A Letter to Sarah: The Sea is Calling

LAST DISPATCH: ARCHIE'S FARM

RECOVERED FROM A SEALED GLASS BOTTLE, SOLOMON ISLAND

Sarah, my love,

If you're reading this, the Fog has finally taken the house. I can hear them outside—the Draug. They aren't just fish-men, Sarah. They’re the ghosts of every sailor who ever died wishing for home. And they’re so very, very hungry.

The Polaris is calling. I can feel the vibration in the floorboards. It’s the Ur-Draug. It’s not just a monster; it’s a gravity. It pulls at the salt in my blood. I tried to stay, I really did. I even lit the old hurricane lamp, but the light just turned green and started to smell like rot.

"The sea doesn't want our prayers. It wants our silence. It wants us to walk into the surf and forget we ever had names."

Don't come looking for me. Stay in the cellar. Keep the salt circles tight. The bees told me you’d be safe if you didn't look at the moon. I’m going to the harbor now. I have to see what’s at the center of the Fog. I think it’s beautiful, in a horrible, wet sort of way.

Goodbye, Sarah. I’ll see you in the dreams of the deep.

— Yours always, Elias.

Templar's Last Stand

To My Dearest Eleanor,

If you are reading this, then the gate has fallen, and my watch is ended. Do not mourn. This is the price of our creed, a cost I have always been prepared to pay. The air here is thin and tastes of ozone. The stone beneath my feet is cold, a constant reminder of the world we protect.

From the chasm, I can hear them. It is not a sound one can describe; it is a chorus of splintering geometries, a song that unravels the mind. There are three of us left. Three lions against a tide of impossibility. We have barricaded the archway with memories and lit the brazier with our last hopes. It will have to be enough.

I only regret that I will not see the roses in our London garden bloom again. Tell them I died well. Tell them I died standing. An army of light against the dark.

Yours, forever in service,
- Richard

(Recovered from a sealed pouch, Agartha LZ. Note was cold to the touch.)

The Last Letter

A Final Accounting

My Dearest Eleanor,

If you are reading this, then the mission was a success, and I have paid the toll. Do not mourn. We are Templars; we know the price of peace, and we pay it with unflinching hearts. The gate is sealed. The music has stopped. I can no longer hear her whispers from the other side, and for that, I am grateful. It is quiet now, a silence earned by blade and blood.

I leave you my signet. Wear it not as a reminder of my absence, but as a testament to our purpose. Remember our vows, spoken in the shadow of the sword. *Lux Vult.* Light Wills It. It always has. It always will.

I feel the last of my strength failing. The world grows dim, but I see a new light dawning, the one we fought for. It is beautiful.

Yours in service, always,
—Alistair

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*A single sheet of vellum, found tucked within a bloodstained copy of 'Meditations' in the Templar archive. The ink is smudged, as if by a tear.*