That night, the sea heaved like a living thing, waves crashing furiously against the cliffs of Eldermire. Villagers huddled in their homes, sealing their windows and clutching talismans. They whispered of sea gods, curses, and the vanished Reverend. Meanwhile, Clara Wilkes, the lighthouse keeper's daughter, stood alone in the high tower.
Clara had always loved the ocean, its untamed beauty a comfort to her. But tonight, the sea was a churning nightmare, and something else loomed within the crashing surf. Her father had gone down to fix a shattered window and never returned.
Eyes wide with terror, Clara gazed out at the horizon. A great shape moved beneath the waves—something vast, something alive. With each pulse of the lighthouse beam, the waters seemed to part, revealing glistening, emerald-scaled tentacles. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, a single, towering form began to rise from the sea, crowned with writhing tendrils and eyes that glowed with an unholy light.
Frozen in horror, Clara realized she could hear it—the deep, thrumming voice of something beyond mortal comprehension, whispering truths that cracked at the edges of her mind.