Elara stood before the broken beacon, her mind racing as the storm outside grew more intense. The scholar's words echoed in her thoughts: *You must reignite the beacon, or the storm will swallow you whole.*
The wind howled through the shattered windows, carrying the scent of salt and death. Lightning flashed, illuminating the cracks in the glass, and the lighthouse groaned as if the very bones of the structure were struggling to hold against the tempest. Time was running out. Whatever power the Abyss had unleashed, it was coming for them, and it would not be merciful.
She clutched the stone the scholar had given her, its cold surface thrumming with a dark, ancient energy. The Abyss had chosen her, marked her, and now it was demanding more. But what was the cost of restoring this light? What would the Abyss demand of her in return?
