The sea was restless that evening.
Dark clouds drifted across the horizon.
The setting sun painted the ocean in shades of crimson and gold.
Far below the cliffside.
Waves crashed endlessly against black stone.
The sound echoed through the air like ancient whispers.
Kel stood at the edge of the cliff.
His black cloak fluttered behind him.
Golden eyes quietly examined the structure before him.
An old manor.
Ancient.
Silent.
Forgotten.
The building overlooked the sea from atop the highest cliff on the island.
Massive stone walls remained standing despite centuries of storms.
Broken windows reflected fragments of dying sunlight.
Vines crawled across weathered walls.
Nature slowly reclaimed what humanity abandoned.
Inside his mind.
Seiren spoke softly.
"This place feels depressing."
"A fitting location."
"For what?"
"The story."
The Guardian glanced through his senses once more.
The abandoned manor certainly matched the atmosphere.
A noblewoman.
A tragic romance.
A betrayal.
Death.
The setting practically screamed legend.
Or fabrication.
Possibly both.
Kel slowly approached the entrance.
The rusted iron gate hung crookedly.
Its hinges groaned softly whenever the wind pushed against it.
No guards.
No servants.
No signs of life.
Only silence.
The silver-haired youth stepped forward.
Crunch.
Dead leaves broke beneath his boots.
The courtyard appeared frozen in time.
Ancient statues stood among overgrown weeds.
A dried fountain occupied the center.
Cracked stone pathways disappeared beneath moss.
Inside his mind.
Seiren suddenly spoke.
"The noblewoman supposedly lived here?"
"According to the story."
"And this is where she betrayed the fisherman?"
"According to one version."
The Guardian laughed.
"I hate these stories."
"Why?"
"Because every version changes."
Kel nodded.
That was precisely the problem.
The fisherman story alone had at least seventeen recorded versions.
Seventeen.
Each claiming authenticity.
Each contradicting the others.
One version described betrayal.
Another described sacrifice.
Another described revenge.
One even claimed the fisherman was secretly a prince.
That version was particularly ridiculous.
Kel entered the manor.
The heavy wooden doors resisted slightly before opening.
Dust filled the air.
Ancient furniture remained scattered throughout the entrance hall.
Portraits covered the walls.
Most had faded beyond recognition.
Moonlight entered through broken windows.
Creating long shadows.
The atmosphere felt eerie.
Not because of ghosts.
Because of history.
History abandoned.
Kel slowly explored room after room.
The library.
The dining hall.
The guest chambers.
The study.
Most contained nothing.
Just dust.
Decay.
And silence.
Then.
He found something interesting.
An old journal.
Hidden inside a locked cabinet.
The lock had long since rusted away.
Kel sat near a window.
Moonlight illuminating yellow pages.
The handwriting was elegant.
Beautiful.
Clearly noble.
And surprisingly well preserved.
Inside his mind.
Seiren immediately became curious.
"What does it say?"
Kel began reading.
The first pages described daily life.
Garden maintenance.
Tea gatherings.
Family affairs.
Political marriages.
Boring.
Very boring.
Then.
Several pages later.
A name appeared repeatedly.
Marianne Valmont.
The noblewoman.
The supposed betrayer.
Seiren immediately leaned closer.
"Interesting."
Kel continued reading.
The entries gradually changed.
From ordinary observations.
To personal thoughts.
Then emotions.
Then grief.
A lot of grief.
The further he read.
The more confused he became.
Because nothing matched the fisherman story.
Absolutely nothing.
According to the journal.
Marianne was not betrayed by a fisherman.
Nor did she betray one.
Instead.
Something far stranger happened.
Kel turned another page.
The journal entry was stained.
Possibly by tears.
The handwriting had become uneven.
Shaking.
Emotional.
He read silently.
Then stopped.
Inside his mind.
Seiren blinked.
"Wait."
A pause.
"What?"
Kel reread the paragraph.
Then sighed.
"Apparently."
A pause.
"The man she loved ran away."
"With another woman?"
"Yes."
The Guardian frowned.
That wasn't unusual.
Tragic.
But not unusual.
Then Kel continued.
"Her sister."
Silence.
Seiren froze.
The Guardian processed the information.
Then froze harder.
"...what?"
Kel turned the journal toward moonlight.
Making sure he hadn't misread.
Unfortunately.
He hadn't.
The words remained exactly the same.
The noblewoman's lover had apparently eloped with her younger sister.
And according to later entries—
The younger sister became pregnant.
The silence inside the soul bond lasted nearly thirty seconds.
Then—
Seiren burst into laughter.
Uncontrollable laughter.
Ancient.
Powerful.
Divine laughter.
"THIS STORY BECAME A FISHERMAN MONSTER LEGEND?!"
Kel rubbed his forehead.
"Apparently."
The Guardian laughed even harder.
"How?"
"Humanity."
That single word explained everything.
Eventually.
Seiren calmed down.
A little.
Not completely.
The Guardian still sounded amused.
"So let me understand."
A pause.
"The original story is..."
Another pause.
"A man abandoning one sister and running away with the other?"
"Seems so."
"And somehow centuries later..."
"...he becomes an ocean monster."
Silence followed.
Then both of them simultaneously concluded:
Human storytellers were dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Kel continued reading.
The journal described Marianne's decline.
Her heartbreak.
Her isolation.
Her growing despair.
Eventually.
She stopped writing entirely.
The final pages remained blank.
No conclusion.
No explanation.
No ending.
Just emptiness.
The silver-haired youth closed the journal.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Because something still bothered him.
A lot.
Inside his mind.
Seiren noticed immediately.
"You found another problem."
"Several."
The Guardian sighed.
Naturally.
Kel stood.
Walking toward the large window overlooking the ocean.
Moonlight illuminated endless waves.
The same sea visible centuries ago.
The same sea visible today.
The same sea connected to Leviathans.
Connected to the strange observer.
Connected to the ancient myth.
Then he spoke.
"The journal feels authentic."
"Agreed."
"The grief feels genuine."
"Agreed."
"The details are believable."
"Agreed."
Kel looked toward the horizon.
"Which means somebody replaced the original story."
Silence.
The Guardian immediately understood.
Because that was exactly what happened.
The fisherman monster story wasn't the original legend.
It was a replacement.
A rewritten version.
A fabricated version.
The question was—
Why?
Who benefited from changing the story?
Who gained something by transforming a family tragedy into a monster legend?
And perhaps more importantly—
Why preserve the location?
The manor remained.
The cliff remained.
The ocean remained.
The storyteller changed everything.
Except the geography.
Inside his mind.
Seiren spoke quietly.
"Because the location matters."
Kel nodded.
"Exactly."
For the first time that night.
The abandoned manor no longer felt like the end of an investigation.
It felt like the beginning.
Because somewhere between the original tragedy and the fabricated myth—
Someone had hidden the truth.
And Kel had just uncovered the first layer.
Far beyond the cliff.
Beyond the dark ocean.
Beyond the horizon.
Something unseen continued watching.
Waiting.
As the pieces of an ancient puzzle slowly began falling into place.