Why We Water Dance
S amira moved through the tunnels of Thalassi, the name given to the underground city that existed below the continent of Thalassa.
The air was cool and damp, and water dripped in the distance, a constant rhythm in their subterranean existence.
Her shoulders were heavy, her steps slow, heart weary.
It had been an extended night of patrol on the surface, hiding from the endless sweeps from Corilian units and trying to down a few using stealth drones.
They’d had some wins-five skiffs downed, and a squad of cyborgs eviscerated.
Still, it wasn’t enough, given the hundreds of thousands of cybernetic monsters crossing the continent’s scorched region.
She had been fighting this war for too long, leading her people from the shadows of the caverns while the world above burned.
The landmasses had been a paradise, its jungles vibrant and alive, its lakes shimmering with hues that mirrored the skies.
What was once a thriving planet had been reduced to ash and rubble, its people forced into hiding as their fields and forests were torched, their homes destroyed.
The conflict had begun with betrayal.
Marius, the beloved Emperor of Orilia XIV, had been a kind and just leader. His rule was marked by peace and prosperity.
Until he was captured during a diplomatic mission by an unknown alien entity.
What returned was not their Monarch but a hollowed-out shell—a man fused with cybernetic technology, stripped of his humanity, and reprogrammed to enslave the very people he had once loved.
His entire staff, imperial guards, and escort dreadnought had been retooled, and with weapons, they turned on their people.
The army and military were infested in weeks, transformed into grotesque androids.
The Crat-controlled cyborg army, the so-called Corilians, spread across the planet like a plague.
A war for resources erupted as the cyborg emperor sought to command all industry, farmland, and waterways.
When he was thwarted, he scorched cities, towns, and farms in retaliation.
Thalassa’s fertile plains and crystal-clear lakes had been the first to fall.
The peaceful farmers of the region, untrained for war, had been driven into the depths of the caverns, where they used their water-borne abilities to carve out sanctuaries in the underground reservoirs.
Two other continents—Peryn, led by the fiery tactician Kalix, and Isarion, under the stoic guidance of Raielle—had also mounted resistance movements.
Peryn’s mountainous terrain offered natural defenses, and Kalix’s guerrilla tactics had transformed his continent into a cyborg graveyard.
Meanwhile, Raielle’s forces in Isarion hijacked Corilian cyborg supply chains, turning the enemy’s resources against them.
Samira maintained contact with Kalix and Raielle via a fluid kinetic relay, a marvel of her people’s abilities.
Messages rippled across the lakes beneath the continents, carrying encoded vibrations that only fluid kinetics could interpret.
It was slow and cumbersome, but it was the only way to stay in close contact.
Even now, as she strode through the caves, patches on her skin and armor linked her to the endless streams below, keeping her connected to her people at all times.
The Vaelorii were water people who lived close to and communicated with it.
The race was split into two: the Quarians and the Sorans.
Her thoughts drifted to the Quarians, hidden deep beneath the endless waves living within their bioluminescent cities.
For now, the Sorans bore the burden of the fight, their drive as unyielding as the currents that shaped them. The Quarians and Sorans were two halves of the same whole—forged by water and tied to its rhythms, fighting to survive in a world that had turned against them.
Shouts of laughter broke through her thoughts as she strode through Thalassa’s central cavern, her aqua-glimmer boots crunching along the damp rock floor.
Its underground lake stretched before her, its surface shimmering with blue light from the bioluminescent algae that clung to the subterranean walls.
The scent of sweet moss carried the air, and the earthy aroma of roots and fish wafted toward her from the communal kitchens.
Despite the strains of war, the lake’s serene beauty had not faded, and neither had her people’s resilience.
A group of children played at the water’s edge, their laughter genuine as they splashed each other with glowing droplets.
Samira paused, eyes on them, her heart twisting. Their innocence was a fragile ember in the encroaching darkness, and she would do anything to protect it.
‘Careful, Jinna, don’t go too far!’ she called out, her voice warm but firm.
One of the older lads, a boy with a mop of dark curls, turned and grinned at her. ‘We won’t, Samira! Just teaching them how to make fish jump.’
She smiled, a weary lift of her lips. ‘Good. Keep it to the shallows.’
She continued, spotting the elders gathered near a fire pit.
They greeted her with nods and murmurs.
‘Samira,’ said Elder Khalan, his voice a gravelly rasp. ‘More victories today, yet more loss.’
She crouched beside him, resting a hand on his thin shoulder. His frailty belied the strength of his spirit.
‘ Naam. ‘ Twas Thren and Kaly,’ she muttered. ‘Good fighters. Brave souls. They held the line at the eastern tunnel long enough for the rest to escape.’
Samira bowed her head, swallowing the lump that rose in her throat. ‘Their sacrifice won’t be forgotten. We’ll honor them.’
Khalan placed a trembling hand over hers. ‘How much more, child? How many more sacrifices must we make before this ends?’
Her jaw tightened. ‘As little as we can help,’ she murmured. ‘However, we won’t stop fighting. Not until we’re free.’
The older man nodded, his eyes glinting with both sorrow and pride. ‘You’re strong, Samira. Stronger than I ever was.’
She gave his hand a gentle squeeze and rose, her gaze sweeping across the cavern, searching for a lighter reprieve.
She found it on the far side of the lake, where a collection of dancers moved.
Their fluid motions caused ripples in the water, their silhouettes lit by the glow of the algae below.
Strains of music, mellow and melodic, accompanied their moves in perfect harmony.
In Eden II, she’d imitated their choreography but had not come close to the best Soran dancers in Orilia.
Using their fluid kinetic abilities, they hovered just over the glowing ripples.
Some dipped their feet into the lagoon, lifting liquid streams into the air. Others spun the aqua into delicate spirals around their bodies.
The droplets captured the light and scattered it.
The group’s lead dancer, Laira, glided over the surface.
Her hands wove patterns in the air that the water mirrored as if enchanted. When she tagged Samira, she broke from the formation and floated to her on a ribbon of lifted water.
‘Samira,’ Laira said, her voice lilting and warm. ‘You should join us.’
Samira smiled, shaking her head. ‘Not today. You’re far better at this than I am.’
Laira laughed, a sound like water trickling over smooth stones. ‘Better? Maybe. But you love it. I can see it in your eyes.’
‘I do,’ Samira admitted, her smile fading into something softer, more wistful. ‘However, I dance now for a purpose, not for play.’
Laira stepped closer.
Her hand brushed against Samira’s arm, damp and cool. ‘You also need to dance for joy, too. To remind ourselves of who we were and still are.’
‘I hear you. Some day soon,’ she smiled.
After this fokkin war.
Laira took off leaping, arms outstretched as the aquatic waves caught her and held her aloft before setting her down with a graceful splash.
Samira lingered more than she intended, unable to pull herself away from the sight.
They moved with an elegance that seemed impossible given the harshness of their reality, their defiance a quiet but meaningful statement.
Each step, leap, and ripple they created reminded her people that even in the depths of despair, they refused to lose themselves.
She turned to leave, but dance stayed with her, etched into her thoughts.
The choreographers danced not because they had forgotten their pain but because they remembered their past joys.
Her people were tired, their spirits battered, but as she gazed around at the faces illuminated by the lake’s glow, she recognized the flickers of resolve that kept them going.
Laira’s words echoed in her mind.
We water dance to remind ourselves of who we are.