Chapter 3: The Whisper Beneath the Tide
Lydia could no longer ignore the pull. Every step she took on the cobbled streets of Breydon felt heavy, as though the very earth beneath her feet was conspiring to drag her toward the sea. She had tried to go about her daily life, tending to her small cottage, making visits to the market, speaking to the villagers with an air of normalcy. But it was no use. The pull grew stronger with each passing hour.
It was as if the drowned cathedral was no longer merely a physical place lost beneath the waves, but a shadow that haunted her every movement. The dark presence that had crept into her dreams now lingered in the waking world. The wind carried faint whispers that seemed to come from nowhere. Her nights were filled with restless tossing, and her days, though bright, seemed filtered through a fog of dread.
Her resolve had finally crystallized—she would go to the cathedral. She would stand at the edge of its sunken remnants, and she would face whatever waited there.
The villagers, for the most part, kept their distance. The few who spoke to her still kept their words short, their eyes nervously flicking toward the horizon. It was clear they knew more than they were letting on. Some believed the place was cursed, others that it was haunted by the spirits of the drowned. But none of them dared venture close, and those who had in the past, well… Lydia could not ask about them, not yet.
As she walked toward the cliffs, the sound of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks below seemed to grow louder, as though the sea itself was calling to her. She reached the familiar vantage point—a small, overgrown path that led to the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the submerged ruins.
The view was breathtaking, but Lydia couldn’t shake the sense of being watched. She took a breath, steadying herself before stepping closer to the precipice. Her eyes locked on the water, where the cathedral’s blackened silhouette was barely visible beneath the surface, like the shadow of a great beast lurking just below the waves.
A shiver ran down her spine as the whispers returned—faint but undeniable. At first, she thought it was the wind, but as she listened closely, the voices grew clearer. Soft and mournful, they seemed to speak her name.
“Lydia…”
The sound was so faint, like a memory half-remembered, but it sent a chill through her body. She shook her head, trying to dispel the sensation, but the whispers continued.
“Lydia… Come closer…”
She felt her feet move, as if they were guided by an unseen hand. The ground beneath her seemed to shift, her senses overwhelmed by the sensation of something ancient stirring beneath the sea. As she approached the water’s edge, she could see the remains of the cathedral more clearly. The towering spires were barely visible through the thick mist that surrounded the ruins. Jagged stone and broken arches jutted from the water like skeletal fingers, reaching for the sky.
It was then that she saw him again—the man who had spoken to her that day by the cliffs. He was standing on the edge of the water, his form barely visible through the haze. His silhouette was shrouded in shadow, his face obscured, but Lydia knew it was him.
He raised a hand, beckoning her.
“Come,” he whispered, his voice a rasping echo that seemed to reverberate through her very soul. “It is time.”
Lydia didn’t hesitate. Her feet moved on their own accord, carrying her toward him. The whispers in her ears grew louder, mingling with the sound of the waves, creating a chorus of dread that seemed to surround her.
She reached the water’s edge, and the man turned to face her fully. His face was gaunt, his skin pale and drawn. His eyes were black pits, as if they had swallowed all the light in the world. His lips twisted into a grim smile, one that was both kind and cruel in the same breath.
“You have come,” he said, his voice as hollow as the sea. “The time has come to understand.”
“What is this place?” Lydia asked, her voice trembling.
He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he glanced toward the submerged cathedral, his expression darkening.
“This place is where it all began. And it is where it will end.”
Lydia’s heart hammered in her chest. She felt as though she were on the edge of a precipice, staring into the unknown, yet the pull was undeniable. She had come here for answers, and now they were within reach.
“The cathedral,” she said slowly, “why did it sink?”
He gave a hollow laugh, one that seemed to echo off the cliffs and through the mist.
“It was not the sea that claimed it,” he replied. “The sea merely hid it. The cathedral was a place of worship, but not for the living. It was built for something darker. Something that should never have been. And now, those who died there are bound to it forever.”
Lydia shuddered. She had known, on some level, that the cathedral was not just an abandoned relic of the past. It was a prison, and its prisoners were still bound to it—still waiting for release.
“But why me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why have I been called?”
The man’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the shadows around him seemed to deepen.
“Because you are the key. You always have been.”
Lydia didn’t know how to respond to that. Her mind spun with confusion and fear, but in the depths of her heart, a terrible truth began to take shape.
“You must come inside,” he said. “The answers lie beneath the waves.”
He began to step into the water, his long, thin form moving with unnatural grace. Lydia hesitated, but only for a moment. Her legs carried her forward, the sound of the waves growing louder in her ears. The water lapped at her feet, cold and heavy, but it did not deter her. She had to know.
She followed him, the weight of the sea pressing against her as she waded deeper into the water, her breath quickening with every step. The mist parted briefly, and for the first time, she could see the full extent of the cathedral’s ruin. Its broken, jagged arches reached out from the water like arms, twisted and gnarled. The stone was covered in barnacles and moss, giving it an eerie, living appearance.
The man turned to face her, his expression unreadable.
“This is where the ritual took place,” he said. “This is where the pact was made. And this is where you will either break it… or become one with it.”
Lydia’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel the pull of the cathedral, the weight of its terrible secret pressing against her chest.
And then, with a sudden, chilling clarity, she knew what she had to do.
She stepped forward, toward the heart of the cathedral.
