South of Chitinwood, the coast opens into Anemone Sound—named for the vast colonies of sea anemones that carpet its shallow floor. These are not ordinary anemones. The largest specimens stretch twenty feet across, their stinging tentacles capable of paralyzing a whale.
The anemones have made the sound nearly impassable. Ships that enter find their hulls gripped by tentacles, their crews snatched from the decks. The water itself seems to reach upward. Only shallow-draft vessels piloted by those who know the safe channels can navigate through, and that knowledge is jealously guarded.
Something feeds the anemones—something that wants the sound protected. The waters beyond the colonies are strangely clear, almost crystalline, and divers who've made it through report structures on the seafloor: walls, columns, what might be roads. No one has explored them. No one has returned from trying.