The sea rose in the night and never went back down. By dawn the mountains were islands, and the cities everyone remembered were just rumors now. Iyla rowed to her father's old boathouse, where her brother Sefu was already waiting. They hadn't spoken in three years. But the will named them both, and it named one thing: the diving bell. It hung from the rafters, heavy brass and green with age. Folded inside it were a waxed map and a single key.

Iyla unfolded the map first. It showed the drowned city below them, with one building marked in red: the old bank vault, deep down in the dark water. "He hid something there," she said. "That's what the key opens." Sefu looked at the cold sea. "That's ninety fathoms down. But the bell could take us."

They lowered the bell together, the chain rattling as it played out. Down and down they went, past chimneys and church towers, until the bank rose up out of the gloom. Iyla swam out with the key and pushed open the heavy vault door. Inside, instead of gold, sat rows of sealed glass jars filled with seeds.