Aleks descended in silence, leaving the hum of Halftide behind. The water thickened with every meter, the pressure curling in on itself like a fist. His beast-form glowed dimly at first, then brightened as he went deeper, light magic flaring through the lines of his arms and chest in quiet pulses, veins turned to rivers of silver. It wasn't a shield. It was a signal. And he knew they were watching.
Shadows shifted along the seafloor.
He slowed.
There were no serpents, no writhing giants like before. Just remnants. Shapes that moved but didn't lunge. Creatures hollowed out by time, gliding through the dark with empty eyes. As if even the madness had grown quiet here. As if the Shell no longer needed defenders.
They didn't follow him. They watched. And it felt like standing under a thousand graves.
The flarelines converged ahead, trembling faintly. Not pulsing. Not dancing. Just trembling. The way wounded nerves did.
He tightened his grip around the artifact.
