Chapter 253: Chapter 253: BONES ON THE SHORE

​Dawn on the southern coast arrived in silence, as if hesitant to disturb the oppressive stillness.

​In Iron Hearth, morning was always heralded by the shrill blast of factory whistles and the roar of engines splitting the sky. But here, there was only the sound of the surf—rhythmic, constant, like the tireless heartbeat of a titan. The air felt heavy and sticky with salt, while a low mist crept over the water’s surface, concealing whatever mysteries had washed ashore.

​Rianor was awake long before the first streak of orange touched the horizon. His notebook lay open on his lap, quill in hand, yet the tip remained suspended in mid-air. He sat in silence, letting his thoughts drift among the sea foam breaking in the distance.

​"Tsk. Not sleeping again?"

​Roland emerged from behind the tent flap, his hair a mess. Strangely, despite the grueling journey, he had already changed into a fresh, clean shirt—a diplomat’s natural talent for appearing presentable regardless of the circumstances.

​"I slept enough," Rianor replied flatly without looking back.

​"That isn’t a very convincing answer."

​"It’s the only one you’re getting."

​Roland let out a short snort and sat on a jagged rock beside his brother. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the sea begin to shimmer under the pale morning light.

​"How many days until we see the spires of Luminara?" Roland finally asked.

​"Three. Maybe four if the headwinds persist." Rianor closed his book with a soft thud.

​"And then? What’s the grand plan once we arrive?"

​Rianor adjusted his spectacles. "Hand over the data. Present the findings. Convince the elders that technology isn’t a monster destined to swallow them whole."

​"Just like that?" Roland arched an eyebrow. "Sounds awfully... mechanical."

​"Because it is that simple. It only becomes complicated because people prefer to nurture their fears rather than open their ears."

​The camp was dismantled with near-military efficiency. Dom and Adul were already on the driver’s bench, while Naya and Orva tightened the horses’ cinches. There was no needless chatter—everyone had memorized the rhythm of the road.

​They traveled along the desolate coastal path. To their left, limestone cliffs rose low, their surfaces eroded by millennia of wind. To the right, the leaden blue water stretched infinitely, merging with a sky that was beginning to turn white.

​Toward midday, the fresh scent of the sea shifted abruptly. A pungent, heavy stench of decay crept into their nostrils.

​"Gulp..." Adul swallowed hard, his face paling. "Something died up ahead."

​Roland immediately covered his nose with his sleeve. "Something? With a smell this foul... just how massive is this thing?"

​Rianor didn’t answer. His eyes were already fixed on a crowd in the distance—fishing villagers standing atop a sand dune, staring at something below with gestures of profound fear. Above them, hundreds of carrion birds circled, their black shadows dancing over the sand. The shrieks of the scavengers were piercing, almost deafening.

​Then, they saw it.

​A colossal skeleton lay rigid at the water’s edge, half-buried in the wet sand. The ribcage loomed high, arching upward like the collapsed pillars of a cathedral. The skull—or what was left of it—lay tilted, its empty eye sockets large enough for a carriage to pass through. Patches of remaining skin were pitch black, but not the black of natural rot. It was a charred, sooty black, as if the flesh had been roasted from the inside out.

​"Is this... the creature that merchant in Thornfield mentioned?" Roland whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

​Rianor hopped down from the carriage before Dom had even fully engaged the brake.

​The villagers watched the arrival of the foreign group with a mix of wonder and dread. About twenty people stood on the dunes, keeping a safe distance from the carcass. No one carried knives to harvest meat or bone. They simply stood frozen, while charms made of woven seaweed and fish bones hung from wooden poles staked around the perimeter.

​Rianor stepped past the line of charms without hesitation.

​"Stop! Don’t go any further!" a middle-aged woman shrieked. "That ground is cursed!"

​Rianor didn’t flinch. Roland gave a hand signal to calm the villagers—an assurance that the man in glasses knew what he was doing.

​The stench grew more piercing as Rianor approached. The creature had likely been dead for several days; only about a third of its flesh remained, picked clean by birds and crabs. However, it wasn’t the missing flesh that caught Rianor’s attention.

​It was the color.

​The skin clinging to the ribs was charred. There was no green or purple hue typical of decomposition. This was charcoal black.

​Rianor pulled a mana fluctuation meter from his pocket. The needle twitched softly. It wasn’t wild, but it was enough to indicate a presence. A very faint energy residue, nearly imperceptible to ordinary senses.

​"Residual energy. But the frequency isn’t conventional mana," Rianor murmured.

​He brought his Mana Glove close to the blackened skin. There was no heat reaction, yet the device on his left hand continued to vibrate—like a compass needle searching for its own pole.

​He immediately opened his notebook:

​Specimen: Giant marine creature (Unidentified Cetacean). Estimated length: 45 meters. Time of death: 5-7 days ago.

Findings: Skin blackened by internal pyrolysis—burned from the inside. Energy residue detected, non-mana. Cause of death: Massive internal trauma? Death occurred before beaching.

​"Did you find something?" Roland asked, standing beside him with his face still covered by a cloth.

​"Nothing certain," Rianor replied softly.

​"But?"

​Rianor stared at the giant ribs, his eyes narrowing behind his spectacles. "But this isn’t a natural death. Nature doesn’t char its victims from the inside out like this."

​An old man stepped forward. His skin was leathered by the sun, with wrinkles as deep as trenches in an old field. His eyes looked tired—the eyes of someone who had seen too much.

​"You should leave this place, sirs," his voice was raspy, weathered by salt and age. "This isn’t the first one."

​Rianor turned instantly. "Not the first?"

​"Three months ago, thousands of fish died, covering the sand like pebbles. Two months back, a giant squid the size of a landing ship washed up north. And now this," he gestured to the skeleton with his chin. "The sea is sick. That’s what the elders say."

​"You didn’t harvest it? The bone or the oil?" Roland asked.

​"For what? To eat the flesh of a creature killed by the sea’s wrath?" The old man shook his head vigorously. "It’s a sign. Something big is waking up down there."

​"Is there anything strange about the water?" Rianor asked, his fingers poised to write.

​The old man paused. "The color hasn’t changed. It still tastes of salt. But sometimes... in the dead of the quietest nights, the water feels warm. Not like it should be." He stared at the calm sea. "My grandson told me, ’Grandfather, the sea has a fever.’ Like there’s a fire burning at the very bottom."

​Rianor’s quill danced across the paper again.

​Local reports: Escalation pattern (Small fish → Giant squid → Megafauna). Thermal anomaly: Seawater warms at night. Hypothesis: Submarine tectonic activity or massive energy anomaly.

​Rianor closed his book. "Thank you, old man."

​The man stared at Rianor with a peculiar look. "You aren’t afraid?"

​"Should I be?"

​"Men like you are usually afraid of things they cannot know."

​Rianor looked at the giant bones one last time. "Precisely because I don’t know yet, I don’t have the time to be afraid."

​The old man let out a short, dry laugh—more like a cough. "You’re a strange one, sir."

​"I get that a lot."

​By late afternoon, the group had left the blood-stained beach far behind. The giant carcass was now just a small black speck in the distance before finally vanishing behind a limestone headland. The coast continued to stretch southeast, growing increasingly desolate and silent.

​Inside the carriage, Roland leaned against the vibrating wooden wall. "Do you believe him? About the ’sea having a fever’?"

​"I believe in the consistency of data," Rianor replied while re-checking his mana compass. "And the data suggests there is a thermal and energy anomaly in these southern waters."

​"But you’re still blind to the source?"

​"Exactly."

​"And that doesn’t worry you?"

​Rianor looked at his brother through the window’s reflection. "Precisely because it bothers me, I must keep recording. Eventually, all these small pieces will form a larger picture. I just need a little more time."

​Roland fell silent, listening to the waves chasing their carriage wheels.

​Rianor felt the pocket of his coat. The ancient mana compass was still vibrating softly. The needle didn’t point toward Luminara in the southeast. It remained faithfully pointed due south. Directly toward the mist-shrouded World’s End Mountains.

​"A fire at the bottom of the sea..." Rianor whispered to himself.

​He added one final line to his notes before tucking them away:

​Prediction: The source of the anomaly lies far to the south. Luminara is merely a stopover. The true objective likely lies beyond those mountains.

​The sun began to crawl toward the west, staining the sand the color of blood.

​Three days remaining until Luminara.