The island felt vacant.

Where there had once been a lively hum of life, there was now a reverent silence as the townspeople watched the rain fall from the warmth of their doorways. Storms were a rare thing in Claybay, and while people avoided going out in them—all that wet clay made a mess of things, made things too slippery and dangerous—some respect was held. Nature, and the island’s affection for it. 

Even Wynona felt its strange, cleansing power as she wove through town, a shadow in the spitting rain, though the serenity of the calm before the storm was quickly disturbed. Voices carried from down by the central bay. Their tone was cutting, unfamiliar. 

As she passed, expecting to see some fisherman hauling their final catch onto the boards, her body hesitated, rigid with curiosity. 

The scent of metal in the rain, of oil and machinery, filled the bay, where a dozen boats were docked, precise and identical. People in official-looking uniforms—some black and sleek and waterproof, others light grey, darkening in the rain—barked orders and ran about, helping to lower a multitude of mechs into the shallow water. Wynona had seen mechs pictured in her father’s books, and in magazines and newspapers. They were the primary vehicles for the Sea Monster Slayers: massive machines that mimicked human movement, equipped with weapons beyond her wildest dreams. Those things, she knew, could kill a sea monster with a single cleave.

Wynona thought of what the women had said that afternoon, with their armfuls of clay. “They’re following Pelican,” they’d said. “Where the storm goes, the Slayers go.”

Her heart flickered in her chest, unsure as she turned away from them. 

Pelican was coming. That, she was certain of, but by the looks of the storm, it was still a ways off. The window was small, but there was still time to dive. It would be dangerous. Swimming in a storm always came with some risk, but she needed to do it, not for any other reason other than she needed desperately to clear her mind. Even when faced with the unpredictability of the sea, this was the only thing she felt was hers, the only thing within her control. 

Her spot on the plateau was graciously empty. The dock was clear. No women. No pointed comments. Even the water seemed to welcome her, dark but still calm enough to enter without being crushed back against the rocks. 

Wyn quickly shuffled out of her overclothes, wrapped her net around her fist, and pulled her thick goggles down over her eyes. Faced with the ocean, it was like her body couldn’t keep itself from connecting. 

With a deep breath, a thrill ignited in her chest like a wick set aflame. She took a running jump off the shallow cliff, piercing the sea with an effortless dive. 

Where most people on Claybay had lives full of friends and families and understanding, Wynona had diving. And she was good at it, more capable than any other on the island, bested perhaps by only her mother. Underwater, the world was quiet and endless and ancient. Uncomplicated.

She felt the tide pass through her as she swam, what was left of the sunlight petering off as she went deeper. 

With some concentration, Wynona focused her energy on her hands. Faintly, a soft white-blue light diffused through the darkness around her. 

Her fingers vibrated gently with its power, so easy to command, such a familiar part of her. It had always been like this. She’d heard of others like her, able to reach into the ether and command a resonant kind of magic without the help of a gauntlet, but Wynona had never known another like her. At least, not on Claybay. 

Her body wove expertly between the stones, her glowing hand skimming along the stiffly-packed clay. With some concentration, she felt what was hidden within the dirt: shells and stones and scuttling little crustaceans. Nothing of consequence. But up ahead, there was a neat little trap, a crook in the clay where things had a way of getting stuck. Her favorite spot. 

She eased herself through a split in the clay, and came up on the other side, gasping for air in a little cavern. The tide inside was higher than usual, but no cause for panic. She’d be in and out of there in no time. 

Feeling over the bumps and instructions, anomalies sent back reverberations. Her mother used to call her a “human metal detector” whenever she’d pick out stray coins buried in the clay at the beach. The memory made her smile, just a little, before a bittersweetness swoll up in her chest. 

Shaking it away, Wynona refocused her attention, sensing something. It wasn’t shell-shaped, and it wasn’t alive. Promising enough. Steadily, she blew air out her nose, the world narrowing down to the thing embedded in the clay. For a silent moment, the world was nothing but her and this mystery. The light from her hand began to intensify, the vibration becoming more powerful until finally, with a muffled suctioning noise, the thing popped out of the clay, throwing itself into Wynona’s hand.

Resurfacing, she held it up to her goggles, grinning. It was a lamp. No bulb or shade, obviously, but still in pretty good condition. And old, by the looks of it. It’d fetch a nice price in town, once she cleaned it up. Wyn tucked it into her net, sucked in a breath, and went back to work.

The ocean and its ways were mysterious. What was even more mysterious was the amount of junk people dumped in it. A lamp wasn’t the strangest thing she’d found, not even close—the absolute strangest thing was a pair of perfectly-preserved dentures with two faux gold teeth and an inscription on the backside that read Life’s A Beach—but the lamp was her best find of the day. After picking out some interesting stones, a child’s figurine of the great beast Borealis, and some chunks of scrap metal, the water was getting rougher. Her signal to leave. 

Wynona swam against the push and pull, through the mounds of clay, but froze suddenly. 

The ocean was a noisy place, full of life—but one noise in particular caught her ear. It was impossible to miss, a shuddering drone whose source was invisible, lurking beyond where her hand’s light could reach.

Wyn lowered herself behind the stone, watching the dark. Waiting for some sign of movement. Her heart pulsed in her ears, so hard and loud she could feel it. But she didn’t dare move, waiting for the sound to come again.

And the sound did come. But something far more terrifying came before it: 

There, through the twilight of the water, something moved. A behemoth shadow.