Since the flood a few weeks ago, Geoffrey had been haunted by the same vivid dream every night. Each time, it felt clearer, almost painfully so. Even as he floated through it, he knew he was dreaming—if he weren’t, he’d be drowning. For hours, he swam beneath an endless blue, herds of dugongs gliding serenely past him like apparitions in the filtered light.

He looked up. The sunlight above was warm and golden. White clouds drifted lazily beyond the surf, except for one—a line too straight, too sharply defined, like the edge of a blade. Part of Geoffrey’s mind sensed a disruption. In some corner of Geoffrey’s mind, he noticed that the dream was deviating from its usual course. He looked up and focused with interest. His vision zoomed in on the cloud.

It was a Zeppelin. The letters “Albatross” shimmered along its side, and he felt a faint murmur in his mind, fifty-six souls whispering in a distant rhythm, connected to him by an unseen thread.

Glancing downward, he saw an enormous topaz, clear as polished glass. At its center, a core of black stone pulsed in time with the warmth in the water, like a taskmaster’s relentless drumbeat driving unseen rowers to exhaustion. Roots of shadow twisted through the yellow stone, winding toward distant shapes that rose like pillars and mountain peaks.

But the airship drew him back. Its outline became sharper, more immediate. He could make out figures on its deck—a man and a woman, both pallid and stricken. Joey and Professor Lincoln. They looked horrified.

Then came the scream, shattering the scene into fragments. An unearthly cacophony—thousands of discordant voices clashing and overlapping, their pitch rising to an unbearable shriek. He saw Esther stagger and fall, blood trickling from her nose. Joey collapsed beside her, gripping a pen in his trembling hand, scrawling something before he, too, succumbed, blood seeping from his ears.

“Boss! Boss!” A frantic knock shattered the remnants of the dream, jolting Geoffrey awake. His head throbbed as reality came back to him. Peter Hilton, one of his newer hires, was calling from the hall, his voice urgent.

“Coming,” Geoffrey groaned, shaking off the last threads of the dream. He opened the door to find Peter’s anxious face staring back.

“What is it, Pete? What happened?”

“Sir! We’ve been robbed!”

“What?” Geoffrey’s head cleared in an instant, adrenaline cutting through his lingering disorientation. “What’s missing?”

“All the oil we vacuumed yesterday, sir. Three hundred casks, at least.”

“At least three hundred.” Geoffrey cursed. It was a significant amount. He would face a lot of pressure from the producers and the Mayor. What a headache. Nevertheless, he managed to stay calm. It was a crippling hit, but not a fatal one.

“Go to the Mayor’s office. I’ll stop by the precinct first and join you there.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Geoffrey composed himself, he felt a strange flicker of excitement beneath his irritation. Why would a setback like this stir such anticipation? He took the time to drink a glass of lake water, savoring the clarity, then dressed and climbed into his locomotive, setting off toward the police station.

Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the precinct to find it swarming with activity. A long line stretched from the door, and officers hurried in and out. Geoffrey glanced at his silver pocket watch—it was only five-thirty in the morning. He flagged down a man ahead of him in line, an older craftsman, judging by the oil smudges on his hands.

“Excuse me, sir—any idea what’s happening here? Is it normal for the precinct to be this crowded so early?”

The man shook his head. “No clue. They’re telling everyone to wait in line.”

Scanning the crowd, Geoffrey noticed two men pointing at him, their expressions sharp and curious. They approached, and he recognized the glint of journalists on a lead.

“Mr. Geoffrey?” one of them asked.

“Yes?”

“William Murray, New Lisbon Gazette. Have you been affected by any of the crimes that struck the city last night?”

Geoffrey feigned ignorance, though his presence here made the truth obvious. “I don’t follow.”

The game had begun: on one side, a reporter keen for a scoop; on the other, Geoffrey, hoping to gather information without giving anything away.

“Mr. Geoffrey, has your estate been robbed? Is the city’s oil supply in jeopardy?”

He noticed more reporters closing in, their cameras flashing, questions flying in a frenzy like vultures descending on fresh prey.

“No comment,” he snapped, turning sharply away. “Officer! A hand, please?”

An officer recognized him and hurried over as reporters and bystanders pressed in, clamoring for answers. Geoffrey leaned in, voice low. “Do me a favor and get me inside.”

The officer nodded, escorting him through the doors as journalists shouted behind them and the crowd grew louder. Inside, he found a different sort of chaos. Officers bustled through the room, taking statements from a long line of distressed citizens. Geoffrey took a seat at an officer’s desk, awaiting the arrival of a senior officer.

Bits of conversations drifted to him from across the room.

“… And is it like your father to disappear without telling anyone?”

“… I told you, he’s a blacksmith. What does his job have to do with this?”

“… Sir, was there anything else missing from the museum?”

A strange excitement stirred in Geoffrey’s chest. What was happening to his city? What else had transpired in the night?

*

Joey woke in an unfamiliar bed, his head throbbing with each beat of his pulse. He tried to sit up, but a heaviness pressed against his chest, pinning him down. The sterile air felt cold against his skin, and the room’s white walls seemed overly bright, making his eyes ache.

He turned his head slowly, spotting Marie asleep in a blue armchair near the window. Her face looked worn, her features etched with worry. There was no one else in the room.

Joey let his gaze wander to the window, where a clear blue sky stretched endlessly, the sun filtering in, warm and calm. His own mind, however, felt cloudy and fractured, and he reached for any memory that might explain his situation. Only the headache remained.

“Marie?” he rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Marie stirred, her eyes fluttering open. When she saw him awake, her hand flew to her mouth, and she rushed to his side, tears filling her eyes.

“Oh, Joey. You’re finally awake,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

“Marie, I’m sorry I worried you.” He gave her a faint smile, but it faded as he noticed the tension in her eyes. “What… what happened?”

She didn’t respond immediately, struggling to hold back tears. Joey waited, sensing she needed a moment. He reached out, his fingers brushing over hers as she composed herself.

“Is Molly okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” She managed a reassuring smile. “I left her with my sister.”

He exhaled in relief. “How long was I out?”

“A little over three days.”

The words struck him. His heart began to race, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. “Three days?” His mind reeled, his chest tightening. “That long? Was I… poisoned?” The panic took hold, and he felt his thoughts spiral.

Marie held him down, her grip firm but gentle. “Joey! Joey, calm down. I haven’t left your side for a second.”

Her steady voice pulled him back. He took a shaky breath, the tension in his chest easing. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Her gaze was unwavering. “The captain of the Albatross flew you in as soon as you had a seizure. He didn’t let anyone give you anything.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Hearing her mention the Albatross, Joey felt a flicker of memory.

“The professor… Where is she?” He could barely get the words out. “Is she okay?”

Marie nodded. “She’s fine. She woke up yesterday. Whatever happened to you two, it hit you harder.”

Joey struggled to remember. He could picture himself in the Albatross’s kitchen, making tea for himself and Esther. But after that? His memory was a blank. “She was in the hospital, too?”

“Yes. In the room next door. She already left, though, even against the doctor’s recommendations.”

Joey frowned, unsettled. “What did the doctors say?”

Marie gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ll call them in to explain. Just rest here.” She left the room quietly.

Alone, Joey tried again to reach back into his memory. The harder he tried, the emptier his mind felt. It was as if someone had reached in and scrubbed the last few days clean, leaving only the ache behind.

A sound in the hallway made him look up. He expected to see Marie but found someone else entirely.

“Jeff?” he murmured, caught off guard.

“Joey!” Geoffrey walked briskly over, gripping his shoulders with an intensity Joey hadn’t expected. “My dear friend, I was so worried. How are you?”

“A little confused,” Joey admitted, offering a weak smile. “Feels like someone hit me in the head with a hammer.”

“Not literally, I hope?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember.” Joey shook his head slowly. “There’s just… this big blank.”

Geoffrey’s expression grew serious. “I see…”

Sensing the weight in the room, Joey shifted uncomfortably. “How’s business?”

Geoffrey brightened. “Better than ever.” But his smile faded as he noticed Joey’s subdued reaction. “You don’t look too thrilled about your friend’s success, Joey. Almost… depressed.”

Joey sighed. “Jeff, we go way back.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You’ve changed. You used to be fair and upright. But lately… it doesn’t seem like you.”

Geoffrey’s face darkened. “Are you suggesting I’m doing something wrong?” He took a step back, his expression guarded.

“No, not exactly.” Joey raised his hands, trying to ease the tension. “It’s just… different. Not what my father would have done.”

The words seemed to hit Geoffrey like a blow. He reached into his pocket, fumbling with shaking hands for a flask, his eyes unfocused. Joey watched as he took a long drink, his movements jittery.

“Geoffrey, are you okay?” Joey’s voice softened, his concern growing. “Is that medicine?”

Geoffrey managed a half-smile. “It’s just water.” His tone was forced, brittle. “Want some?”

“Jeff, you’re scaring me.” Joey’s voice was low, almost pleading. “What’s wrong?”

Geoffrey’s gaze flicked away as if searching for something just out of reach. “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m not honoring your father’s memory,” he murmured, his voice tight. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him. I want Geoffrey Inc. to be something he’d be proud of.”

He stood abruptly, smoothing his coat. “I have an appointment I can’t miss.” His smile was strained, shadows darkening his face. “I’m sorry about your memory, Joey. I hope you feel better soon.”

And then he was gone, slipping out the door before Joey could respond.

Joey watched after him, unease prickling at the back of his neck. Geoffrey had been jittery, even panicked. Was he ill? Or was there something else? A deeper fear seemed to linger in Geoffrey’s eyes, one Joey had never seen before.

Marie returned, this time with a tall, broad-shouldered woman in a white coat. Something about her calm strength reminded him of Fabius, though her gentle, quiet presence filled the room.

“Mr. Joseph, I’m Dr. Woods,” she introduced herself, her voice soothing and unexpectedly soft.

“Hello, Doctor. Thank you for all your work,” he replied, then turned to Marie. “Marie, Jeff was just here.”

“He’s been coming every day to check on you, Joey. He’s really worried,” Marie said, giving him a small, reassuring smile.

“Did you see him in the hallway?”

Marie shook her head. “I must have missed him.”

Joey nodded slowly, replaying the strange encounter in his mind. Geoffrey’s shaking hands, the quick drink from the flask—it gnawed at him.

Dr. Woods waited patiently, her steady posture an anchor in the room’s charged atmosphere. Joey turned back to her, taking a calming breath. “Doctor, can you tell me what happened to me?”

“We suspect you had encephalitis or severe brain inflammation,” she replied, her words precise.

“Encephalitis?” he repeated. The word felt foreign, heavy. He shook his head, frowning. “I’ve never had anything like that.”

“That’s what your wife tells me.”

“Did the professor have the same thing?”

Dr. Woods nodded. “Yes, though her symptoms were less severe. Whatever caused the encephalitis affected you both but hit you harder.”

Joey’s stomach tightened. “So it wasn’t just me. It was something on the Albatross?”

“The captain assures me no one else on board has reported any symptoms. Not even a headache.”

“And the professor?” Joey leaned forward, searching for some reassurance. “Does she remember anything?”

“Both of you appear to have experienced episodic amnesia, which isn’t unusual with brain trauma. With time, some memories may return,” Dr. Woods explained in a calm, practiced tone.

Joey nodded slowly, processing her words. “Should I be worried? Will I fully recover?”

“With rest, yes,” Dr. Woods assured him. “Drink plenty of fluids and take your prescribed anti-inflammatories for a week. Avoid activities that could cause sudden pressure changes—like flying or diving.”

Marie squeezed his hand, watching him closely. “What about stress, Doctor?” she asked, giving him a stern look as if daring him to argue.

Dr. Woods smiled. “A little rest wouldn’t hurt.”

Before Dr. Woods could say more, a booming voice echoed down the hallway.

“I’ll see him now!” Each word was punctuated by the heavy stomp of boots against the hospital floor.

“Joey! My boy, you’re awake! Good! Get your clothes on; we’ve got work to do!” He clapped his hands together, grinning.

Marie’s expression darkened, and she moved between them, her hands firmly on her hips. “Listen up, Fabius. You may be in charge out there, but in here, you don’t have any authority to pull my husband out of bed the second he wakes up!”

Fabius faltered, caught off guard. Joey had seen him face down hardened criminals without flinching, yet here he stood, visibly nervous.

“Joey, you’ve got yourself a fiery one,” he said with a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

But Marie’s glare didn’t waver. “Don’t drag ‘Joey’ into this, Fabius. Look at the state you’ve left the father of my daughter in! The doctor may not blame you, but I do. And if you think you can waltz in here and haul him off—”

Her voice caught, and she quickly wiped a tear away. The sight seemed to soften Fabius, his expression turning serious. “Marie, I know it’s a lot. I promise, once this crisis is over, I’ll give him two weeks of leave.”

Marie’s gaze sharpened. “Two weeks? That’s hardly enough to make up for what he’s missed. Give him two months, Fabius. Take it or leave it, you old bear!”

Fabius grunted, then nodded. “Fine. Two months.”

Marie turned to Dr. Woods. “Doctor, is that safe?”

Dr. Woods gave him a calm nod. “As long as he doesn’t push himself. If he experiences any discomfort, he should stop immediately.”

Joey, watching the exchange, felt a strange mix of awe and helplessness. He looked from Marie to Fabius, feeling like a bystander to his own life.

Fabius turned to Joey, his gruffness returning. “All right, Joey! Get moving.”

Joey took a steadying breath and got dressed, feeling like the only person in the room without a say in his own recovery. He squeezed Marie’s hand, giving her a small smile of reassurance before following Fabius out of the room.

Fabius strode down the hall, his boots thudding heavily.

“What’s the rush, chief? What did I miss?” he asked.

Fabius’s face darkened. His usual jovial expression was gone, replaced with something colder, harder. “It’s bad, Joey. Real bad. The city’s in chaos—robberies, kidnappings. Everything’s going to hell, and I need that sharp nose of yours.”

*

Esther scanned the lab for a place to sit, but machinery filled every surface. She was surrounded by working machinery, each drone echoing the dull throb in her temples. She had refused the painkillers offered earlier; clarity was her priority now, more precious than relief. To make sense of this, she needed a clear head.

When the doctors couldn’t give her answers, she’d come straight to Orca University, hoping to unravel the mystery herself. At the university, she’d been handed the key to Dr. Neuer’s lab with reverence, and she suspected someone had gone to fetch the doctor from his home.

She found a stool buried under blueprints and clutter, cleared it, and settled down. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a newspaper she’d picked up at the hotel and began to skim. The headlines were still crowded with stories of kidnappings and thefts, but a smaller article captured her attention:

The Lake that Heals

Reports have emerged of chronically ill individuals experiencing miraculous healing after diving into the waters of Lake Grassum. While skepticism abounds within the medical community, many testimonies have surfaced, lending credence to what locals call the ‘Miracle Dive.’

There are multiple accounts from individuals who embarked on this unconventional therapeutic journey and have experienced astonishing recovery. From conditions as diverse as chronic pain, autoimmune disorders, and even certain forms of cancer, individuals have reported a significant improvement in their health following a dip in the lake’s waters.

Dr. Laura Simmons, a respected physician at New Lisbon Medical Center, voiced skepticism while acknowledging the community’s excitement. “While the reports are intriguing, it is crucial to exercise scientific rigor when evaluating such claims. Spontaneous remissions and unexplained recoveries have occurred throughout medical history, and attributing them solely to the lake’s waters would be premature.”

Despite the reservations of the medical establishment, the growing momentum behind the ‘Miracle Dive’ has prompted some researchers to explore potential scientific explanations. Water composition, mineral content, and the psychological effect of hope and belief are currently being considered.

One local resident, Sarah Turner, who suffered from a debilitating autoimmune disorder, attests to the lake’s transformative powers. “The flood has transformed the lake. It was bestowed with a blessing from the heavens; now, the water has become the heavens themselves. I had tried every treatment imaginable, and nothing worked until I took that dive into Lake Grassum. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and I am getting my life back.”

So that explained the heated arguments she’d seen between doctors and patients on her way out of the hospital. The medical community was apprehensive about these miraculous claims, while desperate families clung to the hope of the lake’s waters. Even now, her mind flickered with curiosity. Miraculous healing claims rarely held up under scrutiny, yet something about this particular phenomenon seemed to have something more to it that she couldn’t quite grasp.

The lab door creaked open, and in walked a disheveled man who had clearly been strongarmed out of bed, hair awry and blinking in the harsh lab lights.

“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Dr. Neuer,” Esther said, rising from her seat.

Dr. Neuer gave her a groggy nod, stifling a yawn. “For you, Professor Esther, I’d come here in my pajamas if necessary. Now, what’s so urgent?”