Beneath the Quiet Surface

Previously

…As we emerged from the ruins, the moon, a sliver of bone in the inky sky, offered little light. The world outside felt vast and unforgiving. The journal, tucked safely into my satchel, felt like a beacon, a promise, and a terrible burden. The Obsidian Hand was out there, a predator hunting its prey. But I was no longer entirely lost. I had a map, a guide, and a growing, terrifying suspicion that the quiet surface of my life was about to be irrevocably shattered. The Archivist had left a legacy, and it was now my destiny to fulfill it, come what may.