Chapter 7: The Rising Tide
Lydia awoke with a jolt, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath shallow and quick. The cold, salty taste of seawater lingered on her tongue, and for a moment, she couldn’t tell if she had truly escaped the depths or if it was all just another part of the nightmare.
Her body was heavy, sluggish, as though it had been pulled through the sea itself. She blinked against the overwhelming sensation of disorientation. Her surroundings slowly came into focus—a small, dimly lit room, its walls worn and crumbling with age. The faint scent of salt and decay filled the air, and as her senses sharpened, she realized she was no longer underwater.
Lydia sat up, her limbs trembling, the cold seeping into her bones. She wiped her mouth, expecting to find the wetness of the sea, but there was only the dryness of her own skin. The warmth of the room seemed to mock the chill that clung to her. Yet, despite the oppressive heat, a deep sense of dread gnawed at her. The moment she had touched the obsidian shard, something had shifted. But what? Had she truly broken the pact, or had she only opened a door that could never be closed?
The whispers from the drowned souls still echoed in her mind, a constant murmur that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. She shivered at the thought, and for the first time since her arrival, she was unsure of where to turn next.
The door creaked open behind her, and Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. She spun around, her muscles tense, ready to fight whatever monstrosity might appear.
It was only the man—the figure who had once been bound to the cathedral, the one who had led her here, but now something was different. His eyes were empty, hollow like the cathedral’s sunken ruins, but there was no sign of the grotesque form he had once become. He looked… human again, or as close to it as one could after being drowned in the depths of the sea.
“You’re awake,” his voice was a whisper, like the pull of the tide. He took a tentative step into the room, his gaze fixed on her with a mix of longing and fear. “Did it work? Did you break it?”
Lydia swallowed hard, her voice weak but steady. “I… I don’t know.” Her gaze fell to the floor, and for a moment, the weight of her failure seemed unbearable. “It was like a storm, an explosion of power. I couldn’t control it.”
He shook his head, his expression distant, lost. “There was never control. There was only the pact. A deal made in desperation. A curse bound to the cathedral itself. The souls are still here. The water is still here.”
His words stirred something deep within her, a flicker of understanding. The water. The pact. It was not enough to simply break the link between them. It was tied to something more fundamental than the church itself. It was tied to the sea, to the very forces of nature.
“The pact wasn’t just between me and the cathedral,” he continued, his voice barely audible over the rising storm outside. “It was between the sea and the souls that drowned. Between all of us and the anger that lies beneath the surface. We cannot escape it. Not until it has claimed everything it desires.”
Lydia’s pulse quickened. The storm outside, the shifting tides—it was all connected. The pact had always been part of something larger, something more ancient and far more dangerous than she could have ever realized. She had come here seeking answers, thinking the cathedral was the key, but the truth was more terrifying. She was not merely fighting a curse. She was fighting the very rage of the ocean itself.
“You’re wrong,” she said, her voice trembling with determination. “I’m not giving up. There has to be a way. We can still undo this.”
The man stepped closer, his hand reaching out as if to touch her, but he faltered. “You don’t understand. It’s too late for us. The cathedral is not just a place. It’s a living thing. And the sea… the sea remembers everything.”
Lydia rose to her feet, the weight of her decision pressing down on her shoulders. She couldn’t let this end here. She had to find a way to end the curse, to free the souls trapped beneath the waves.
As she crossed the room toward the window, the howling wind carried with it the faint sound of the ocean’s fury. The storm outside was not just a tempest—it was a reflection of the madness that churned in the depths. She could feel it in her bones, the pulse of the water, the rhythm of the tides that echoed with the anger of the drowned souls.
The moonlight illuminated the sea, casting an eerie glow over the dark water. Lydia’s heart clenched at the sight. There was something watching her from the abyss. Something that had been waiting.
But there was still hope.
The cathedral’s heart might be the source of the curse, but the solution was not in destroying it—it was in understanding it. She had to go deeper, past the broken remnants of the church, beyond the boundaries of the known world. She had to confront the very force that had birthed the pact.
She turned to the man, who was still standing silently in the center of the room. “Tell me everything,” she demanded, her voice filled with newfound resolve. “We have no time left. If we’re going to stop this, we need to understand how it all began. How can I break the curse?”
He met her gaze, his eyes dark with sorrow, but there was a flicker of something else—fear, yes, but also something else. Something she hadn’t seen before.
“You must return to the cathedral,” he said quietly. “The truth is there. You will find what you need in the water. But beware, Lydia. The sea will not let you leave once you enter.”
The warning sent a chill down her spine, but it also solidified her purpose. She could not afford to hesitate. The time had come to confront the true force of the curse, to face the drowned souls that sought vengeance.
And she would do whatever it took to break the pact—no matter the cost.
