lights began to rise—stones glowing just under the surface, forming a jagged path toward the far wall.
Lyra followed his gaze. "That's where it wants us to go?"
He nodded slowly. "Or where it lets us."
She sank onto a cracked bench, rubbing her temples. "This place is insane. Memory sea, toll-collecting monsters, lantern taxes…"
He managed a weak smile. "And no coffee shops."
She laughed once, shaky but real. "You and your coffee shops."
He sat beside her for a moment, staring at the path. The glow of the stones reflected in his eyes. 'Every Domain has its price. Every price has a Path. If I can learn the pattern…'
The fragment-child shifted in its cage, eyes fixed on the glowing stones. "Gate waits," it whispered. "Path opens."
Aric stood. "Then we move. Before the Landlord changes its mind."
Lyra rose reluctantly, slinging her pack. "Lead the way, Vale. But next time, I'm picking the vacation spot."
He smirked. "Deal."
They stepped to the edge of the courtyard. The first stone lay just beneath the surface of the glowing water, flat and black. Aric placed his foot on it. It held, cool and solid. Beyond it the next stone glimmered faintly like a promise.
He thought, 'One toll paid. A thousand left.'
Behind them, in the mist, the horns sounded once more—fainter now, but still there.