A journal retrieved from a chest, penned by a resident of the city-state of Styxia. Due to its age, some entries are no longer legible.
The Journal of a Styxian Refugee
Month of Balance, Day ██ Three more neighboring households moved away today. The tide has risen higher than ever before, already reaching the fifth step of the stone stairway to our residence. The priests insist it's merely seasonal high tide that will soon recede, but having lived in Styxia for thirty years, I've never witnessed water levels like this.
Leandro from the harbor went fishing three days ago and reported that the seawater had become unusually turbid, appearing as if mixed with ink. Beneath the surface, he glimpsed strange shadows, not human in form yet possessing distinct outlines. After returning, he developed a high fever and has remained bedridden since.
Month of Balance, Day ██ The city's feasts have grown increasingly frenzied. Grand celebrations that once occurred only during the Month of Joy now happen almost daily. At the Anzo family's banquet last night, I witnessed two normally well-mannered women treading grapes barefoot, emitting strange laughter, and then directly drinking the dirt-laden juice. They claimed to be mimicking Phagousa's ritual ceremonies, though I've never heard of such an absurd form of worship.
Prices at the Market have risen by thirty percent. The honey brew merchant reports that the brewing process has become exceptionally difficult lately — the yeast cultures mysteriously rot. Only by distilling with seawater collected directly from the harbor can they produce proper wine. Fortunately, our Doris remains lucid, and has wisely advised us to minimize our consumption of the city's water and wine.
Month of Everday, Day ██ Last night, strange music emanated from the harbor. It wasn't produced by any instrument, but seemed to rise from the ocean depths. The low, haunting melody sounded as if it were telling an ancient tale, compelling people to approach the shore. Several neighbors' children sleepwalked to the dock last night; they claimed to have seen "the goddess in the water" performing and wanted to get closer.
The priests have forbidden all forms of musical performance and deployed soldiers to patrol the docks. For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that they're acting from fear rather than a genuine desire to protect us.
Month of Everday, Day ██ Today I met Nora, the cloth merchant, at the market. She revealed that the situation in her district was far more dire than we had imagined. The spirit water pool in Phagousa's temple suddenly dried up three days ago, and despite their best efforts, the priests cannot replenish it. More alarming still, strange cracks have appeared on the wall behind the deity statue, forming patterns or script that no one can decipher.
Nora also shared a peculiar rumor: Some claim to have seen in their dreams a woman playing a lyre, draped in black veils, with eyes gleaming like seawater. She allegedly told dreamers that Styxia would soon face a great transformation, and only "those who hear her voice" would be saved. Some city residents have begun referring to her as the "prophetic sea musician" — despite the priests' determined efforts to suppress such rumors.
Month of Freedom, Day ██ We've finally decided to evacuate with our entire family. The seawater has reached the highest watermark at the dock, yet some remain oblivious, still immersed in endless revelry. Our family and the neighboring Milon household have decided to journey to Okhema together. Reportedly, the Worldbearing Titan's protection extends there, and the tides of darkness have not yet invaded those lands. We plan to slip away quietly tonight from the northern dock exit. We pray to Phagousa for safe passage.
Month of Freedom, Day ██ We've been traveling for three days now. Last night, the Milon family's youngest child suddenly developed a high fever, continuously muttering strange phrases that resembled an ancient ballad. His father decided to take him back to the city for medical treatment, though we all know there is little hope to be found there.
This morning, looking back at Styxia from the hillside, I was horrified to discover the entire city enveloped in a strange aura, with seawater shimmering with an unnatural blue radiance in the sunlight. From a distance, those magnificent buildings seemed to twist and distort in the water, as if they were merely illusions.
Month of Weaving, Day ██ We encountered several other fleeing townspeople. They brought even more horrifying news: The seawater in Styxia has begun displaying strange colors and textures — sometimes thick as honey, other times solid as glass. Those who remained in the city have begun undergoing bizarre transformations, ███ ███████ ████ █████ ███.
Even more disturbing is that at night, the entire city bathes in an indescribable glow, as if enveloped by some gigantic amniotic membrane. They say this is Phagousa's punishment, but I can't help wondering: Is this the Titans' wrath, or is some power even greater than the Titans at work?
We've decided to continue northward to Okhema. Along the way, we've heard rumors of someone named ██████████ who can supposedly appease Phagousa's wrath, but these are merely legends fabricated by desperate people. We common folk can only rely on our own feet to flee this disaster.
Month of Weaving, Day ██ Tonight, after the children fell asleep, I secretly examined a small vial of seawater I brought from the city. It was the last drop collected from the spirit water pool in Phagousa's temple before we left. In the moonlight, it displays a strange shimmer, as if something moves within it, unlike any ordinary water.
By chance, I discovered that gently tapping the vial with my fingertip produces a peculiar sound, like distant lyre notes echoing. In that moment, I seemed to glimpse a mysterious woman standing upon the sea surface, sorrowfully playing a melody that no one could understand.
I don't know if this was illusion or reality. But if such a being truly exists, one who can hear the sorrows of Styxians, then as we embark on this uncertain journey, please grant us a flicker of hope — even if it's merely a beautiful dream.
Okhema is now within reach. Taking one final glance back at my homeland, the beautiful scenery of old is nowhere to be seen — only distorted masses of light and shadow undulating on the sea level, resembling foam heaped by waves before dawn, dissolving one by one to gradually reveal its cold and true nature...