Chapter 4: The Beneath of Forgotten Bones
Lydia’s feet sank deeper into the cold, murky water, the weight of the sea pulling her with each reluctant step. The cathedral loomed ahead, its jagged arches like skeletal arms reaching from the dark depths, beckoning her toward something unspeakable. It was as if the very air here tasted different—salt and decay clung to her skin, the pungent odor of seaweed, stagnant water, and something far worse, something ancient, filling her senses. Her mind screamed at her to turn back, but her legs, heavy with a compulsion she couldn’t understand, carried her forward.
The man—his face still obscured in shadow—walked in front of her, moving through the water as if it were no obstacle. His movements were fluid, almost otherworldly, and Lydia could no longer deny the sense that she was walking with something that had not quite been human. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to make sense of everything.
This place, this ruined cathedral submerged beneath the sea, had once been a house of worship. But now, it was the grave of forgotten souls, their fates sealed in the cold, salty embrace of the ocean. As Lydia stepped onto the rotting stone steps of the cathedral, a flood of visions began to overwhelm her. Images flashed through her mind in quick succession—fragments of long-lost memories, faces twisted in agony, figures moving through the water as though they had never been alive.
Her eyes darted wildly, but there was nothing to be seen in the mist except the yawning darkness ahead.
The man halted at the entrance, his form melting further into the shadowed depths of the cathedral’s interior. She stood at the threshold, the very air around her thickening with the weight of forgotten things, and she felt the strange, creeping sensation that something unseen was watching her. The same chilling sensation that had lingered in her dreams now seeped into her waking life. It was as though the cathedral itself was alive, waiting to draw her deeper into its heart.
“Come,” the man’s voice came again, thin and cold as the wind. “You must see.”
Lydia hesitated, then stepped across the threshold. The moment her foot touched the ground inside the cathedral, a wave of despair washed over her. She gasped, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin as the shadows pressed in closer, curling like tendrils around her body. There was a palpable sense of wrongness here—something not quite right, as though the very walls of this sunken place were soaked in sorrow and despair. Her pulse quickened, and her breath came in ragged gasps, yet she pushed forward, determined to understand what had brought her here.
The man continued to lead her deeper into the heart of the cathedral, his presence a strange comfort despite the terror clawing at her chest. He led her past rows of broken pews, their wood warped and decayed by centuries of water. The air grew colder with each step, and the stone beneath her feet was slick, as though the cathedral itself wept, mourning its lost glory.
In the center of the chamber, a large stone altar stood, draped in ancient cloths, now tattered and torn by the ravages of time and the sea. The stone was stained dark, as though years of blood had soaked into it, the water dripping from its edges in a steady, rhythmic flow. Lydia felt her heart skip a beat as she approached. It was a place of unspeakable rituals, a place where darkness had been conjured.
“This,” the man whispered, “is where it all began.”
Lydia felt herself drawn toward the altar, her feet moving against her will, compelled by an unseen force. As she approached, the shadows in the room seemed to pulse, thickening around her. She could feel something watching, something pressing in from all sides.
She stopped before the altar, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Her mind screamed at her to leave, but she couldn’t move. There was a weight, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on her. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, trapped by the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to emanate from the very walls of the cathedral.
“You must break the pact,” the man intoned, his voice now softer, more distant. “The pact that binds this place, that binds you to it.”
Lydia turned to face him, confusion written on her face. “What pact? What do you mean?”
He stepped closer, his presence casting an unnatural chill through the chamber. “The pact made long ago,” he said, his voice low and raspy. “The one that drowned the cathedral and its priests. The one that shackles the souls of the departed. They wait for their release, and you are the key. You must break the pact—or they will never be free.”
Lydia felt a cold wave of understanding wash over her. The cathedral had not sunk of its own accord. It had been pulled beneath the waves by something far darker, a pact made in blood and darkness, binding the souls of those who had died there to the water. The sea had claimed them, and now they were restless, seeking release. But the price for their freedom would be her own.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head, the weight of the realization crashing down on her. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”
But the man’s eyes locked onto hers, and his expression hardened.
“You must,” he said, his voice colder than the stone surrounding them. “There is no choice. You are the last of your line. The last one to bear the curse. You must make the sacrifice, or all will be lost.”
Lydia stumbled backward, her legs weak beneath her. The room seemed to spin, the shadows closing in, and the water around her feet rose higher, as though the very sea was drawing closer, pressing against her chest. The sound of distant cries echoed through the cathedral, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. She could hear the mournful wails of those who had perished here, their voices lost to time.
The man stepped forward, his hand reaching out to her. His fingers were long and thin, almost skeletal, but his touch was warm, gentle, as if guiding her to the inevitable.
“It is time,” he said softly. “Break the pact, Lydia. Release them… or join them.”
Lydia looked into his eyes, and for the first time, she saw the sorrow there—the sorrow of someone who had been trapped, bound by this same curse. She understood then, in that moment, that he was not merely a guide but a prisoner as well. His face, once human, was now a reflection of the very thing that had drawn her here—the price of the pact. She had come too far to turn back, and she knew the answer, the choice that awaited her.
And she understood that there was no escape. No matter what happened next, she would be forever changed.
