Descending through the twilight zone, the submersible’s halogen beams pierced the sapphire darkness. At three hundred meters, the seabed fell away into a sheer abyss.
Then the hull appeared. Massive, petrified hardwood outriggers spanned over sixty meters, adorned with brass carvings that gleamed beneath centuries of silt. It was an intact pre-colonial Karakoa flagship, preserved by the sulfur-rich waters of the underwater caldera.
“Impossible,” Aris muttered through the comms. “A vessel this size could carry three hundred warriors across the Pacific.”
“Look at the bow,” Clara whispered. Carved into the stern post was a celestial chart identical to the tattoo on her grandmother’s wrist.