It became a minor geopolitical storm, a headline that made their tiny community suddenly visible on the world stage. But none of that mattered in the moment. On the shore that night, all that remained was the memory of the black hull rising like a leviathan, and the uneasy truth that the village had not been cursed by some ancient sea spirit, but brushed against the hidden games of nations.
Erik lingered long after the others left. Vindication warmed him, but unease lingered deeper. The sea had always been dangerous, but it had been wild, natural, something he could understand. Now he knew better. There were machines beneath it, bigger than any whale, silent until they chose not to be. And that, he thought grimly, was its own kind of monster.