The sea stayed calm.
That was the problem.
Kael noticed it before anyone said a word. The waves rolled in evenly, gentle enough that even the Watchers looked uneasy. No dark shapes beneath the surface. No sudden movements. No pressure shifts.
Just water.
Joren stood beside Kael on the outer wall, eyes narrowed. "I don't like this."
"Neither do I," Kael said.
Below them, patrol boats moved slowly, spaced farther apart than usual. Shields waited on the platforms, weapons ready but unused. No alarms. No horns.
Hours passed.
Nothing happened.
By midday, tension had replaced fear.
Venn couldn't stop talking.
"This is wrong," he muttered. "They don't just disappear. Drifters always test us after yesterday."
"Maybe they learned," another Watcher said.
"Or maybe something bigger's coming," Venn replied quickly.
That word—bigger—spread fast.
By afternoon, the rumors had names.
"They're saving strength," someone said near the water stores.
"Breakers don't move unless Anchors are nearby," another replied.
"That's not proven," Joren snapped when he heard it.
"Nothing's proven," Venn shot back. "That's the problem."
Kael listened but didn't speak.
The islanders' knowledge of the monsters was built on patterns, not truth. Drifters were fast. Breakers hit hard. Anchors changed everything.
That was all they knew.
And it wasn't enough.
Training that evening was shorter.
That alone unsettled people.
Master Rhen addressed the yard briefly.
"No sightings today," he said. "That doesn't mean safety. It means discipline."
Rask crossed his arms. "Or it means they're gone."
Rhen's eyes cut toward him. "Say that again."
Rask held the stare but said nothing.
After dismissal, the arguments began.
Kael found Tavian in the records hall, surrounded by open scrolls.
"You're not on Watch," Kael said.
"I was reassigned," Tavian replied without looking up. "Temporary."
"That's not good."
Tavian snorted. "Depends. I get access."
Kael frowned. "Access to what?"
"Old patrol notes," Tavian said. "Monster encounters that don't match our classifications."
Kael leaned closer. "Like what?"
Tavian hesitated. "Like sightings that didn't attack. Or attacks that stopped halfway through."
"That doesn't fit Drifters or Breakers," Kael said.
"Exactly."
Kael straightened. "Tell Rhen."
Tavian shook his head. "Already tried. He told me not to stir things up."
Kael clenched his jaw. "Then tell me."
Tavian met his eyes. "Something's wrong with how we think about them."
That night, the island felt smaller.
Lanterns stayed lit longer. Doors closed early. Conversations dropped when soldiers passed by.
Kael walked through the lower paths, feeling eyes on him.
Some were sympathetic.
Others weren't.
Rask leaned against a stone pillar near the barracks entrance.
"You hear?" Rask said casually.
Kael didn't stop. "About what."
"That Watcher freeze yesterday? People say if you'd acted, Olek wouldn't be on a bed right now."
Kael stopped.
Rask smiled faintly. "Funny how that works."
Kael turned slowly. "I followed orders."
"Sure," Rask said. "That's what cowards say when someone else pays."
Joren appeared from the shadows. "Enough."
Rask shrugged. "Just saying what others won't."
He pushed off the wall and walked away.
Kael stood still for a moment longer.
Then he kept moving.
The next morning came with fog.
Thick. Low. Rolling in from the sea.
Visibility dropped to almost nothing.
Watchers strained to see past the walls. Signals were delayed. Patrol boats moved closer together.
"Fog never comes like this," Venn whispered.
"It does," Joren said. "Rarely."
The silence pressed in again.
Hours passed.
No alarms.
No attacks.
Just fog.
That was worse.
Midday brought a council message.
All units were to remain in position. No advances. No independent action.
"Full defensive posture," Rhen announced. "No exceptions."
That order split the yard.
Some nodded in relief.
Others clenched their fists.
Mira approached Kael during the break.
"They're scared," she said.
"Of what?" Kael asked.
"Of being wrong."
Kael watched Rhen speaking quietly with a Warden. "So they freeze."
"Like the Watcher," Mira said softly.
Kael didn't answer.
By evening, the fog lifted.
The sea was still calm.
Too calm.
Tavian ran toward Kael from the records hall, breathless.
"I found something," he said.
"What?"
"A gap," Tavian replied. "Three days, decades ago. Same pattern. No sightings. No attacks. Then—"
He stopped.
"Then what?"
Tavian swallowed. "An Anchor appeared. Not near the shore. Far out. Everything changed after."
Kael felt a chill. "Did we record it?"
"Barely," Tavian said. "And half the notes were sealed."
Kael stared toward the sea.
"So silence comes first," he said.
"Yes."
They stood there, watching the water.
Waiting.
That night, Kael dreamed of standing on the shore alone.
The sea was flat. Endless.
No monsters.
No waves.
Just a pull.
He woke with his heart racing.
Outside, the island slept uneasily.
And far beneath the water, something shifted—not forward, not back.
Just enough to be noticed.
By dawn, the calm remained.
But no one believed in it anymore.
The quiet had done its damage.