The sea had turned restless.
In the grand city of Auronus, the pressure gauges along the outer dome were recalibrated daily now, something no one had done in decades. The engineers said the tremors were minor, natural fluctuations. But those who listened, really listened, knew better.
The ocean was speaking. And it wasn't whispering anymore.
In the council chambers, Lord Kaelen stood before a fractured audience.
The room that once held harmony now echoed with tension. No raised voices. Just colder stares. Shorter responses.
Orielle stood to Kaelen's right, arms folded, the latest energy scans displayed on a projection behind her.
"The relic shard is no longer dormant," she said. "Its pulse is increasing. Rhythmic. Coordinated. It's syncing with something beyond Earth."
An elder scoffed from across the room. "We've survived longer than any surface civilization. One fragment humming in the dark doesn't mean we abandon all we've built."
Kaelen's gaze was sharp, but steady.
"You mistake survival for stability," he said. "We are no longer adapting. We're reacting."
Another voice, younger, from the crowd: "Then maybe we should react. Maybe we missed our chance to leave. Maybe Aeloria was right."
That name shifted the energy in the room. Some still refused to speak it.
Orielle took a step forward.
"We've lost connection with the fleet. Every attempt to reestablish communication has failed. The systems here are degrading. The ocean no longer protects us. It isolates us."
Kaelen let the silence breathe for a moment.
Then he spoke with calm resolve.
"It is time… for a choice."
Later, in the depths of the launch chambers, preparation began in secret.
Kaelen and Orielle stood in front of an old vessel, unused, untested, but viable.
"There will be backlash," Orielle warned. "You know that."
Kaelen nodded. "There already is."
He ran his hand along the smooth metallic hull, sea-worn but still sound.
"This isn't about proving anyone wrong," he added. "It's about doing what should have been done the moment the oceans stopped responding."
Orielle studied him.
"Who do we take?"
"Volunteers. Only those willing to move forward, not to run, but to build."
She gave a short nod. "There won't be many."
Kaelen's voice was quiet.
"There only ever needed to be a few."
Elsewhere in the city, tensions finally cracked.
In one of the flooded transport tunnels, a confrontation broke out — not violent, but heated. Words like betrayal. Cowardice. Blindness. Half the city whispered about "The Departure." The other half feared it might actually happen.
For generations, the ocean had been their cradle, and now, it felt like a cage.
In a sealed chamber near the shard, a small child stood alone.
He watched the pulsing fragment, blue and quiet and alive, and tilted his head, almost like he understood it.
When his mother found him, he simply said:
"It's waiting."