Ravensgate Island
746 Words
The ferry cut through the gray sea beneath a sky heavy with storm clouds.
Nadia stood alone at the bow, the wind whipping her hair across her face.
In her pocket were three things:
• Daniel Hart’s journal.
• The train ticket signed “M.”
• The child’s drawing of a lighthouse on Ravensgate Island.
The island loomed on the horizon like a forgotten fortress.
Dark cliffs.
Crashing waves.
And at the highest point…
A lighthouse.
Exactly like the drawing.
⸻
Adrian joined her on deck.
“You still have time to turn back.”
Nadia didn’t look at him.
“If I turn back now, my father died for nothing.”
Adrian sighed.
“I promised Daniel I would keep you alive.”
“And I promised myself I’d learn the truth.”
Before he could answer, the ferry’s captain shouted:
“Five minutes to Ravensgate!”
⸻
The island harbor was abandoned.
Rusted cranes stood frozen in place.
Empty warehouses lined the shore.
No welcoming signs.
No customs officers.
Only silence.
As Nadia stepped onto the dock, she noticed a faded bronze plaque.
It read:
RAVENSGATE CHILDREN’S SANCTUARY
Closed – 1998
She looked at Sarah.
“This was an orphanage?”
Sarah nodded grimly.
“That’s what the public believed.”
⸻
They followed a narrow road uphill toward the lighthouse.
The path wound through broken stone walls and overgrown gardens.
Halfway up, Nadia stopped.
Someone had carved names into a large rock.
Hundreds of names.
Some crossed out.
Some left untouched.
Near the bottom, she found:
Emily Hart
A single line had been drawn through it.
Below it, another name had been added in fresh paint:
Nadia Brooks
“They erased Emily,” Nadia whispered.
“And replaced her.”
⸻
At the lighthouse door, they found an old woman waiting.
She wore a long gray coat and carried a wooden cane.
Despite her age, she stood with quiet authority.
“You came,” she said.
“You must be Marianne,” Nadia replied.
The woman smiled.
“I haven’t used that name in years.”
“So it’s true.”
“I created the first version of Project Phoenix.”
Adrian immediately raised his pistol.
Sarah did the same.
Marianne didn’t flinch.
“If I wanted you dead,” she said calmly, “you would never have reached the island.”
⸻
Inside the lighthouse, a spiral staircase led downward instead of up.
Beneath it lay an underground complex older than the Vault.
The walls were lined with faded photographs of children.
Thousands of them.
Marianne stopped before the oldest photograph.
It showed a group of frightened children from decades earlier.
“I wasn’t trying to create monsters,” she said softly.
“I was trying to save them.”
Nadia frowned.
“By stealing their identities?”
Marianne shook her head.
“The first children had no identities.”
“They were victims of war, trafficking, and corruption.”
“No records.”
“No families anyone could trace.”
“I gave them names.”
Sarah’s voice hardened.
“And then powerful people took your idea.”
Marianne closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“They turned compassion into control.”
⸻
They entered a circular chamber beneath the lighthouse.
At its center stood a massive brass machine connected to rows of filing cabinets.
On the machine was engraved:
THE ARCHIVE OF NAMES
Marianne rested her hand on it.
“This is the only complete record left.”
“Every real name.”
“Every stolen name.”
“Every child.”
Nadia’s eyes widened.
“My original birth record…”
“It’s here.”
⸻
Before anyone could move closer, the lights flickered.
The room went dark.
A familiar voice echoed through the chamber.
“You always were sentimental, Marianne.”
Arthur Cole stepped out of the shadows.
He wasn’t alone.
Beside him stood Vivian.
Her face was expressionless.
She raised a pistol…
…and aimed it directly at Nadia.
“No…” Adrian whispered.
Vivian’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Arthur smiled.
“I told you she would remember.”
Nadia’s heart broke.
“Vivian…”
For a long moment, her sister said nothing.
Then, in a cold, emotionless voice, she spoke.
“I don’t have a sister.”
End of Episode 18.
Cliffhanger
Just as Vivian begins to pull the trigger, Nadia notices something hidden beneath Vivian’s sleeve.
A fresh injection mark.
Someone has drugged her again.
- Writer
