0:01 AM - Descent Begins
The descent was silent, save for the hum of Argos III's pressurized hull responding to the crushing blackness of the Atlantic.
Inside the submersible,Dr. Isla Merrick, a 37-year-old deep-sea archaeologist, adjusted her camera rig. Across from her sat Elliot Graves, former Royal Navy diver and marine technician. Between them: thick glass, screens flickering blue, and the exact coordinates of the Titanic.
This was Isla's third dive. But something about tonight felt heavier. She stared at the sonar feed as Argos dropped past 10,000 feet.
"Visibility ?" she asked.
"Limited," Elliot replied. "Storm above us stirred up the silt. Feels like we're dropping into memory itself."
0:41 AM – First Glimpse of the Wreck
The hull appeared first the bow. Its mighty frame was no longer sharp and proud, but corroded and split. Rusticles hung like frozen icicles, bleeding iron into the sea.
The light from Argos III swept across Titanic's railings. The name was still faintly visible, ghosted by sediment and time:
R.M.S. TITANIC
They passed the Cargo Hold, the collapsed bridge, and then like a curtain drawn back by shadow the grand staircase came into view.
Or what was left of it.
But that night, something was different.
There were lights.
Blue. Dim. Hovering just above the skeletal ruins of the staircase.
0:53 AM - The Lights Begin to Move
"Are you recording this?" Isla whispered.
Elliot was already adjusting the controls. The sub's exterior lights went off, leaving only night-vision and thermal scans.
The blue lights six of them were no longer still.
They weaved in and out of the staircase framework, gliding slowly, as if pacing… no, performing.
One light hovered just above the spot where, over a hundred years ago, Wallace Hartley's violin once sang its last notes.
Then came a sound. Muffled. Hollow.
Faint musical tones.
"Is that… audio contamination?" Elliot asked, but his voice cracked.
Isla leaned forward. "It's a waltz."
1:06 AM - A Shadow Appears
The thermal feed flickered. The deepest ocean holds no heat. Yet briefly a shape passed in front of their external sensor.
Not fish. Not machine.
A human outline.
Tall. Still. In a tuxedo.
Its presence lasted only seconds.
Then gone.
Isla's heart thudded. "We've got hallucinations… nitrogen narcosis ?"
Elliot shook his head. "Not this deep. Not with scrubbed air. And not the both of us."
Then Isla noticed something impossible.
On the rusted wall near the staircase, illuminated in ghostly flicker, a reflection.
A plate of brass.
In it, she saw herself.
And next to her reflection another face. Watching. Smiling faintly.
1:20 AM - The Final Staircase
They maneuvered Argos III closer.
One of the lights hovered near a balcony rail , still intact. Below, the twisted ironwork hinted at what once was a marvel of design.
Isla's hand moved to the joystick. "I want to hover over it. We might find "
Suddenly, the sub's system chimed.
[New Object Detected Man-Made Surface Area: 0.4m x 0.3m]
Beneath the debris near the staircase, under what looked like a collapsed beam, something shone faintly.
She zoomed in.
A violin.
Or at leas what remained of one. The scroll and pegs, half buried in silt. The wood warped but unmistakable.
"I want to recover it," Isla said breathlessly.
But Elliot's eyes weren't on the violin.
They were locked on the movement behind it.
Something stepped through the remains of the far hallway.
As if still descending the staircase.
1:27 AM - Electrical Interference
The sub's lights flickered. Systems blinked.
"Losing power," Elliot murmured.
The air felt colder though they were inside a sealed, heated chamber.
Their ears popped.
Then came a chime exactly like a dinner bell. Three notes.
From nowhere.
Isla froze. "That's the signal they used in First Class. I've heard that in recordings. From the Titanic's service manuals."
A deep creaking followed, then the unmistakable echo of footsteps on wooden floorboards that had rotted away a century ago.
Something… or someone was reliving that night.
1:30 AM - The Shadow Audience
Just before their camera glitched entirely, they saw them.
Eight figures.
Barely visible. Standing in formation at the base of the staircase.
Instruments in hand.
Titanic's band.
Their outlines shimmered like oil on water. Transparent. Yet present.
As Isla and Elliot watched in frozen disbelief, the figures lifted their instruments, and played.
No sound reached them. But the vibrations shuddered in their bones.
The sea, it seemed, could not bury everything.
1:35 AM - The Manifest
As power returned in brief surges, the sonar pinged again.
New object.
Paper.
A sealed leather-bound book, wedged between corroded rail and floor.
As the robotic arm reached for it, the lights flickered and the book opened slightly.
Elliot grabbed a still frame.
"Titanic: Passenger Manifest - Updated"
Inside, names were written in fresh ink.
Wallace Hartley. Roger Bricoux. John Woodward.
And others.
Including theirs.
Isla Merrick. Elliot Graves.
1:39 AM - Emergency Surface
Elliot pulled the abort lever.
"Enough. We're going up. This isn't discovery anymore. This is invitation."
As Argos III began to rise, the lights below slowly drifted apart.
But one remained.
Hovering near the staircase.
A final farewell.
And Isla, fighting back tears, whispered:
"They stayed so others could leave. Even the sea remembers them."
Back at the Surface – Debrief
The footage was reviewed by skeptical eyes.
Malfunction, they claimed.
Refractions, tricks of light.
Yet when the recovered book was dried and restored, the pages remained legible.
Eight names of the band. Two more of divers.
And one final phrase, written in unfamiliar ink:
"Where music ends, memory begins."