Mara’s boots crunched over gravel as she approached the lighthouse, its jagged silhouette cutting into the bruised sky. The air reeked of salt and decay, a scent that clung to her like a memory she couldn’t name. Three years had passed since her father vanished, but the town still whispered his name like a curse. She didn’t need the rusted sign at the base of the tower to know this was the place—the one they’d all avoided, the one she’d returned to because the dreams had started again.
The door groaned when she pushed it, releasing a gust of stale air that smelled of mildew and old paper. Inside, dust motes swirled in the slanting light, catching on the spiral stairs that climbed into shadow. Her fingers brushed the railing, cold and pitted with age. She hadn’t come for answers. She’d come to stop the dreams, to silence the voice that called her name in the dark.
The first floor was a graveyard of machinery—gears tangled like dead vines, dials frozen at 3:17. A map on the wall showed the coastline, its contours etched in faded ink. Mara traced the jagged line of the cliffs, her pulse quickening. Her father’s notes, scattered across a desk, were illegible, smudged by water or something worse. She picked up a pencil, its tip broken, and pressed it to the paper. The words blurred, then reformed: *The tideborn remember.*
A sound echoed from above—something metallic, like a chain dragging across stone. Mara froze. The dreams had always been silent, but this was real. She climbed the stairs, each step creaking under her weight. The air grew colder, thick with the tang of iron. At the top, the beacon room was dark, its glass cracked, but the mechanism beneath the floorboards still pulsed faintly, a heartbeat she could feel in her teeth.
She knelt, prying up a panel with the pencil. Inside was a tangled mess of wires and gears, but at the center lay a small box, its surface engraved with symbols that glowed faintly. When she touched it, the room shuddered. The beacon flared to life, casting jagged shadows across the walls. A voice, not her own, whispered in her mind: *You are late.*
The door slammed shut behind her. Mara spun, her breath ragged. The room was empty, but the air vibrated with a low hum. The box in her hands grew warm, and the symbols burned brighter, casting the walls in an eerie blue light. She didn’t know what she’d awakened, but the dreams would stop now. The voice had found her, and it wasn’t asking anymore.
—
The town of Hollow’s End had always been a wound in the map, its edges blurred by fog and myth. Mara hadn’t known that until the night the lighthouse blinked. She’d been twelve, crouched behind the diner’s dumpster, listening to her mother argue with a man in a dark coat. Their words were muffled, but the final sentence rang clear: *The tideborn are waking.*
She’d never told anyone about that night. Not her mother, who’d stopped speaking to her after the accident. Not the other kids at school, who’d called her *strange* for refusing to talk about the lighthouse. But the dreams began soon after—the same one, over and over. She stood at the edge of a cliff, the sea churning below, and a voice called her name. *Mara. Mara.*
The voice had stopped when her father disappeared. Or so she’d thought. Now, standing in the beacon room, she realized it had never left. The box in her hands pulsed like a second heartbeat, and the symbols on its surface shifted, rearranging into words she could almost understand: *The tideborn remember.*
A crash from below sent her diving behind the control panel. Footsteps echoed up the stairs, heavy and deliberate. Mara pressed herself into the shadows, her mind racing. The town had always been quiet, but this—this was different. The lighthouse wasn’t just a ruin. It was a trap, and she’d just triggered it.
The door burst open. A man in a dark coat stood in the threshold, his face obscured by the glare of the beacon. His voice was calm, almost gentle. *You shouldn’t be here.*
Mara’s hand closed around the box. *Who are you?* she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt.
The man stepped closer, and the light caught his face. He was young, maybe a few years older than her mother, with eyes that mirrored the stormy sky. *I’m your father’s replacement,* he said. *But I don’t think you’re here for answers.*
The box in her hands grew hotter, and the symbols flared. Mara didn’t wait for an explanation. She turned and ran, the man’s shout fading behind her as she stumbled down the stairs. The lighthouse was no longer a ruin—it was a beast, and it had finally noticed her.
—
The town of Hollow’s End had no streets, just a labyrinth of narrow alleys and crumbling buildings. Mara ran until her lungs burned, the box clutched to her chest. The man’s words echoed in her mind: *You shouldn’t be here.* But she had been here. She’d always been here, even if she’d never understood why.
She ducked into an abandoned shop, its windows shattered, and pressed her back against the cold brick. The box was still warm, its symbols glowing faintly. She didn’t know what it was, but it was tied to the dreams, to the voice, to the lighthouse itself. And now the man knew she had it.
A sound outside made her freeze—a low, guttural growl. Mara’s breath hitched. The air smelled different now, sharper, like ozone and something metallic. She peered through a crack in the wall and saw them: figures moving in the fog, their shapes indistinct, their eyes glowing like embers. They weren’t human. Not entirely.
The box pulsed again, and the symbols shifted. *The tideborn remember.*
Mara didn’t wait to see what they wanted. She slipped out of the shop and ran again, the figures trailing her through the alleys. The town was a maze, but she knew its secrets—hidden passages, forgotten doors, the places where the fog thinned. She’d grown up here, even if she’d never understood it.
The lighthouse loomed in the distance, its beacon still burning. Mara didn’t know if it was a refuge or a trap, but she had no choice. The figures were close now, their growls turning into screams. She reached the base of the tower and climbed, the stairs slick with rain, her hands bleeding from the cold. At the top, the door was open, the beacon still glowing.
Inside, the room was different—brighter, cleaner. A desk sat in the center, its surface covered in maps and notes. Mara approached cautiously, her breath ragged. The box in her hands pulsed again, and the symbols on its surface flared. She placed it on the desk, and the room trembled.
A voice filled the space, not the one from the dreams, but something older, deeper. *You have returned.*
Mara turned, her heart pounding. The man in the dark coat stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. *You don’t understand what you’ve done,* he said.
*What’s happening?* she asked, her voice trembling.
The man stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. *The tideborn are waking,* he said. *And you’re the key.*
—
The storm broke as Mara stood in the beacon room, the box now silent in her hands. The man’s words echoed in her mind, but she didn’t have time to process them. The figures outside were close, their growls merging into a low, rhythmic hum. She didn’t know what the tideborn were, but she knew one thing: she couldn’t let them take the box.
The desk was cluttered with tools—wires, lenses, a rusted key. Mara grabbed the key and turned to the wall, where a panel was half-open. She inserted the key and turned it, hearing a soft click. The panel slid open, revealing a narrow passage leading downward. She hesitated, then stepped inside, the door slamming shut behind her.
The passage was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the box. She moved quickly, her boots echoing in the confined space. The air was damp, filled with the smell of earth and something else—something sharp and electric. The passage ended in a chamber, its walls lined with machines that hummed softly. At the center stood a pedestal, and on it lay another box, identical to the one she carried.
Mara approached, her hand trembling. The box on the pedestal was cold, its symbols still. She placed her own beside it, and the chamber shuddered. A low rumble filled the air, and the machines roared to life. Light flared from the walls, illuminating carvings of waves and stars, of figures with glowing eyes.
A voice spoke again, this time from everywhere at once. *The tideborn remember.*
Mara didn’t know if it was a warning or a welcome. The passage behind her was gone, replaced by a wall of light. She turned to the pedestal, her mind racing. The box in her hands had brought her here, but what did it want? What had she awakened?
The chamber trembled again, and the machines began to hum louder. Mara didn’t wait to find out. She reached for the box on the pedestal and pulled it free, the light flooding around her as the world shifted.
—
The storm had passed by the time Mara emerged from the lighthouse, the box now secured in a satchel at her side. The town of Hollow’s End was silent, its streets empty, its buildings shadowed. She didn’t know what had happened below, but the dreams had stopped. The voice was gone.
She walked through the town, her boots crunching on gravel, the box heavy against her side. The air smelled different now—cleaner, sharper. She passed the diner, its windows dark, and the abandoned shop where she’d hidden earlier. Everything felt… changed.
A figure stood at the edge of the cliffs, their back to her. Mara hesitated, then approached. The man in the dark coat turned, his face still obscured by the light of the rising sun. *You did it,* he said.
*What did I do?* she asked, her voice quiet.
The man stepped closer, his eyes searching hers. *You woke the tideborn,* he said. *And now they’ll come for you.*
Mara didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The box in her satchel pulsed once, a final heartbeat, and she knew the story wasn’t over. The lighthouse had given her answers, but it had also given her a new beginning. And as the sun rose over the cliffs, she turned away from the town and walked into the unknown, the box still warm in her hands.
