Chapter 297
The descent into the deep is brutal. Not physically—I’ve survived worse currents—but mentally, it chips away at me the farther we go. Even the water feels heavier down here. Dense. Old. Like it remembers things the rest of the ocean has long since forgotten.
Axel is strangely quiet as we descend, our path lit only by the faint pulses of bioluminescent fish and the low gleam of my orb. That should be my first red flag.
Atlas hums with life, but this place? This trench, this part of the Abyss? It’s dead quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound too loud in your ears.
The Forgotten Keep finally comes into view as a jagged silhouette in the gloom. It’s perched at the very edge of a cliff so steep it might as well fall into a different dimension. The water down there is pitch-black—no light, no movement, no end.
The fortress is carved into the rock itself, squat and wide like it was bracing for an impact that never came. The outer walls are cracked and pocked with damage, moss and sediment crusted into the joints. But it still stands, grim and defiant, like the bones of something that refused to rot.
What stops me in my tracks, though, is the smell.
Putrid. Metallic. Wrong.
I spot them almost immediately—large, crumpled sacks clinging to the rock like tumors. Like… eggs. Insectoid. Hardened but organic, with translucent patches and strange ridges that look like they've been clawed from the inside. Some are split open. Others remain sealed.
“Why,” I say carefully. “Do I get the feeling this place is forgotten for a very good reason?”
Axel, bless him, doesn’t try to soften it.
“Because it’s technically forbidden,” he says. “This is Spawn territory. Their breeding ground.”
I whirl on him. “Spawn. As in the ocean’s answer to a nightmare?”
Axel lifts a shoulder. “Relax. It’s not breeding season. The nest should be dormant.”
I stare at the sacs. “Should be.”
He just grins. “You sound like Wake.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He says nothing, which is somehow worse.
Still, we go forward. Because of course we do.
The interior of the Keep is worse.
The walls are covered with carvings—layer upon layer etched into the stone in long, curling scripts I don’t recognize but Axel does. My orb casts a pale, steady glow, illuminating the space. The farther in we move, the more carvings we find.
But there are more egg sacs too.
Inside.
Some intact.
Some twitching.
I do not like that.
Axel seems less concerned, pulling out a small recording lens and running his fingers along the etched walls. He mutters translations as he goes, pausing now and then to frown or run his hand back over a line.
“The Keep predates Dagon,” he murmurs. “Used to be a seat of learning. The Abyssanians—our ancestors—were builders, scholars. We crafted cities, machines, weapons. With Leviathan’s help.”
I freeze. “Wait. Leviathan’s help?”
Axel nods grimly. “We were his followers. The original wielders of Darklite. We harvested the raw crystal from deep sea vents, refined it, distributed it. Built technology with it. Weapons. Tools. Power sources. Our cities thrived.”
I step forward, heart pounding as I read some of the markings myself. Symbols. Figures. Energy pouring from Leviathan’s maw into the hands of Abyssanians.
“They thought he was a god,” I whisper.
“To them, he was,” Axel says. “He made the Darklite for us.”
I remember the phrase from Shoal. Star of the sea. Its essence holds the key.
Could that be what it means? The Darklite itself?
“And then his brothers and sisters turned on him,” I say slowly.
Axel’s jaw tightens. “The Conclave. The rest of the gods… or, at least, the Enkians the gods used to be.”
I don’t like the way he says it. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
He points to another series of carvings. “Part of the Conclave’s rebellion was to turn Leviathan’s own creations against him. They infiltrated the Abyss—convinced our people to build them weapons of mass destruction. Said they were for defense. Said Leviathan wanted them.”
He pauses.
“But when the day came… those weapons were used against him.”
I swallow hard. “They built the warmachines.”
Axel nods, grim. “Among other things.”
I trace the next section with my fingertips, heart dropping.
“And who led that effort?” I ask.
He doesn’t need to answer.
Because I see the carving.
A tall figure, trident in hand. Dagon. Flanked by others in Conclave regalia. Offering peace to the Abyssanians even as Leviathan sinks into the trench behind them.
My stomach twists.
“It was Dagon,” I say. “He lied to them. He gained their trust, used their technology to kill their god—and when the truth came out, it was too late, Leviathan’s demise was all but guaranteed and the Great War was already brewing.”
Axel speaks softly now. “So Dagon offered them something new. A way to survive. He would teach them the ways of war. Make them strong. Give them purpose.”
“They stopped being scholars,” I whisper. “They became soldiers.”
He nods. “And we’ve been at war ever since.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then I say, “Shoal never mentioned that part.”
Axel’s mouth presses into a hard line. “Of course he didn’t. If he ever hoped to win the Abyss over, he couldn’t. Knowing we betrayed one god for another… knowing we started the Great War—no one would accept it. The Commander? He’d have Shoal branded a heretic on the spot.”
“But it’s the truth,” I say.
Axel turns toward me, eyes hard. “No. It’s a truth. Truth is what people choose to believe. What their hearts can bear.”
I shake my head. “If this got out—”
“It would upend everything,” Axel finishes. “Our whole way of life. The worship of Dagon. The warrior code. What Heir would Dagon honor, knowing he only rose to power by deception?”
I stare at the carvings, the raw, ancient anguish in them.
“And is this the end of it?” I ask. “Is that all?”
Axel sighs. “In this chamber, yes.”
I glance at the hall that leads deeper into the Keep. The egg sacs twitch in the corner of my eye. The stone shivers like it remembers.
“Then we don’t have the full truth,” I say.
Axel looks at me.
“There’s more,” I continue. “Somewhere in here. Or somewhere else. And until we know it all… we can’t afford to assume anything.”
Axel squares his shoulders.
“So we soldier on.”
I nod.
“We soldier on.”
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