Chapter 661

Bjorn, a man weathered by forty-seven Norwegian winters, stood on the windswept coast. His face, a roadmap of laugh lines and worry creases, was turned toward the grey expanse of the North Sea.

The salt-laced wind whipped strands of thinning brown hair across his forehead as he watched the gulls wheel overhead, their cries swallowed by the roar of the waves crashing against the rocky shore.

He'd come to watch the small ceremony, the unveiling of the town's time capsule. It was a local event, something to break the monotony of late autumn, drawing a small assembly of residents to the community square.

Bjorn, normally one to avoid crowds, felt a pull today, a strange tug of curiosity he could not quite place.

The capsule, a hefty steel container, sat on a makeshift wooden platform in the center of the square. It had been buried fifty years prior, a relic from a different era, promising to whisper secrets of the past to the present generation.

Banners flapped listlessly in the wind, their bright colors a stark contrast to the muted tones of the day. Children, bundled in thick jackets, darted around the edges of the crowd, their excited chatter a counterpoint to the hushed anticipation of the adults.

The mayor, a stout woman with a booming laugh that could usually fill the square with warmth, stood at a podium.

Today, her voice was more somber, carrying on the wind as she spoke about the hopes and dreams of those who had buried the capsule half a century before.

She spoke of progress, of community, of an optimistic future they had envisioned for their town. Bjorn listened, his gaze drifting over the faces around him – neighbors, shopkeepers, families he'd known for decades.

Finally, the moment arrived. With a symbolic turn of a large, rusty key by the mayor, assisted by a local elder who was a child when the capsule was buried, the container was opened.

The crowd leaned forward, necks straining to catch a glimpse of the artifacts within. Yellowed documents, photographs in sepia tones, a vinyl record, and various small trinkets were carefully lifted out and displayed on a table.

Then, at the bottom of the capsule, beneath layers of aged newspapers, they found a wooden box. It was plain, unadorned, with no markings except for a small, brass clasp.

A different kind of silence fell over the square as the box was brought forward. It felt… different from the other items. An air of the unknown seemed to emanate from it.

The mayor, with a slight tremor in her hands, unclasped the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, lay a single scroll of parchment. It was tied with a brittle, dark ribbon. The paper looked ancient, older than fifty years, the ink faded yet legible.

A young woman, a librarian from the town, carefully unrolled the parchment. The words written upon it were in Norwegian, but of an older dialect, formal and archaic. She began to read aloud, her voice clear but tinged with a growing unease.

"To whomever finds this message, know that we write to you from the precipice of oblivion. We are the generation before the Great Deep Rising. We have seen the signs, the tremors in the earth, the weeping of the seas. The stars themselves whisper warnings in the night sky."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Some chuckled nervously, dismissing it as theatrical language from a bygone era. Bjorn, however, felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck. The librarian continued, her voice now taking on a hesitant quality.

"The ocean, once a source of life, will become your destroyer. It will rise in anger, not as a gradual tide, but as a sudden, monstrous wave. It will come without extended warning, swallowing the coastlines, claiming everything in its path.

We have calculated the convergence, the alignment of celestial bodies that will trigger this event. It is set to occur on the morrow, at the hour when the sun reaches its zenith."

The librarian paused, looking up at the crowd. Disbelief was etched on most faces. A few people laughed outright. "Sounds like a good story," someone called out. "Bit dramatic for a time capsule, eh?" another added.

The mayor attempted a reassuring smile. "Well, they certainly had vivid imaginations back then. Let's not get carried away. It's just a… story." But her voice lacked its usual confidence.

Bjorn stepped forward, his usual quiet demeanor replaced by a sudden urgency. "Let me see that," he said, his voice surprisingly loud.

He took the parchment from the librarian, his eyes scanning the archaic script. He could read it, the old dialect was familiar to him from his grandmother's stories. And as he read, a cold dread began to seep into his bones.

The document went on to describe the scientific reasons they believed in this event. Unusual geological activity deep in the Atlantic, changes in ocean currents, a confluence of factors they claimed would lead to an unprecedented tidal surge.

They even gave coordinates, calculations, astrological charts – details that seemed almost too elaborate for a mere hoax.

"This… this is dated fifty years ago, almost to the day," Bjorn said, his voice low, his finger tracing the date at the bottom of the scroll. "And they say… tomorrow. Tomorrow at noon."

Silence descended again, heavier this time, less dismissive. The wind seemed to have died down, the sea's roar muted. The air itself felt thick, expectant.

"Nonsense," a man scoffed, breaking the silence. "We have weather forecasts, seismic monitoring. Nothing like that is predicted." Others nodded in agreement. Modern science, logic, common sense – surely these were enough to dispel such fantastical predictions.

"But… what if they were right?" a woman whispered, her voice barely audible. The seed of doubt had been planted.

Bjorn looked out at the sea again. It was still calm, deceptively so. But something had changed, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a quiet tension that was difficult to articulate. He felt it in his gut, a primal unease that resonated deep within him.

He spoke again, his voice calm but insistent. "I don't know if it's true. But… what harm is there in being cautious? They said tomorrow noon. Let's just… keep an eye on the sea. Tomorrow."

The mayor, seeing the growing unease in the crowd, decided to play it safe. "Alright," she said, her voice regaining some of its authority. "Just to be safe, we will issue an advisory. For everyone to remain vigilant tomorrow. Keep away from the coastline, as a precaution."

It was a weak concession, but it was something. The crowd dispersed, the excitement of the time capsule forgotten, replaced by a low hum of apprehension.

Bjorn walked home, the scroll clutched in his hand, the words of the ancient warning echoing in his mind.

That evening, the news channels reported on the time capsule discovery, briefly mentioning the strange warning. It was treated as a curious historical anecdote, a funny quirk from the past.

Meteorologists and geologists were interviewed, all of them dismissing the possibility of a sudden, massive tidal wave as scientifically impossible in the current climate. "No unusual seismic activity, no atmospheric anomalies," they declared reassuringly.

Most people went to bed that night with the warning relegated to the back of their minds, a strange story to tell at the water cooler.

Bjorn, however, could not sleep. He sat by his window, watching the sea. It remained calm, the moon casting a silver path across the water. But he couldn't shake the feeling of dread, the heavy weight of the parchment's prophecy.

He tried to call his daughter, Rena, who lived in a small cabin closer to the shore, a place she loved for its solitude and proximity to the ocean. No answer. He tried again and again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered ring. Rena always had her phone on.

As dawn broke, painting the sky in hues of grey and pale orange, Bjorn drove towards Rena's cabin. The town was quiet, almost eerily so. The usual morning sounds – fishing boats starting their engines, children heading to school – were absent. A strange stillness hung in the air.

He reached Rena's cabin, nestled in a small cove, waves gently lapping at the shore. The cabin was empty. A note on the kitchen table, a hastily scribbled message: "Went for a morning swim. Back soon." His heart lurched. Rena loved to swim in the sea, even in the colder months.

He ran out to the beach, his eyes scanning the water. Nothing but the grey waves, stretching out to the horizon. He called her name, his voice cracking with fear. "Rena! Rena!" Only the wind answered.

He looked at his watch. Ten in the morning. Two hours until noon, the hour of the prophecy. He raced back to his car, driving towards the town center, his mind a maelstrom of fear and desperation.

He reached the community square. A few people were gathered, some looking uneasy, others still dismissive. The mayor was there, talking to a small group, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. The sky was overcast, the sea still placid, but the air was thick with an unspoken tension.

Bjorn grabbed the mayor's arm, his voice urgent. "We need to evacuate. Now. The warning… it could be real. We can't take the chance."

The mayor looked at him, her eyes filled with worry, but also doubt. "Bjorn, we can't just evacuate the entire town based on… on an old parchment. There's no sign of anything happening."

"But what if… what if they knew something we don't?" Bjorn pleaded. "What if they saw something… predicted something… that we've forgotten?"

As if in answer, a low rumble vibrated through the ground. It started as a subtle tremor, barely perceptible, but it grew steadily stronger. People stopped talking, their faces turning towards the sea.

The rumble intensified, becoming a deep, guttural growl that seemed to emanate from the depths of the earth itself. The calm surface of the sea began to churn, the waves growing larger, more agitated, no longer gentle laps but furious slaps against the shore.

Then, from the horizon, a dark line appeared. It wasn't a cloud. It was a wall of water, impossibly high, racing towards the coast with terrifying speed. It moved faster than any storm surge, faster than any wave Bjorn had ever seen.

"Dear God…" someone gasped, the word lost in the rising roar.

The mayor's face went white. "Evacuate! Everyone, evacuate! To the hills! Now!" Her voice, finally filled with true panic, echoed across the square.

But it was too late. The wave was upon them. It crashed into the coastline with the force of a thousand hammers, a colossal wall of water that dwarfed buildings, swallowed streets, obliterated everything in its path.

The sound was deafening, a monstrous roar that ripped through the air, followed by the sickening crunch of buildings collapsing, the screams of terror swallowed by the deluge.

Bjorn stood frozen, watching in horror as the wave engulfed the town, his town, his home. He saw houses ripped apart like paper, cars tossed around like toys, people swept away, screaming, disappearing into the churning water.

He searched frantically for Rena, his eyes darting through the chaos, desperate to see her, to save her. But there was nothing but water, debris, and destruction. The wave surged inland, unstoppable, relentless.

Bjorn was thrown off his feet, slammed against a wall by the force of the water. He gasped for breath, choking on seawater, the world turning into a swirling vortex of grey and foam. He clung to a piece of driftwood, desperately trying to stay afloat, to survive.

Hours later, the water receded. The sun, now past its zenith, peeked through the clouds, casting an eerie light on the devastation.

The town was gone. Nothing remained but rubble, debris, and a vast expanse of mud and water. Silence descended, a heavy, oppressive silence, broken only by the cries of gulls circling overhead.

Bjorn lay on the muddy ground, battered, bruised, and broken. He was alive. He had survived. But everything he knew, everything he loved, was gone. His town, his home, his neighbors, his friends… and Rena.

He crawled through the wreckage, searching, calling out her name, a hollow, desperate sound in the vast emptiness. He found nothing. No sign of her. Only the debris of a shattered world.

As darkness fell, the cold sea wind whistling through the ruins, Bjorn sat alone amidst the devastation. He held the parchment in his trembling hands, the ancient warning now a brutal reality. They had known. They had tried to warn them. And they had not listened.

The prophecy had come true, exactly as foretold. The Great Deep Rising had arrived. And Bjorn, the skeptic, the quiet man who had simply come to watch a time capsule opening, was the only one left to bear witness to the ruin, to the terrible truth of a warning ignored, and the unbearable weight of a future stolen, leaving him utterly, devastatingly alone.

His survival was not a blessing, but a stark, unending torment. He lived in the ruin, a monument to disbelief, and a father's eternal loss. The sea, once his neighbor, was now his tormentor, its vastness mirroring the emptiness inside him.