The lighthouse walls throbbed with a new rhythm, a syncopated beat that mirrored the bead's pulse in my chest. I pressed my forehead against the cold stone, eyes closed, as the whispers grew louder—hundreds of voices, all speaking at once, their words merging into a single, urgent command: "Wake her."
Lila's hand on my shoulder startled me. "You've been like this for hours," she said, her voice trembling. "Your skin… it's changing."
I opened my eyes, met my reflection in the cracked mirror. My face was half-porcelain now, the scales spreading from my collarbone to my cheekbone, their edges sharp as shards. The silver veins in my eyes pulsed with the same rhythm as the sea.
"Bring the dagger," I said, my voice sounding hollow. "And the beads."
She hesitated, then nodded, disappearing into the shadows.
The journey to the kiln was a blur. The beach was deserted, the tide receded so far the ocean's edge was a thin line on the horizon. The kiln loomed ahead, its doors open, interior glowing with a sickly green light.
Inside, the pedestal held a bone china urn—larger now, its surface covered in new carvings: scenes of the Deep rising, cities drowning, and a figure that looked suspiciously like me, seated on a throne of bone.
"Is this the future?" Lila asked, her voice barely audible.
I shook my head. "It's the past. And the present."
The urn's lid creaked open, revealing a pool of red fluid. At its center floated a single bone bead, etched with a spiral that seemed to twist into infinity.
"The heart of the Deep," I said, reaching for it.
Lila grabbed my arm. "Don't. It's a trap."
I looked into her eyes—wide, fearful, but determined. "I have to. It's the only way to stop this."
She let go, stepping back.
I plunged my hand into the fluid. It burned like acid, but I didn't pull back. The bead glowed brighter, merging with the one in my chest.
Images flooded my mind—centuries of keepers, each one merging with the Conch, their memories becoming part of the Deep's collective consciousness.
The first keeper's voice echoed in my head: "The Deep is a wound that never heals. The only way to stop the bleeding is to become the scab."
I closed my eyes, focusing on the bead.
The fluid around me froze, then shattered, releasing a shockwave that knocked Lila to the ground.
When I opened my eyes, I stood in a vast, submerged city, its spires made of bone china, their surfaces alive with wriggling tendrils. The Deep's shadow loomed above, but instead of fear, I felt… unity.
A figure emerged from the shadows—Xiao Xu, her face smooth, her eyes glowing with a soft light. "You're one of us now," she said, her voice echoing. "A bridge between worlds."
I reached for her, and she dissolved into tendrils, which wrapped around me, merging with my porcelain skin.
I opened my eyes.
I stood on the beach, the sun warm on my skin. Lila stood next to me, her eyes wide.
"What happened?" she asked.
I looked at my hands—the scales were gone, replaced by smooth, unmarked skin. The bead in my chest had faded.
"The Deep is… balanced," I said. "It's part of me now, and I'm part of it."
Lila nodded, her face solemn. "What now?"
I smiled faintly. "Now, we rebuild."
But as we turned to leave, a single bone china bead washed ashore, its surface etched with a single word:
"Wake."