The wind carried something strange that night.
Not just salt or rain, but a sound—soft and distant, like a lullaby sung through water. Sela sat curled in her bed, blanket pulled to her chin, eyes wide despite the hour. She had heard it before. In dreams. In echoes along the shore. But never so clearly.
Never here , in her room.
She slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the window.
Outside, the sea shimmered under moonlight, but it wasn't the tide making the sound.
It was the house.
Or rather, what lay beneath it.
Sela had always known there were old things hidden in the walls—creaks that didn't match footsteps, whispers that came from nowhere and everywhere. Her mother said it was memory, settling into the bones of the place like dust. But now, with Elira's painting watching from the gallery, Sela understood.
The house remembered too.
And it was singing.
In the morning, she asked her grandmother about it.
Marina, who rarely flinched at anything, paused mid-pour over her tea.
"You heard it?" she asked carefully.
Sela nodded. "Like a song."
Marina set the teapot down slowly. "That means she's close."
Luna looked between them. "Elira?"
Marina met her daughter's gaze. "Yes. And if Sela can hear her… then the veil is thinning again."
Elias, who had been reading an old journal by the fire, closed it gently. "We need to go back to the tide pool chamber."
Luna frowned. "Why?"
"Because that's where Elira left her last song," Marina said. "Buried in the stone. Waiting for someone to remember how to listen."
The path to the chamber was slick with mist, the air thick with the scent of earth and sea. Sela walked ahead, her small boots tapping lightly against the damp rock. She felt no fear. Only curiosity. Like she was walking toward something she'd always known, even if she couldn't yet name it.
When they reached the entrance, the vines that usually draped across the opening were parted—as if expecting them.
Inside, the chamber pulsed with quiet energy.
The pools still held their reflections, though some had begun to dim. The pedestal at the center remained empty, its frame waiting. But Sela didn't stop there.
She went straight to the smallest pool—the one that had once shown her mother's reflection as a child.
Now, it showed nothing.
Just blackness.
Until she touched it.
A ripple spread outward, and suddenly, the silence cracked.
Music.
Soft at first, like breath on glass. Then stronger. A woman's voice, low and warm, weaving notes together in a language older than words.
Sela gasped.
"She's here," she whispered.
Marina stepped forward, tears already shining in her eyes. "Sing with her, Sela. If you can hear her, she can hear you."
Sela hesitated only a moment before kneeling beside the pool. She closed her eyes and let the melody guide her.
Her voice was small at first, uncertain. But as she sang, the darkness in the water began to shift.
Images formed.
A woman—Elira—standing in this very chamber, her arms wrapped around a bundle.
A child.
A boy.
His face blurred, but his laughter rang clear.
Then the vision changed.
Flames.
Ash.
A choice made in desperation.
Elira had not vanished.
She had given herself to the memory-keeping ritual—just like Isolde, just like Luna's mother.
But instead of becoming paint, she had become song .
And now, she was returning.
Through Sela.
Back at the house, Luna stood at the attic window, watching the storm roll in over the cliffs.
"She's starting to remember more than we ever could," she murmured.
Elias joined her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "She's not just remembering. She's creating."
Luna turned to him. "What do you mean?"
He smiled faintly. "You painted the past. Sela sings it. But I think… she might be the one to shape the future."
Before Luna could respond, a soft knock came from below.
They descended the stairs to find Marina sitting in the gallery, holding a small wooden box wrapped in faded red ribbon.
She looked up at them.
"It's time," she said quietly. "For Sela to have this."
Inside the box was a brush—smaller than Luna's, carved with symbols she recognized from the tide pool chamber.
And beside it, a silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
Luna's breath caught.
Marina looked at her granddaughter, who stood silently in the doorway, listening.
"This is where your story begins," Marina told her.
Sela stepped forward.
And took the brush.