The salt air of Aethelos was usually a comfort to Aris, a reminder of the sea’s vast indifference to the petty dramas of men. But today, the air tasted of sulfur and heated copper. He stood on the edge of the jagged cliffs, looking down at the harbor where the Sentinel stood. Even after a thousand years of salt spray and neglect, the bronze giant was magnificent. It stood knee-deep in the azure water, its head bowed as if in eternal prayer, one hand outstretched toward the horizon.
To the people of Aethelos, it was a god. To Aris, it was the greatest machine ever conceived—a masterpiece of gears, pistons, and “Aether-steam” that his father had spent a lifetime trying to understand.
A low, guttural vibration hummed through the soles of Aris’s worn leather sandals. It wasn’t the roar of a storm or the crash of a wave. It was the island itself, groaning under the weight of the sea. The white marble temples of the upper city had already begun to spider-web with cracks.
“It’s happening faster than he predicted,” Aris whispered to the wind.
He reached into his tunic and pulled out a heavy, spherical object made of dark, unpolished bronze. It was the Heart-Key, the only thing his father had left him besides a name synonymous with treason. The sphere felt warm, its internal clockwork ticking with a rhythmic, heartbeat-like cadence that seemed to sync with the tremors of the earth.
“Aris! You shouldn’t be up here!”
He turned to see Elara, a woman whose skin was tanned to the color of polished mahogany from years on the decks of trade galleys. She was one of the few who still spoke to him, mostly because she valued his skill at repairing navigational instruments over the rumors of the priesthood.
“The priests are calling for a sacrifice, Aris,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed fear. “Malakor claims the Sea-God is angry because of ‘tinkers and heretics.’ They’re looking for you.”
“Malakor wouldn’t know a god if it stepped on him,” Aris spat, his eyes returning to the Sentinel. “The island is sinking because the volcanic shelf is collapsing. The Sentinel isn’t a statue, Elara. It’s a stabilizer. It was built to anchor the tectonic plates of this caldera. But the fires in its belly went out centuries ago.”
“You talk as if it’s a ship,” Elara said, stepping closer. She looked at the giant. “It’s a mountain of bronze. How can a man bring a mountain back to life?”
“With the right spark,” Aris said, holding up the Heart-Key. “My father died trying to find the access port in the Sentinel’s heel. He was executed for ‘desecrating’ the god. But he found it, Elara. I have his journals. If I can get inside, I can restart the Aether-cores. We can lift the island.”
Another tremor shook the cliff, more violent than the last. A section of the coastal road crumbled into the sea with a deafening roar. In the distance, the Great Volcano, the ‘Eye of Aethelos,’ belched a column of black ash into the clear blue sky.
“The priesthood will kill you before you reach the harbor,” Elara warned.
“Then we don’t go through the harbor,” Aris said, a grim smile touching his lips. “We go through the Submerged Vaults. And I’m going to need the fastest diver in the archipelago. Are you in, or would you rather wait for the magma to boil the sea?”
Elara looked at the smoking mountain, then at the man the city called a traitor. She spat on her palm and held it out. “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a god.”