The cold seeped into Silas’s bones, even through the thick thermal suit and the hull of the Mariner's Ghost. Cold, the constant companion of life in the deep. He traced a finger across the cracked viewport of his miniature submarine, more like a personal submersible than a vessel for trade. The water outside was a swirling, phosphorescent soup disturbed by the currents, but beyond that, the lights of the Xylos colony shimmered, a cluster of geodesic domes clinging to a colossal hydrothermal vent system.

  Silas had never seen the sun, felt its warmth on his skin. The surface was legend, whispered in hushed tones – a poisoned wasteland swallowed by the sea. His reality was the crushing pressure, the recycled air, and the flickering glow of bioluminescent algae that lined the tunnels connecting the underwater colonies.

  For five years, he'd toiled in the maintenance tunnels of Aethel Station, scraping barnacles off pipes and repairing damaged ventilation systems. The monotonous grind had fueled a burning desire for something more, something different. Three weeks ago, he'd finally taken the leap. He'd poured his savings into the Mariner's Ghost, a salvaged submersible with more rust than paint, and set out to carve his own niche in the underwater economy.

  His first venture, a geo-vent survey for the Aethel Geophysical Consortium, had been a success. The pay was good, enough to refill his air tanks and buy a decent meal – synthetic kelp steak with nutrient paste. Now, he was here, observing Xylos. He wasn't sure why, exactly. It wasn't on any of the major trade routes. It wasn't a bustling hub like Neo-Atlantis or a center of research like Mariana Central. It was… quiet.

  He'd been parked on the edge of Xylos's light perimeter for three days, his sensors humming, carefully tuned. He listened to the rhythmic pulsing of the colony's life support systems, the faint hum of the hydroponics farms, the muffled conversations echoing through the water. He watched the residents – the pale faces framed by the glow of their helmets as they moved between domes, tending to the vents or studying holographic displays. They seemed… insular.

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  There was something off-key about the place, a sense of underlying tension he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He'd tried to hail the colony control, offering various goods – spare parts, nutrient supplements, even salvaged datapads filled with old Aethel Station news feeds. He received no response.

  He’d picked up snippets of conversation, distorted by the water and the colony’s security protocols. Whispers of "the shift," of "the elders," and of something being "different" now. He couldn’t decipher the context, but it was enough to prickle the hairs on the back of his neck.

  Today, he saw something else. A flash of movement outside the central dome, a figure in a dark suit, unlike the standard colony uniform, dragging a heavy sack towards the hydrothermal vents. The figure dumped the sack in, where it sank to murky depths. Silas’s sensors registered a brief spike in methane levels, but is not sure what that means.

  He shivered. What was that? What were they hiding?

  Silas knew he should leave. He was a trader, not a spy. Getting involved in Xylos's secrets could lead to nothing but trouble. The deep was a unforgiving place, and powerful forces controlled the underwater colonies.

  But the image of that figure dumping the sack into the vent stuck with him. The mystery of Xylos tugged at him, a siren song of the abyss. He wanted to know more. He needed to know more.

  He took a deep breath, the recycled air tasting stale in his lungs. He adjusted the Mariner's Ghost's navigation system, setting a course away from Xylos. He wouldn't stay. He was a trader, not an investigator.

  But he didn't set a course for Aethel Station. He punched in the coordinates for Port Seraphina, a lawless trading post on the edge of the known colonies, a place where information was currency and secrets were the most valuable commodity of all.

  He was leaving Xylos, yes. But he wasn't letting go of its mystery. Not yet.

  As the Mariner’s Ghost turned away, Silas glanced back at the faint glow of Xylos, vanishing into the darkness. He knew, with a certainty that settled like ice in his stomach, that this was just the beginning of a much longer, and much more dangerous, journey. The deep had a way of pulling you in, and once it did, there was no escaping its currents. He was a trader now, and if Xylos had a secret, Silas intended to find a buyer. And maybe, just maybe, uncover the truth in the process.