Lila Fen waded out to the carved stone steps at the water's edge. She had built this place herself, stacking the slabs low so the drowned god would have somewhere to rise toward. Each night she came here to sing it back. Each night she feared the silence that would follow. She reached into her pocket and closed her hand around the scale. It was dull with old mud, but under the grime it still held a soft shimmer. She had found it years ago, half-buried, and kept it as proof that something down there was real. Tonight, before she could open her mouth, the sound came. Low. Wet. Closer than before. It rose through the mud out past the steps, where a small cone of earth had pushed up from the bog floor. Water bubbled at its peak in steady pulses, like breathing. Lila did not sing. She did not need to. The thing beneath had moved on its own. She waded toward the bubbling mound and pressed her palm flat against the wet earth. The pulse answered her hand. She pulled the scale from her pocket and laid it on the cone. The bubbling slowed, then steadied, matching the rhythm of her breath. Something below was awake now, and it knew she was here.