The salt spray stung Elias’s face as he walked the cobbled streets towards the docks. The stench was worse here, a cloying mix of rotting fish, unwashed bodies, and something else… something acrid and indefinably wrong. The Grave Cough had claimed another dozen souls overnight, their racked bodies carted away on rickety wagons, destined for the mass graves outside the city walls. But the disease, as horrific as it was, felt… incomplete. It didn’t explain the groans. It didn’t explain the unsettling feeling of dread that had settled over Aethelburg like a shroud.

He had come to the docks to speak with the fishermen. They were the eyes and ears of the sea, the first to notice subtle changes in the currents, the tides, the behaviour of the marine life. And lately, the fishermen had been talking. Whispering, more like, in hushed tones, about something monstrous lurking beneath the waves.

He found them huddled around a sputtering brazier, mending nets with grim faces. The usual boisterous camaraderie was gone, replaced by a nervous tension that crackled in the air. Elias recognized old Finn, his face weathered like driftwood, a pipe clenched tight between his teeth.

“Finn,” Elias began, his voice hoarse from the ever-present dust. “I need to ask you about… the rumors.”

Finn looked up, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He spat a wad of tobacco juice onto the dock planks. “Rumors? I don’t know anything about rumors, doctor.”

Elias sighed. He was no longer a doctor, not really. He was a scavenger, a survivor, just like them. But the old habits of observation and deduction died hard. “The stories about something… large… in the sea. I hear you’ve seen something.”

The other fishermen exchanged glances. One, a young man with perpetually sea-chapped lips, finally spoke. “It’s not just stories, doctor. We’ve seen it. Some of us, anyway.”

“Tell me,” Elias urged.

Hesitantly, Finn began to speak. “The first time, it was just a glimpse. A shadow, deep down. Bigger than any whale. Bigger than any ship.” He paused, swallowing hard. “We thought it was our eyes playing tricks on us. The light’s been strange lately, all distorted and murky.”

“And then?” Elias pressed.

“Then it started happening more often. More and more of us started seeing it. Always deep down, always just a shadow. But you could feel it, doctor. A… a weight in the water. Like something ancient and immense was stirring.”

The young fisherman added, “Yesterday, old man Hemmings, he saw it rise. Not all the way, just a part of it. He wouldn’t say what it was, just kept screaming about ‘eyes’ and ‘teeth’ and then went mad. They had to tie him down.”

Elias felt a chill crawl down his spine. He was a man of science, a man who relied on logic and reason. But the descriptions, the palpable fear in the fishermen’s voices, it was unsettling.

“Have you seen anything else unusual?” he asked. “Anything washed ashore?”

Finn nodded grimly. “That’s the worst part. The fish… they’re all wrong.”

He led Elias to a secluded part of the docks, away from the other activity. There, lying on the stones, was a pile of discarded fish. But these were not the cod and herring that usually filled the nets. These were… abominations.

One was a cod, but its skin was slick and black, covered in grotesque pustules. Its fins were elongated and misshapen, ending in sharp, claw-like points. Its eyes were milky white and vacant.

Another was a crab, but its shell was cracked and peeling, revealing pulsating, raw flesh beneath. Its claws were oversized and dripping with a viscous, green fluid.

Elias knelt down, examining the creatures with a growing sense of horror. He prodded at the cod with a stick. The flesh was soft and yielding, almost… rotten.

“What happened to them?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“We don’t know,” Finn said, shaking his head. “They just started appearing in the nets. More and more of them every day. No one wants to buy them, not that anyone can afford to buy fish these days anyway.”

Elias stood up, his mind reeling. This wasn’t just a plague, this was something else entirely. The Grave Cough was claiming lives on land, but whatever was happening in the sea was warping and twisting life itself.

He looked out at the grey, churning waves, a sense of unease settling deep in his gut. He remembered the unsettling groans that echoed across the city, the groans he had initially dismissed as the lamentations of the despairing. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Could they be coming from the sea? Could they be the breath of this… Leviathan?

He needed to know more. He needed to understand what was happening to Aethelburg, before it was too late.

He thanked the fishermen and turned to leave, a new sense of purpose driving him. He needed to find someone who knew more about the sea, someone who understood the ancient mysteries that lay hidden beneath its waves.

His thoughts turned to old Martha, a recluse who lived in a crumbling shack on the cliffs overlooking the North Sea. She was considered a madwoman by most, a relic of a forgotten age, but she possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of local folklore and legends. She spoke of sea gods and ancient rituals, of creatures that dwelled in the deep and held sway over the tides.

Elias had always dismissed her stories as the ramblings of a senile old woman. But now, in the face of the impossible, he was willing to listen.

He found Martha sitting on a weathered stool outside her shack, staring out at the sea with vacant eyes. The shack was little more than a pile of driftwood and scavenged tarpaulins, but it somehow stood defiant against the relentless wind.

“Martha,” Elias said, approaching her cautiously. “It’s Elias Thorne. I need to ask you something.”

Martha didn’t acknowledge him at first. She just continued to stare out at the sea, her face etched with wrinkles that told a thousand stories.

“The sea is angry,” she finally croaked, her voice raspy and thin. “It is waking.”

“Waking?” Elias asked. “What is waking, Martha?”

“The Leviathan,” she whispered, her eyes finally focusing on him. “The ancient one. The one that sleeps beneath the waves. It is stirring.”

Elias felt a shiver run down his spine. He had hoped she would have some logical explanation, some rational understanding of the events unfolding. But instead, she spoke of mythical beasts and ancient prophecies.

“Leviathan?” he asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice. “That’s just a legend, Martha.”

“Legends are born from truth, boy,” she rasped. “Don’t you see? The plagues, the groans, the mutated creatures… it’s all a sign. The Leviathan is awakening. And when it fully awakens, Aethelburg will be swallowed by the sea.”

Elias wanted to dismiss her words as madness, but the fear in her eyes was undeniable. He had seen that same fear in the eyes of the fishermen, in the eyes of the dying.

“Is there anything that can be done?” he asked. “Anything to stop it?”

Martha shook her head slowly. “It is too late. The seals have been broken. The rituals have been forgotten. There is nothing left but to wait for the end.”

Elias refused to accept that. He had seen enough death and despair. He would not stand idly by while Aethelburg was consumed by madness and the sea.

“There must be something,” he insisted. “Some way to fight back.”

Martha hesitated, then reached into the folds of her tattered dress and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. The pages were yellowed and brittle, the ink faded with age.

“This was passed down through my family,” she said, handing him the book. “It contains fragments of forgotten lore, whispers of ancient rituals. Maybe… maybe there is something in here that can help you. But be warned, boy. Knowledge comes at a price. And some knowledge is better left buried.”

Elias took the book, his fingers trembling. He didn’t know what he would find within its pages, but he knew that he had to try. He had to find a way to save Aethelburg, even if it meant delving into the darkest depths of forgotten lore.

He thanked Martha and turned to leave, the book clutched tightly in his hand. As he walked away, he heard Martha’s voice calling after him.

“Beware the Deep Ones, boy,” she croaked. “They serve the Leviathan. They are the harbingers of its wrath.”

Elias didn’t stop. He didn’t dare look back. He had a book to read, a city to save, and a growing suspicion that the nightmare had only just begun. The grotesque fish, the monstrous shadow, the mad ravings - they were all connected. The Grave Cough was just one piece of the puzzle, a terrifying symptom of something far, far more sinister stirring in the depths. And he, Elias Thorne, was now caught in its wake.