The violet current carried them to the edge of the valley, where the light thinned and the water grew still.
Too still.
The glow softened until it felt hushed, reverent. Massive stone arches rose from the seafloor, draped in slow-moving moss that glimmered faintly like starlight caught in sleep.
Gilbert felt it immediately.
“This place is… guarded,” he whispered.
Bip nodded solemnly, then accidentally swam into a hanging vine and got gently tangled. Gilbert freed him with a smile, but his nerves prickled.
At the center of the arches floated a figure.
Tall and translucent, shaped vaguely like an eel made of moonlight and mist, the creature’s body shifted constantly — sometimes solid, sometimes barely there. Ancient symbols glowed along its form.
Its voice didn’t echo.
It settled.
“Little seeker,” it said. “Why do you pass through places that listen?”
Gilbert swallowed but held his ground. “I’m looking for the Lost Lagoon of Lumina.”
The creature regarded him silently.
“Many look,” it said at last. “Few are ready.”
Bip puffed up bravely and chirped, planting himself in front of Gilbert.
The Keeper’s glow softened.
“You are afraid,” it said, not unkindly.
“Yes,” Gilbert admitted. “But I’m still swimming.”
That seemed to matter.
The Keeper drifted aside, revealing a narrow passage beyond the arches — darker than anything they’d seen yet, but threaded with a faint, steady glow far in the distance.
“This path does not test strength,” the Keeper said. “Only intention.”
Gilbert nodded. “Then I think we can do that.”
Bip struck a heroic pose.
The Keeper inclined its head. “Go gently. The lagoon draws nearer.”
As Gilbert and Bip swam into the passage, the light behind them faded — not as a warning, but as a promise kept.
The journey had changed now.
Not because the world was dangerous.
But because it was paying attention.
And Gilbert was no longer just following curiosity.
He was choosing it.