B: The Whispering Coral
The sea was too quiet. That was the first thing Calista noticed as their skiff cut through the shallows of the Crescent Reach, nearing the structure Taye had called "The Whispering Coral."
She had expected gulls, the lap of waves, the howl of wind—but all she heard was the muffled thud of water against hull and the distant hum of something ancient, something alive. Not just alive, but listening.
The trench appeared out of the fog like a wound in the sea—an elliptical chasm of pale coral ridges glowing with inner light. The shapes were unnatural, too symmetrical to be made by currents or time. Coral should not shimmer like bone.
Calista jumped down from the skiff first. Her boots sank an inch into the strange surface—it wasn’t dry, but it wasn’t wet either. The coral felt spongy, pulsing faintly beneath her soles like it had a heartbeat.
"This place gives me stomach knots," Taye muttered as he tied the boat. "You sure this is where the compass led?"
"It hasn’t s
