Every harbour along the northern coast carried the same warning, though no one remembered who first spoke it. The sea, the elders insisted, had no true bottom. Beneath the familiar tides lay another ocean, older than the moon and untouched by sunlight, where the water rested in perfect stillness beneath the weight of the world. Sailors called it the Waters Beneath the World, believing every abyssal trench opened into that hidden sea. Most dismissed the tale as superstition, yet few were willing to mock it after dark.

There were nights when the wind failed without warning and even the waves seemed to forget the shore. In that unnatural silence, faint bells were said to rise from beneath the waterline. They were slow, distant notes that travelled upward through the sea itself rather than the air, carrying no echo and leaving no wake. The old captains would remove their hats and speak in whispers, for they believed the bells were not calling ships safely home. They were calling those willing to descend.

Divers who heard the sound seldom remained unchanged. Some dreamed of endless stone stairways disappearing beneath black water beyond the reach of any lantern. Others claimed they had seen lights moving where no life should exist, or felt unseen currents pulling gently downward instead of back toward the surface. Many refused to speak of what they had witnessed, while others became strangely restless, returning to deeper waters with every voyage until one day they simply failed to return.

The oldest stories claimed no ordinary diving helmet could endure such a journey. The sea itself was said to fashion heavier brass helms from forgotten metal resting in the abyss, each bearing the weight of the lower ocean. Whoever placed one upon their head could hear the bells clearly, though every step downward made the world above seem quieter, smaller, and harder to remember.

For that reason, recovered diving helmets were never welcomed into family homes. They were kept beneath harbour bells or within lonely monastery towers, where familiar voices might one day guide their wearers home. If moisture gathered upon the visor, it was wiped away only once. If a handprint appeared behind the glass, no prayers were spoken and no questions were asked.

The elders simply covered the helmet until morning and repeated the words that had passed from one generation of sailors to the next.

"Someone below still remembers the way back."