The days after the Conch's destruction were… quiet. Too quiet. The sea remained calm, its waves lapping the shore with an almost apologetic softness. The villagers returned, their eyes no longer milky, their memories of the chaos hazy, as if they'd woken from a dream.
I stayed in the lighthouse, my arm now fully porcelain, its surface smooth and cold. The dagger lay on the windowsill, its runes fading, but I kept it close. Xiao Xu's body had washed ashore, her porcelain form intact, and I buried her under a cairn of shells. The child—Lila—visited often, bringing me fish she'd caught, her eyes wide as she listened to my stories of the deep.
But the quiet didn't last.
It started with the dreams.
I'd find myself underwater, surrounded by glowing fish with human faces, their mouths moving in silent screams. The Deep's shadow loomed below, its presence a cold weight on my chest. Each dream ended the same way: a hand reaching up from the darkness, its fingers webbed, pulling me down.
Then the porcelain began to spread.
First, a spot on my cheek—small, silver, like a birthmark. Then my other arm, my legs, even my lips. I could feel it growing, as if the Conch's destruction had released something in me.
Lila noticed. "You're turning into a statue," she said one morning, her voice trembling.
I forced a smile. "Just a souvenir from the sea."
But she wasn't the only one. The villagers avoided me now, crossing the street when I passed, muttering about "the porcelain man."
The sea began to rise.
Not in a storm, but gradually, as if the ocean was taking a deep breath. The quay flooded first, then the lower streets of the village. The water was warm, almost feverish, and it carried a faint glow, like bioluminescent algae.
I stood on the lighthouse balcony, watching the tide creep closer. The dagger's runes flared to life, burning my palm.
"You're back," I said to the shadow beneath the waves.
It churned, a silent laugh.
Lila tugged at my arm. "We have to leave. The sea's angry."
I shook my head. "It's not angry. It's… hungry."
The first sacrifice happened that night.
A fisherman, returning late from his boat, was pulled underwater by something long and slimy. His screams cut off abruptly. The next morning, his body washed ashore—half-eaten, his bones visible, his eyes replaced by bone china beads.
The villagers panicked, fleeing to higher ground. Lila's family begged her to come, but she refused, staying with me in the lighthouse.
"You're not cursed," she said. "You're… special."
I wished I believed her.
The sea continued to rise, now reaching the lighthouse's base. The water glowed brighter, and I could see shapes moving beneath the surface—long, sinuous, with too many eyes.
One night, the door creaked open.
A figure stood there—tall, cloaked, its face hidden. In its hand was a bone china jar, identical to the one that held Xiao Xu's great-grandfather.
"You've been expecting me," it said, its voice a familiar rasp.
I reached for the dagger. "The keeper. I thought you were dead."
It laughed, pulling back its hood. Its face was half-porcelain, half-rotted flesh, tar oozing from the cracks. "The Deep doesn't let go so easily. I'm here to offer you a choice."
It opened the jar. Inside was a bone bead, glowing faintly.
"Merge with this," it said. "Become the new Conch. Control the Deep. Or watch it rise and drown everything you've saved."
I hesitated. The dagger's runes flared, but the bead's glow was stronger.
Lila stepped forward. "Don't do it. It's a trick."
The keeper's tarry eyes fixed on her. "The child is right. But what choice do you have? The Deep is rising. It will consume you either way."
I looked at the bead, then at the sea. The shadow was closer now, its edges dissolving into tendrils.
"I'll do it," I said. "But on my terms."
The keeper smiled, revealing needle-like teeth. "There are no terms. You'll become part of the Deep, or you'll die."
It lunged, the jar in hand.
I dodged, grabbing the dagger. The blade sliced through the keeper's arm, which dissolved into tar.
"You can't kill me," it said, reforming. "I am the Deep's servant."
The sea surged, flooding the lighthouse. The keeper dissolved into the water, its laughter echoing.
I turned to Lila. "Run!"
She didn't move. "I'm staying with you."
The water rose, carrying tendrils that wrapped around my legs. The bead's glow grew stronger, pulling me toward the sea.
I looked at Lila, then at the dagger.
"Take it," I said, pressing the dagger into her hand. "If I… change… use it."
She nodded, tears streaming down her face.
The tendrils pulled me underwater.
I opened my eyes.
The Deep's shadow loomed above me, its tendrils wrapping around me, merging with my porcelain skin. The bead glowed in my chest, now part of me.
I could feel it—the Deep's hunger, its loneliness, its rage.
But I could also feel something else.
Control.
I focused, and the tendrils froze.
The Deep roared, a sound that shattered the water around me.
I pushed back, forcing the shadow to retreat.
The tendrils released me, and I rose to the surface.
The sea was calm again, the tide receding.
Lila stood on the quay, the dagger in her hand.
"Did it work?" she asked.
I looked at my arm—the porcelain was gone, replaced by smooth, unmarked skin.
"I think so," I said.
But as I turned to leave, I felt a tug—deep in my chest, where the bead had been.
The shadow returned, smaller now, but still present.
It whispered, a single word:
"Later."