The church glowed with residual starlight.
Edmund stood by the altar, his hands trembling as he traced the shattered locket in his palm. Claire sat on a pew, her pistol unloaded, her eyes fixed on the shattered stained glass where the sky now stretched empty—a void so deep it seemed to hum. I leaned against a column, my skin still warm with the afterglow of the stardust sword, my Ursa Minor constellation dimming to a faint scar beneath my skin.
"It's gone," Edmund said, breaking the silence. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd been screaming underwater. "The tide. The Leviathan's… presence. It's like it was never here."
Claire snorted. "Easy for you to say. You weren't the one who nearly became a human lighthouse." She nodded at my chest, where the sword's glow had seared a permanent mark—a constellation of overlapping stars, now fading to a pale blue.
I touched the mark. It felt warm, like a heartbeat. "It's not gone," I said. "Just… sleeping. The crack in the barrier's sealed, but the tide's still out there. And it's hungry."
Edmund's head snapped up. "How do you know?"
I hesitated. The vision from the stardust sword lingered in my mind: billions of stars, each a soul, and the tide—a black wave—devouring them. But there was more. A shape. A structure. A lighthouse, half-submerged in the void, its light still burning.
"A lighthouse," I said. "In the middle of the void. It's… calling to me."
Claire's eyes widened. "The Astral Lighthouse," she breathed. "From the Stellar Fragments illustrations. It's supposed to guide lost souls… or trap them."
Edmund frowned. "I've heard whispers. Old sailors talk about a light in the fog, a tower that shouldn't exist. But why would it call you?"
I didn't answer. My pocket had been vibrating since the ritual—subtle, like a pocket watch ticking. I pulled out the Stellar Fragments, its pages now bound in something metallic, and flipped to a new section.
There it was: a sketch of the lighthouse, its base engraved with the same runes as the church's rune circle. Beneath it, a caption: "The Lighthouse of Forgotten Stars guards the gate between the void and the living. Its light is a key… and a curse."
A knock echoed from the tower.
We all froze.
"Stay here," I said, drawing the Astral Pocket Watch. Its hands, though cracked, still glowed with a faint blue light. I'd spent the night studying the Stellar Fragments—now splayed open on the altar, its pages filled with new illustrations: a man (me?) standing beneath a fractured sky, a line connecting his palm to a star.
I climbed the tower stairs, the wood creaking under my weight. At the top, I found the source of the noise: a brass telescope, its lens polished to a mirror shine, and beside it, a note—penned in a hand I did recognize: Edmund's.
"Zhou—
If you're reading this, I'm sorry. The Leviathan's tide isn't the only thing that remembers. The Lighthouse does too. It's watching. Waiting. And it knows you're the bridge. Meet me there. Bring the watch. And the book.
- E."
The note was dated 1873—the same year the Leviathan first appeared.
I crumpled it. Below, Claire called up, "Zhou? You okay?"
"Fine," I lied. "Just… check the docks. Tell the Night Owl Society to watch for unusual activity."
As I descended, my palm began to itch. The Ursa Minor constellation flared brighter, and a vision hit me: the lighthouse. Its tower, taller than any building in Port Belen, rose from a sea of black mist. Its light—a beam of pure white—cut through the void, and at its base… a figure.
Edmund.
He stood at the lighthouse door, his back to me, wearing the same tattered overcoat from the theater basement. His hands were outstretched, as if welcoming something.
"Edmund!" I yelled.
He didn't turn.
I ran.
Port Belen was empty now. Merchants had fled, leaving doors ajar and lanterns burning. The steam clocks, once symbols of progress, now ticked in unison—slow, slow, slow—as if the city itself were holding its breath.
I reached the docks, where the Black Sparrow Tavern's sign swayed in the wind. Inside, Claire was talking to a man in a leather duster—tall, scarred, with a mechanical eye that glinted like a clockwork cog.
"Mr. Zhou," the man said, tipping his hat. "Name's Elias Voss. Night Owl Society. We've got a problem."
Claire nodded. "The alchemists found another crack. In the Royal Observatory's vaults. And Edmund's gone. Again."
Elias's mechanical eye whirred. "Follow me."
We boarded his steam-powered carriage, its wheels clattering over cobblestones. As we raced toward the observatory, I noticed the stars outside—they'd returned, but dimmer now, as if veiled by a thin cloth.
"The Lighthouse's light is affecting them," I said.
Elias grunted. "Aye. The old texts say it's a beacon. But beacons attract ships—and things. The Leviathan's tide isn't the only one that sails those waters."
The observatory loomed ahead, its dome cracked, its walls covered in ivy. Inside, the air smelled of oil and burnt paper. Alchemists in lab coats scurried about, their hands shaking as they pored over blueprints.
"Over here," a woman called. Her name tag read Dr. Elara Voss—Elias's sister, I realized. She held up a map, its edges charred. "This came from the vaults. A log from the Royal Observatory's final days. It mentions 'the Lighthouse' and 'the Watcher'—a being that guards the gate between stars."
I scanned the log. The handwriting was frantic, the ink smudged with seawater.
"August 12, 1873—The Leviathan stirs. The barrier weakens. The Watcher calls to us, promising salvation. But salvation comes at a cost. We must feed it… and the cost is our souls."
"August 13—Edmund is gone. He left with the Lighthouse key. Said he'd return with answers. But I fear… he's become part of it."
"August 14—The tide rises. The stars are dying. If we don't close the gate, all will be consumed. Even the Watcher cannot stop it."
I looked up. Dr. Voss met my gaze, her eyes wide. "Edmund's the Watcher, isn't he? The one who guards the Lighthouse. And he's… fallen."
A crash echoed from the observatory's basement.
We all froze.
"Stay here," I said, drawing the Astral Pocket Watch. Its hands, though cracked, still glowed with a faint blue light. I'd spent the night studying the Stellar Fragments—now splayed open on the altar, its pages filled with new illustrations: a man (me?) standing beneath a fractured sky, a line connecting his palm to a star.
I descended the basement stairs, the air growing colder with each step. At the bottom, I found the source of the noise: a brass door, its surface etched with runes, and beside it, a note—penned in Edmund's hand.
"Zhou—
You're too late. The Lighthouse has chosen me. The Watcher's power is mine now. The tide will rise, but I'll hold it back. For Lila. For you. For everyone. Don't try to stop me. Just… remember. The light is a gift. And a curse.
- E."
The door creaked open.
Beyond it lay a tunnel, its walls lined with glowing runes. At the end, a beam of white light pierced the darkness—the Lighthouse's beam.
And in the beam… Edmund.
He stood at the edge of a cliff, the void stretching out before him. His back was to me, but I could see the Lighthouse key glowing in his hand—a shard of obsidian, pulsing with dark energy.
"Edmund!" I yelled.
He turned. His face was pale, his eyes black voids, but there was a flicker of the man I knew beneath the corruption. "Zhou," he said. "You came."
"What are you doing?" I asked. "This isn't you."
He smiled, sad and tired. "It's me. The me who couldn't save Lila. The me who let the Leviathan in. The Lighthouse… it showed me the truth. The tide isn't an enemy. It's a messenger. And the Watcher… we're not guardians. We're prisoners. The Lighthouse traps us, feeds on our pain, and sends us back to fight. It's a cycle. A curse."
I stepped forward. "Let me help you. We can close the crack together."
He shook his head. "No. There's only one way to end this. To break the cycle. And it requires a sacrifice."
He held up the key. "The Lighthouse needs a Watcher. Someone to hold the gate. Someone to… become the light. I'm that someone now. But I need you to do one thing: destroy the key. So no one else can take my place."
I stared at the key. At Edmund. At the void beyond him, where the tide churned like a hungry beast.
"You're lying," I said. "The Lighthouse doesn't want to end the cycle. It wants to keep feeding."
Edmund's smile faded. "You're right. But this is the only way. For now."
He turned, walking toward the edge of the cliff.
"Edmund, wait—"
He stopped. Without looking back, he said, "Tell Claire I'm sorry. And tell her… the stars are still beautiful."
Then he stepped off the cliff.
Into the void.
The key clattered to the ground, its light fading to ash.
I lunged, but it was too late.
The void swallowed him.
And then… the Lighthouse beam dimmed.
The tide receded.
The stars outside blazed brighter than ever, their light sharp and cold, but alive.
Claire found me in the tunnel, my knees on the ground, the key in my hand. "He's gone," she said.
I nodded. "For now."
Elias and Dr. Voss joined us, their faces grave. "What now?" Elias asked.
I looked at the Stellar Fragments, now lying open on the tunnel floor. Its pages had shifted again, revealing a new illustration: a man (me?) standing beneath a fractured sky, a line connecting his palm to a star.
And beneath it, a caption: "The bridge is not a path. It is a key. And you… hold the key to the unmaking."
I closed the book.
"We rebuild," I said. "We strengthen the barrier. And we watch. Because the tide will rise again. And next time… we'll be ready."
Claire placed a hand on my shoulder. "You're going to burn out," she said. "You're already half-star."
I smiled. "Then we'll find another bridge."
Elias nodded. "The Night Owl Society has resources. Alchemists, engineers, mystics. We'll help."
Dr. Voss added, "And we'll find the other Watches. The ones who came before. Maybe they'll have answers."
I looked up at the observatory dome, where the stars now shone bright.
Somewhere, beyond the void, a lighthouse beam flickered.
But for now…
We'd won.