The air on Aethel tasted of salt, old stone, and an electric hum Elara Vance couldn't quite place. It wasn't the smell of decay, nor the artificial pine of the mainland's sealed arcologies, but something else entirely—raw, ancient, and slightly dangerous.
Elara stepped off the rusted ramp of the Gull, her boots clanking on the metal dock. The island, a jagged tooth of rock jutting from the turbulent, gray ocean, was shrouded in a perpetual, thick fog that muted the world. Behind her, the Gull's engine whined, preparing for its immediate return journey. Transport here was strictly one-way for the new arrivals.
"Elara Vance, I presume?"
The voice was rough, like gravel on slate. Elara turned to see a man leaning against the dock office, a small, square building that looked barely more substantial than a shipping container. He was tall and broad, wrapped in layers of oilskin and wool. His eyes, the color of the same gray sea, fixed on her with an intensity that made her pause.
"Yes, and you must be Kael," Elara said, tightening her grip on her data-slate.
"The research grant specified a full mapping of the interior energy source," Elara stated, trying to maintain her professional demeanor in the face of his unwelcoming attitude.
"The grant doesn't know everything," Kael said, turning towards the winding, rocky path leading inland. "We live here with the echoes, Dr. Vance. We don't exploit them."
As they began the ascent, the monolithic Lighthouse of the Whispering Sands loomed out of the mist, not with a comforting beam, but a soft, constant glow of pale blue light. The hum in the air grew louder, a deep, resonant chord that seemed to vibrate in Elara’s very bones. This was no ordinary energy source, and this was no ordinary island. Her mapping project had just become a quest.
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