The sea was unnaturally calm — a mirror of molten gss under a bruised, descending sun. Not a wave. Not a ripple. Not a whisper of wind. But above it, tension thrummed across the deck of the research vessel like a taut wire ready to snap.

  Ren “Compass” Waynd stood with Sky Montgomery near the forward rail, both locked in silence as the submersible Ats was lowered toward the surface. Steel cables groaned. The crane arm creaked. The reinforced capsule, shaped like a teardrop and bristling with lights and instruments, sank into the ocean with a heavy hiss of steam and spray. Behind them, the rest of the expedition watched. Geologists. Biologists. Engineers. Hackers. Soldiers. Two teams, once rivals — now fused by mystery, desperation, and something older than myth.

  “Submerging. Depth: ten meters,” Echo’s voice crackled over the comms from the control console inside.

  Sky’s fingers clenched the railing as she leaned forward. Her hair caught the wind like a streamer torn from a fg. Ren remained still. Focused. Listening.

  “This is it,” Sky whispered.??“The moment the story becomes real.” Ren nodded slightly, but his jaw was tight. His thoughts churned beneath a still surface. There was a hum in his chest — not fear exactly, but instinct. An old, quiet voice warning him: It’s down there. Something is waiting.

  The cube still hung from his side, secure in a protective sling. It hadn’t flickered or pulsed since they unched — but it had pointed them here. Not approximately. Precisely. And that, somehow, was the most unnerving thing of all.

  “Five hundred meters,” Echo called again.??“Visibility low. External lights engaged. Holding descent velocity.”

  The sun dipped below the waterline. Darkness swallowed the sky. The only illumination came from soft control screens and strips of red safety lighting.

  “Approaching target depth,” Echo said.??“Coordinates locked.”

  The ship fell into silence again. No murmurs. No footsteps. Only the gentle sp of water against the hull.

  Sky leaned closer, speaking so softly Ren barely caught it. ??“You ever think we were meant to find this?” ??“You mean fate?” ??“No,” she said.??“Design.”

  He thought about that — the idea that some intelligence had wanted this discovery to happen. It made him colder than the wind ever could.

  “If this is a door,” he said finally,??“we have no idea what’s on the other side.” She gave a small smile. ??“We open it anyway.”

  Ren gnced back at the others. Pixel sat cross-legged, typing something furiously into a tablet. Thunder stood like a stone statue beside Rivet, who was muttering over a drone’s sensor array. Even Mamba was quiet, observing everything, arms folded, lips pursed like a judge at a tribunal.

  They weren’t doubters. They were believers. And believers went deeper than anyone else.

  “Eight hundred meters,” Echo’s voice came.??“Bottom in sight. Deploying sonar scan.”

  Ren stepped up beside the monitor. A blurry image formed on the screen: A ft seabed. Silty. Featureless.

  A beat. Then: ??“We’re at the coordinates.” ??“But…” ??“…there’s nothing here.”

  No ancient ruins. No alien geometry. No mysterious opening. Just… silence.

  Across the deck, shoulders dropped. Pixel froze. Rivet swore under her breath. Sky gripped the rail so tightly her knuckles went white. ??“That can’t be right. Double-check it. There has to be something.”

  Echo's voice returned, quieter: ??“Confirmed. Location matches perfectly. No structures. No anomalies.”

  A long silence followed. Ren’s hand drifted to the cube again. Still warm. Still steady. Still pointing down. Unmoving. Undeterred. He closed his hand over it. And waited.