The evening mist had settled thickly over the fishing village of Eldermire, wrapping around its ancient stone cottages and dilapidated piers. Jonathan Holt, a young and restless fisherman, walked along the empty dock, his lantern casting wavering light onto the whispering waves. An odd rumor had spread across the village of late, of strange dreams shared by many—a deep, pulsing voice that beckoned from beneath the ocean, murmuring secrets older than time itself. Jonathan had laughed at such tales… until tonight.
He paused, heart pounding, as a low, rhythmic hum rumbled through the fog, vibrating the planks beneath his feet. The sea swelled unnaturally, and there, rising above the waterline, were monstrous shapes etched into the darkness—tentacles as vast as the heavens, reaching skyward, curling and slithering in grotesque harmony.
He dropped his lantern, the flame snuffed by the wet wood. The voice spoke, and this time, it called his name.