Lightning split the sky, flooding the shed with blinding white light. For an instant, the creature was fully visible—no longer a mimic of loved faces, but a mass of drowned memories stitched together by seawater and hunger. Mouths opened and closed across its shifting form, whispering Rowan's name in broken harmony.
Elara didn't run.
She stepped forward.
The creature recoiled, surprised—not by fear, but by recognition.
"You…" it hissed. "You know what you are."
Elara's voice was steady now, heavy with something older than terror."I do."
She reached into her jacket and pulled free a thin, iron ring—etched with faded symbols that matched the scratches Arin had seen in the lighthouse long ago. The ring was warm, humming softly, like a held breath.
Rowan stirred behind her."Elara… what's happening?"
She didn't turn."Listen to me, Rowan. No matter what you hear—no matter who it sounds like—you hold on to my voice."
The creature surged forward, water slapping the walls as if the sea itself were trying to squeeze into the shed.
"You can't keep him," it roared. "The light is failing. The tower is dying. When it goes dark, all debts return to the deep."
Elara raised the ring.
"That's why I'm here."
The creature froze.
"You're a keeper," it whispered, suddenly wary. "One of the last."
Elara closed her eyes for a heartbeat—remembering a different storm, a different night, a lighthouse that burned black while someone she loved disappeared beneath the waves.
"I swore an oath," she said quietly. "When the light failed once before, I swore I'd never let the sea take another without a fight."
The ring flared—cold blue light spilling across the shed. The puddles hissed and recoiled, water pulling back as if burned.
The creature screamed.
"No—! You can't bind me again—!"
Elara pressed the ring into the floor. Symbols ignited, crawling outward in a circle, sealing the water in place. The shed groaned, boards creaking as the air grew dense and charged.
Rowan gasped as the mark on his arm burned, then dimmed—its glow fading to a faint bruise.
"Elara!" he cried. "It's—hurting!"
She turned to him then, eyes fierce but kind."Hold on. It's almost done."
The creature thrashed, voices rising in a deafening chorus. Faces formed and dissolved in the water—sailors, children, keepers—each pulled screaming back into the dark.
"You can't save them," it snarled. "You can only replace them."
Elara nodded once.
"I know."
With a final surge, she spoke the words etched into the ring—an oath passed down through generations of keepers, meant not to destroy the sea's memory, but to contain it.
The circle flashed.
The water collapsed inward, sucked back through the cracks in the floor as if the ocean itself were inhaling. The creature shrieked—then vanished, torn away in a rush of salt and silence.
The storm broke.
Rain softened. Wind eased.
The shed fell quiet.
Rowan collapsed to his knees, breathing hard."Elara… it's gone?"
She sank beside him, exhausted."For now."
He looked at her, eyes wide with dawning understanding."You knew this would happen. Didn't you?"
She nodded, gaze drifting toward the dark silhouette of the lighthouse on the cliff."The sea never forgets," she said. "And it never forgives. That's why there must always be someone to stand between it and the shore."
Rowan swallowed."And me?"
She met his eyes."You're free. The mark is broken."
A long pause.
"But the light," Rowan said softly. "It's still out."
Elara stood, shoulders squaring as she looked toward the tower."Then I have work to do."
The lighthouse loomed in the distance—silent, waiting.
And somewhere deep beneath the waves, something ancient shifted…remembering her name.