## The Sunken Chorus
Dust motes danced in the amber light filtering through the stained-glass dome of Elias’ workshop. The air smelled of polished wood, brine, and something older—the faint ozone tang of celestial current. He ran a calloused thumb over the curve of a wing spar, the pale wood cool beneath his touch. Not just any spar; this one belonged to *The Albatross*, the fastest courier ship in Circe, a vessel whose reputation rested on its flawless flights.
He should feel pride. Instead, a tremor rattled through his bones. It wasn’t the wood; it was *him*.
For weeks, the visions had been growing. Not the practical charts he needed to repair hulls and reinforce rigging. These were… fractured. Constellations bleeding into one another, star tracks curving away from the familiar celestial weave. He called it distortion. Others would call it madness.
Old Man Tiber, the Harbour Master, had narrowed his eyes at Elias last week, commenting on a “lack of focus” during the inspection. A thinly veiled warning. The Tether Masters held Circe’s fate in their sunglims, hereditary visions guiding the moon manta rays along the star tracks. Innovation was a slow death sentence here; dependence, perfectly orchestrated.
“Findin’ flaws in the pattern ain’t healthy, Elias,” Tiber had rasped. “Some things are best left unseen.”
Elias ignored the prickle of fear and adjusted his goggles. He needed to understand this before it unravelled him completely. He traced the newest distortion, a phantom constellation shimmering over the existing star map. It looked like…a drowned city.
“Damn it.”
The distortion wasn’t just visual now; he *heard* it. A low, mournful hum resonating deep within his skull. The sound wasn’t constant; it pulsed with the rhythm of a distant current, like a ship lost at sea.
He’d dismissed it as fatigue at first. Shipwrights worked long hours, especially during the build-up to Realign Night—the biannual event where the Tethers guided the moon manta rays into their new alignments, preserving Circe’s orbit. But this was different. This felt…real.
A sharp rap on the workshop door startled him. Lena. His sister.
“Busy?” she asked, her voice brisk. Lena worked as a Sky-Reader, translating the manta rays’ bioluminescent patterns into navigational data for the Tethers. She possessed a cool practicality Elias envied.
“Always,” he replied, attempting a casual tone. He quickly covered the distorted chart with a piece of canvas. “Just finishing up *The Albatross’* spar.”
Lena didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Realign Night is three days away. Old Man Tiber’s already breathing down everyone’s neck. He wants a full diagnostic on all ships by sunset.”
“Wonderful,” Elias said, forcing lightness into his tone. “Another thrilling task.” He hated the diagnostic reports. They were a ritualistic affirmation of the status quo, confirming the unchanging order of Circe.
“He specifically mentioned *The Albatross*,” Lena said, her eyes locking onto his. “Said he noticed some…irregularities in the last flight logs.”
The tremor returned, stronger this time. He’d known this was coming.
“Irregularities?” he echoed, carefully neutral.
“Minor course deviations. Nothing significant. But enough to raise an eyebrow.” Lena paused, studying him with unsettling intensity. “You haven’t been yourself lately, Elias. You’re seeing things.”
“I’m tired,” he said, too quickly. “Long hours. That’s all.”
Lena didn’t buy it. She knew him too well. “Don’t play coy with me. This isn’t about fatigue.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re messing with things you don’t understand.”
“I asked for an echo scan on the hull plating,” Elias countered, his voice tight. “The harmonics are… unusual.”
Lena scoffed. “Harmonics? You’re chasing shadows, Elias. The Tethers have guided us for centuries. They *are* the pattern.”
“What if the pattern is wrong?”
The question hung in the air, thick with implication. Lena’s jaw tightened. She turned sharply and strode towards the door.
“Don’t be a fool, Elias.” She paused on the threshold. “Old Man Tiber wants to see you. Now.”
The Harbour Master’s office smelled of salt, aged wood, and something acrid—the scent of authority. Tiber sat behind a massive desk cluttered with charts and navigational instruments, his eyes like chipped flint.
“So,” Tiber rumbled, without preamble. “You’ve been poking around.”
Elias swallowed the knot in his throat. “Just routine maintenance, sir.”
Tiber’s gaze narrowed. “Routine that involves questioning the star tracks?” He tapped a weathered finger on a flight log. “*The Albatross’s* course deviated three cycles ago. A minor shift, yes. But a shift nonetheless.”
“The ship is sound, sir,” Elias insisted. “The hull plating responded with unusual harmonics during the echo scan. I wanted to investigate.”
“Harmonics,” Tiber repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re hearing things, Elias.” He leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Elias’s. “The sunglims are absolute. They have been for generations. There is no questioning them.”
“But what if the sunglims are flawed?” Elias challenged, his voice surprisingly firm.
Tiber’s eyes blazed. “You dare suggest the Tethers are fallible?” He slammed his fist on the desk, making Elias jump. “They *are* Circe! Their visions maintain our orbit, protect us from the Void!”
“The echo scan revealed…another constellation,” Elias said, his voice low. “Faded, almost imperceptible. But it was there.”
Tiber’s face darkened. “You’ve seen the faded realms,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “The echoes of lost worlds.” He paused, studying Elias with a chilling intensity. “They prey on the weak-minded.”
“Lost worlds?”
“Legends speak of civilizations that attempted to chart their own course, to break free from the sunglims’ guidance,” Tiber explained, his voice grim. “They vanished into the Void. Their echoes haunt the periphery of our reality.”
“But if they were real…”
“They are dangerous delusions, Elias,” Tiber interrupted sharply. “A distraction from the true path.” He leaned forward again, his gaze unwavering. “I’m ordering you to cease all independent research immediately.”
“Sir, I only want to understand…”
“You will focus on your work. You will reaffirm the pattern,” Tiber ordered. “And you will report any further… anomalies to me directly.” He handed Elias a diagnostic report form. “Complete this for *The Albatross* by sunset. And remember, Elias: some things are best left unseen.”
Elias took the form, his hand trembling. He knew he couldn’t stop now. He needed to understand what he was seeing, even if it meant risking everything.
Back in his workshop, Elias stared at the diagnostic form. He could falsify it, reaffirming *The Albatross’s* adherence to the established star tracks. But that would be a lie. He glanced at the canvas-covered chart, his heart pounding.
He lifted the canvas and traced the outline of the faded constellation. It was more distinct now, shimmering with an unsettling luminescence. He picked up his tuning fork and struck it against the workbench.
The resonance vibrated through the workshop, a clear, pure tone. He adjusted the frequency until it matched the harmonic distortion he’d detected in *The Albatross’s* hull plating. The workshop filled with a strange, ethereal hum.
As the frequency aligned, he saw it—not just an outline on a chart, but an image. A city. Submerged beneath a swirling ocean, its towers and spires encrusted with coral and bioluminescent algae. A city of impossible beauty, hauntingly familiar.
He reached out to touch the image, his fingers passing through the swirling luminescence. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he stumbled back. He saw flashes—towering structures collapsing into the ocean depths, panicked faces illuminated by flickering lights, a desperate attempt to chart a new course.
The vision faded, leaving him breathless and shaken. He understood now. The faded constellation wasn’t just an echo of a lost world; it was a warning.
He grabbed a blank slate and began to draw, meticulously recreating the image of the submerged city. He needed to share this with someone, to warn them about what he’d discovered. But who could he trust? Lena was too pragmatic, Tiber too entrenched in the old ways.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across his workshop door. He turned to see Old Man Tiber standing there, his face grim.
“So,” Tiber said, his voice cold. “You haven’t heeded my warning.” He gestured to the slate, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been drawing the lost city.”
Elias braced himself. He knew he was in trouble now. But he couldn’t back down.
“I have to warn them, sir,” he said, his voice trembling but firm. “The sunglims are flawed.”
Tiber’s face darkened. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, metallic device—a harmonic disruptor.
“You are endangering Circe,” he said, his voice cold and final. “I am afraid I have no choice.”
He raised the disruptor, aiming it directly at Elias. The device hummed with a sinister energy.
Elias closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable. He knew he was about to lose everything—his workshop, his sister, maybe even his life. But as the disruptor charged, he felt a strange surge of power within him—the resonance of the lost city, echoing in his bones. He wasn’t just a shipwright anymore; he was something more. And he knew, with chilling certainty, that the fate of Circe hung in the balance.
