Dawn crept slowly across Blackridge Coast, pale and colorless, as Elara and Rowan climbed the path back toward the lighthouse. The storm had passed, but the air still smelled of salt and ozone, like the world hadn't finished exhaling.
The tower stood dark.
No beam.No rotation.Just stone and silence.
Rowan slowed his steps."Elara… what happens if the light doesn't come back on?"
She didn't answer right away.
When she did, her voice was honest."Then the sea will try again. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But it always does."
They reached the base of the lighthouse. The metal door—the same door that once opened by itself—was shut tight now, streaked with rust and seawater. Elara placed her palm against it.
The stone beneath her hand felt warm.
Alive.
"It knows I'm back," she murmured.
Rowan's throat tightened."You don't have to do this alone."
Elara turned to him, a faint smile touching her lips."This part… I do."
She pushed the door open.
The lighthouse groaned, deep and resonant, like an old giant waking from uneasy sleep. Inside, the spiral staircase rose into darkness, scarred by claw marks and water stains—proof that what hunted them hadn't been a dream.
They climbed.
Step by step.
With every level they passed, the air grew heavier, charged with memory. Whispers brushed the walls—not threatening now, but weary.
At the lantern room, the glass was shattered, jagged edges catching the weak morning light. The great lens stood dark at the center, its mechanisms silent.
Rowan whispered, "It's dead."
Elara shook her head."No. It's waiting."
She knelt beside the lens housing and removed the iron ring, placing it into a hidden slot beneath the mechanism. It fit perfectly—like it had always belonged there.
The tower shuddered.
Somewhere deep below, gears began to turn.
Slowly.Reluctantly.
The light flickered.
Once.Twice.
Then the beam ignited—white and steady—cutting across the sea, pushing back the fog like a blade through cloth.
The lighthouse breathed out.
Rowan laughed, a broken, relieved sound."It's working."
Elara watched the beam sweep the horizon."It always does," she said. "As long as someone remembers why it was built."
Below, the sea churned—but did not rise. Faces faded from the foam. The rhythm softened, returning to the wild, imperfect chaos of ordinary waves.
Rowan looked at Elara."So… what now?"
She turned from the light, eyes reflecting its glow."Now I stay. I keep the light burning."
A long pause.
"And you," she added gently, "go live. Far from this coast. Forget the voices. Forget the dark."
Rowan swallowed hard."And you?"
Elara smiled—small, resolute, unafraid."I'll listen. So no one else has to."
Outside, the lighthouse beam swept the sea again—strong, constant, awake.
And for the first time in a very long while,the ocean looked away.