The voice called again that night.
Soft at first—like wind through sea grass. Then louder, clearer, threading itself into Sela's dreams like a melody she had always known but never heard before.
She woke in her bed with salt on her tongue and moonlight pooling across the floorboards.
Not rainwater.
Not tears.
Something older.
Something remembered .
She slipped from beneath the covers and padded barefoot down the stairs, careful not to wake her parents or grandmother. The house was quiet, but not empty. Shadows moved in the corners of her vision—faint flickers, like candlelight caught in glass.
She paused at the gallery door.
It was open.
And the painting of Elira was gone.
In its place, only a single line remained, etched faintly into the canvas:
"Follow the tide when it sings back."
Sela stepped outside.
The sea whispered.
By the time she reached the cliffs, the tide had pulled far out, revealing jagged rocks and deep pools that usually remained hidden beneath the waves. The wind carried something strange tonight—not just salt, but music.
A song sung in a language no one spoke anymore.
She followed it.
Down the worn path, past the tide pool chamber, beyond the lighthouse ruins—until she reached a stretch of shore where the sand gave way to stone.
There, half-buried in the earth, stood a doorway.
Not built, but grown —stone carved with spirals and crescents, symbols she recognized from the brush in her hand. Vines curled around its edges, thick with salt-crusted leaves. And at its center, a single silver keyhole shaped like a crescent moon.
Just like the pendant at her throat.
She hesitated only a moment before pressing the necklace against the lock.
A low hum filled the air.
Then, with a sound like waves breaking against stone, the door opened.
Inside, the world shifted.
The space beyond the threshold was vast and silent, lit by bioluminescent moss clinging to walls that curved like the inside of a shell. The air smelled of old sea air and forgotten stories. At the center of the cavern stood a pool unlike any other—its surface still as glass, yet glowing faintly with light that came from nowhere.
Sela approached slowly.
As she neared, the water stirred.
Reflections formed—not of her face, but of moments. A woman singing beside a fire. A girl running through storm-lit streets. A boy standing at the edge of a cliff, calling a name she couldn't hear clearly.
Then, a voice rose from the depths.
Not singing this time.
Speaking.
"You have awakened the gate."
Sela turned sharply.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Tall. Cloaked in flowing fabric that shimmered like oil on water. Their face was obscured, but their eyes gleamed with recognition.
"You are the Songkeeper," the figure said. "And the past remembers you."
Sela swallowed hard. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted their head. "A keeper of what lies beyond."
She glanced at the pool. "Beyond… where?"
"The Other Side."
Her pulse quickened. "Where did my great-great-grandmother go?"
The figure smiled faintly. "She did not leave. She crossed . As all Rememberers must."
Sela looked down at her brush. At the pendant. At the door behind her.
"I don't want to cross," she whispered. "I want to stay here. With my family."
The figure studied her for a long moment.
"There is a choice," they said finally. "To remember is to keep the past alive. But to sing the final verse is to become part of it."
Sela frowned. "What happens if I do?"
"You will return," the figure said gently. "But not as you are now. As something more."
She thought of her mother's paintings. Of Elias' quiet wisdom. Of Marina's stories whispered by firelight.
Of the life she had built here.
She looked up.
"I'm not ready."
The figure nodded. "Then the gate will wait."
They raised a hand.
The pool darkened.
The cavern grew still.
The door behind her began to close.
But before it vanished completely, the figure spoke once more:
"When your song is done, we will be waiting."
And then, silence.
Back at the house, Luna sat bolt upright in bed.
Elias stirred beside her.
"She's back," he murmured, already reaching for his boots.
Luna didn't ask how he knew.
She just knew he was right.
Downstairs, they found Sela curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, staring into the fire.
Marina sat beside her, holding her hand.
"What happened?" Luna asked softly.
Sela looked up.
"I saw the gate," she whispered. "And someone who knew me."
Luna knelt in front of her. "Did they tell you what comes next?"
Sela shook her head. "Only that I get to choose."
Elias exhaled slowly. "That's more than most ever get."
Sela leaned into Marina's side, her small fingers tightening around the brush.
"I'm not going yet," she said firmly. "I still have things to paint. To sing. To remember."
Marina kissed the top of her head. "Then we'll make sure every moment counts."
Outside, the storm had passed.
Dawn broke over the sea.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, the gate waited.
Patient.
Silent.
Still singing.