We found the path by accident, though Esmeralda insisted it had been on the map the entire time.
It ran between fields that were too flat to be natural, bordered by reeds that didn’t seem to grow from any visible water source. The air smelled faintly of salt, though the sea was miles away and not particularly interested in us at that point.
Twinkles was the first to notice the direction.
“It doesn’t curve properly,” she said.
She was right. The path didn’t follow terrain so much as expectation, as though it remembered being coastal and had not updated its behaviour.
We walked it anyway.
There was nothing else to do.
After a while, the fields began to change. Not visibly at first—just in the way sound carried. Wind moved differently. Birds stopped calling in predictable intervals.
Esmeralda stopped to check the map again.
“This used to be tidal,” she said.
No one answered immediately.
That word felt uncertain inland.
Further along, we came across a set of stone markers half-sunk into the earth. They formed a line that did not match the path we were on, or any fence line we could see.
Twinkles crouched beside one.
“They’re wet,” she said.
Jack frowned. “That’s not possible.”
But she was right. The stones were damp, as though the tide still reached them occasionally, even though nothing on the horizon suggested it could.
We continued walking.
At some point, the reeds gave way to open ground. Flat, empty, and slightly reflective in a way that made the sky feel closer than it should have been.
Esmeralda stopped.
“Listen,” she said.
We did.
There was a sound beneath the wind. Not water exactly, but the idea of water moving through channels that no longer existed above ground.
Twinkles looked uneasy.
“It feels like it’s remembering something,” she said.
We didn’t ask what.
By late afternoon, we reached a low structure made of brick and iron, partially buried in earth. It resembled a lock gate, though no water remained to pass through it.
Still, the mechanisms had not rusted evenly. Some parts looked recently exposed. Others looked far older than the landscape around them.
Jack ran his hand along the metal.
It was cold, but not inactive.
“This used to open,” he said.
Esmeralda nodded slowly.
“Or thought it did,” she replied.
Twinkles looked at the space beyond the gate.
“Where would it go now?” she asked.
No one had an answer.
That night we camped nearby.
There was no tide, no sea, no visible water at all.
But the ground beneath us shifted slightly at intervals, as though something deep below was still adjusting levels it no longer needed to measure.
And in the morning, the damp stones along the path were wet again.
Even though it hadn’t rained.
Comments