Stone Sculpture!

"What did you say?"

Emma's voice was barely a whisper, trembling with emotion as she squinted her eyes shut, savoring the warmth of Luther's palm against her head. Her face was lit with a rare, unguarded happiness, and for a moment, she felt like a child again.

"Fine," she murmured, her words more a breath than a declaration.

"Hmm." Luther's quiet reply barely reached her ears, but it was enough.

The seconds stretched, time seeming to slow as Emma leaned into his touch. How many years had it been since she'd felt this kind of warmth? Since she'd been held with genuine care? Her father had passed long ago, leaving a void she'd never been able to fill. This feeling, this kindness, was a balm to the wounds she had carried for so long.

She let her eyes drift open slightly, but she didn't dare tilt her head to look up at Luther. Instead, her gaze rested on his chest, taking in the coarse fabric of his clothes and the faint outline of his beard above. Her face flushed red as a wave of vulnerability washed over her. The sense of security she felt standing near him was overwhelming.

'Just a little closer… just for a moment,' she thought, stepping forward carefully, almost on tiptoe. She rested her head lightly against his chest, her movements hesitant and delicate, as though she feared being pushed away.

Her mind raced. *I'm not doing anything wrong. It's just… I miss my father, that's all. That's all this is.*

For a brief, stolen moment, Emma allowed herself to nestle against him, closing her eyes and rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor herself in the present. But as quickly as she sought the comfort, she pulled away, retreating two steps and lowering her head. Her hands nervously gripped the hem of her clothes, twisting the fabric as she blushed furiously.

Luther, for his part, remained composed, letting the moment pass without comment. He didn't react to her brief touch of vulnerability. To him, Emma, despite her current appearance, was something far removed from human; a being shaped by tragedy and otherworldly forces. Her actions were neither strange nor offensive; they were simply the echoes of a life she could no longer fully inhabit.

"I really envy your friend," Emma said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. She raised her eyes to Luther, her gaze filled with a mix of regret and wistfulness. "She must be very lucky to have met you."

Her words hung in the air, her smile faint but filled with longing. *If only,* she thought. *If only I could have been born in a different time. If only I could have met someone like him before it was too late. If only…*

But her thoughts caught on themselves. There were no "ifs." No second chances. What had happened, had happened. And all she could do now was make peace with it.

"I wish her well," Emma continued, her voice steadying. "And… I hope you both find happiness."

Taking another step back, Emma disentangled herself from the moment, putting distance between her and Luther. She was about to speak again when Luther's attention abruptly shifted, his expression sharpening as a glowing golden exclamation mark materialized before his eyes; a system prompt.

The system? After all this time? Luther frowned, confused. *Why now?* It had been dormant since his arrival in Grunt Harbor, its sudden reactivation raising more questions than it answered. But there was no time to dwell on it.

Emma turned away, reaching into the black, gelatinous mass behind her. Her hand delved into the shifting substance with ease, emerging moments later clutching a small object. As she held it up to the light, Luther recognized the Q-version sitting octopus figurine, its carved features oddly endearing yet undeniably eerie.

Before Luther could comment, the air in the room shifted. A strange, oppressive presence descended, heavy and suffocating. Emma's eyes widened, her body trembling as a whispering voice filled her ears. The sound was unintelligible, like fragments of words carried on a cold wind, but their meaning pressed against her mind, unrelenting.

Her gaze turned toward the window, and there, beyond the sea's horizon, she saw a shadowy figure. It was distant yet overwhelming, a form that defied comprehension. She froze, paralyzed by a mixture of awe and terror, as the whispers grew louder, more insistent.

"He's calling me," she murmured, her voice hollow. "I… I can feel it."

Emma turned back to Luther, her face pale, her eyes filled with despair. "Mr. Luther," she said, her voice trembling. "I'm glad I met you. Even if it's only at the very end."

Luther's expression darkened. "What are you talking about?"

Emma pressed the octopus figurine into his hands. "Take it. Give it to your friend. It will restore her, bring her back to who she was."

"Emma," Luther began, his tone firm, "whatever's happening, you can fight this. You don't have to—"

She shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "I can't stop it. The whispers… they're not asking. They're taking. It's my destiny, isn't it? To go to him. To vanish."

Her voice cracked, her sorrow pouring out in words. "I don't want to go! I want to stay! I want to live! I want to eat delicious food, wear beautiful clothes, feel the sun on my face! I want someone to love me, to care for me! I want—" Her words broke into sobs, her small frame trembling under the weight of emotions too vast to bear.

"Emma…" Luther's voice softened, his usual stoic demeanor slipping as he took a step closer.

She looked up at him, her tear-streaked face filled with desperate hope. "Please… say something. Anything. Bless me. Try to keep me. Even if it's a lie… please."

Luther gazed at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he reached out, placing a hand gently on her head once more.

"You're not a monster, Emma," he said softly. "You're not forgotten. And you're not alone. I'll make sure of that."

Her tears fell harder, and she smiled; a fragile, fleeting smile. "Thank you," she whispered.

As the whispers grew louder and her form began to dissolve into a shimmering mist, Luther clenched the figurine tightly, his jaw set. He would honor her wish. He would uncover the truths she had hinted at and bring justice to those who had taken everything from her.

And as Emma's presence faded completely, he muttered under his breath, "I'll make them pay."

Luther's eyes adjusted to the surreal, pulsating void around him as the ripples behind him gradually faded, leaving the room eerily silent. Emma collapsed to the floor, her small form trembling as she clutched the blue thread now attached to her. Her breathing was shallow, her face pale but somehow peaceful, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from her soul.

Luther crouched beside her, his expression softening as he examined the changes. The oppressive whispers that had plagued her moments ago were gone, replaced by a calm, almost melodic hum that seemed to resonate within the room. Emma's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, she looked at Luther with wide, tear-filled eyes.

"Mr. Luther," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "what… what did you do?"

Luther gave her a small smile, his tone gentle but firm. "I gave you a choice, Emma. You wanted to stay in this world, to do more, to live freely. Now you have that chance. But remember, this second chance comes with responsibility."

Emma's fingers tightened around the thread, her gaze following the shimmering blue line as it disappeared into the void. She could still feel the faint presence of the whispering chaos that had once threatened to devour her, but now it was muted, overshadowed by the stabilizing force of the new connection.

"What… what am I now?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Luther stood, his eyes flicking briefly to the ferocious arm that had retracted back into the void. "You're still Emma," he said simply. "A servant, yes, but of your own will. You're connected to something much older and much stronger now. But you'll find that this bond doesn't control you, it empowers you."

Emma's tears began to flow again, but this time they carried relief rather than despair. She nodded slowly, her voice breaking as she whispered, "Thank you… thank you for saving me."

Luther's attention shifted to the window, his gaze once again drawn to the distant sea. The blurred figure on the horizon had vanished, but its presence lingered like a fading echo. He knew that this encounter had been no accident. The newly emerged Old One was testing the waters, pushing its influence into the mortal realm.

And it wasn't alone.

---

At the Glentorrent Harbor, the dark-skinned man leaned casually against a lamppost, his sharp eyes fixed on the western horizon where the bungalow stood. The ferocious arm's brazen gesture, a middle finger raised defiantly against the Old One across the sea; had left him momentarily speechless. Then, a hearty laugh escaped his lips, echoing across the pier.

"That's new," he murmured to himself, his smile widening. "I like him already."

The shadowy figure on the sea level had dissipated, its presence retreating in the face of this unexpected opposition. The man's sharp features softened slightly as he watched the faint ripples in the distance, a quiet satisfaction glimmering in his expression.

His musings were interrupted by a hurried, obsequious voice behind him.

"Mr. Speaker! There you are!"

He turned slowly, his gaze falling on a short, rotund man who was panting heavily, beads of sweat rolling down his ruddy face. The man wore an ill-fitting suit that strained against his bulging frame, and his nervous smile revealed crooked teeth.

The Speaker raised an eyebrow, his tone casual but tinged with amusement. "What is it, Rilford? Did the council lose their way again without me holding their hands?"

Rilford wrung his hands nervously, his eyes darting around as if expecting someone to jump out from the shadows. "N-not exactly, sir. But there have been… developments. Strange occurrences at the port. Whispers of an Old One's presence. And…" He hesitated, lowering his voice, "...a new player in town. Someone connected to the villa."

The Speaker's smile widened, his gaze shifting back to the west. "A new player, you say? I assume you mean the one who just flipped off a god."

Rilford blinked, his confusion apparent. "F-flipped off… a god?"

The Speaker chuckled, shaking his head. "Never mind. Just know this—whoever they are, they've just made things infinitely more interesting."

Rilford swallowed hard, his unease growing. "Should we… should we intervene, sir? Perhaps send someone to—"

"Intervene?" The Speaker's voice dropped, and Rilford flinched at the sudden change in tone. "No, Rilford. We don't intervene. Not yet. Let them play their games. Let them show their hand. The harbor has been quiet for too long, and I'd hate to ruin the fun before it even begins."

Rilford nodded quickly, his face pale. "Of course, sir. As you wish."

The Speaker turned his back on the man, his eyes fixed once more on the distant horizon. His smile returned, faint but filled with anticipation.

"Welcome to the game, stranger," he murmured to himself. "Let's see if you're as clever as you think you are."