38. 38
thirty-eight
Sarah
The Echo Cavern’s location was a well-guarded secret.
It feels as though we've been swimming for hours, my world shrouded in darkness by the seaweed tied around my head.
Other than the long, quiet journey, my mind could only dwell on what was to come—well, that and the fact that the Pearlguard who tied this seaweed managed to knot strands of my hair into it.
Every tug against my scalp sends a small pulse of shooting pain through me, the prickling discomfort slowly budding into a headache.
Orion explained that the Echo Cavern’s magic needs to adapt to mine, and that it only aligns properly during the full moon and high tide, something about the balance between my magic and its. Current Three is supposed to be a test of your heart and mind. Whatever that means . . .
My entourage tonight consists of two Deepwatch Captains, Orion, and Nyxalene.
Orion swims close beside me, his earlier confessions pulling insistently at the strings of my heart.
My mind and emotions wage their usual battle as the invisible tether within each of us seems to pull tighter with each passing day.
Nyxalene called me courageous the last time we spoke. One can only hope that still holds true after my final challenge is completed.
We come to an abrupt halt and Orion’s hands brush near my temples as he unties the seaweed blindfold. A few strands of hair tug painfully as it comes free. Wincing at the sharp pinch before blinking through the ocean's dim light, and the expanse of solid boulders resting in the distance..
The Captains and Nyxalene swim off to find a place for them to rest as Orion helps me get mentally prepared for what lies ahead in the cavern. Their armor clinks softly as they drift away, the faint sound fading into the stillness surrounding us.
We hover before the mouth of a vast grotto. The sand slopes sharply downward from the entrance, disappearing into darkness. Around us, nothing stirs. No fish, no current, no whisper of life. Just boulders and silence stretching endlessly in every direction.
Orion leans in slightly, his voice a murmur meant only for me.
“Very quiet here,” he says, his tone carrying that teasing warmth I’ve come to recognize. “Almost as if the sea itself is granting us privacy. I might bring you back one day, but next time, not for a trial.”
Goosebumps rise along my neck and arms at his words, and that’s precisely when Nyxalene returns.
“Is this what my life is going to look like now?” she grumbles, giving Orion a flat look. “I just started liking you, land-dweller. Don’t make me regret it.”
I roll my eyes at her, trying not to make a scene. Orion’s doing that all on his own. I can’t control how my body reacts, but I really hope it isn’t as obvious as it feels.
Oh, it’s obvious, Snapdragon, he says flirtatiously.
Get out of my head, Orion. Not the moment.
Over the past few days, he’s stopped pretending he doesn’t intrude into my thoughts whenever he wants. Something about almost losing me made him decide he can’t bear to give me a moment alone.
It almost makes me eager to step inside that cavern, if only for a few days of peace from him. Not that I have any idea of what awaits me in there. According to Nyxalene everyone's experience is different.
“Sarah, what waits beyond the threshold of this cavern will change you forever,” Nyxalene warns.
“While we cannot tell you exactly what to expect, know this—nothing that happens within is real.
It's all an illusion. You must endure it for thirty-six hours. We cannot pass the threshold with you, so this is where we part. Orion and I will return here when your time is up.”
She says it as though she’s certain I’ll be fine. As though she didn’t just mention illusions in the most cryptic way possible.
With a steadying breath, I give one last glance toward Orion. His deep blue eyes lock with mine, as if willing strength into me. Then I turn and swim down into the mouth of the cavern, letting its shadows rise and swallow me whole.
The moment I cross the threshold, the ocean’s hum fades completely. The water possesses an aberrant warmth, as if the cavern itself is warping it. Shadows coil along the walls, alive with faint echoes that seem to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
I keep swimming, deeper and deeper, the faint glow from the entrance shrinking behind me until it disappears entirely. Questionable sounds drift through the dark, a soft current sighing through cracks in the stone, the low hum of unseen magic stirring in the depths.
Eventually, I reach what must be the center of the cavern.
The space opens into a wide chamber, dimly lit by the shimmer of crystal veins running through the rock.
There are remnants of past challengers here.
The evidence of their existence is still left behind with smooth hollows dug into the sand, and carvings inscribed on the walls.
All across the surface are names and symbols. Perhaps even warnings.
Across from where I crouch down is a wide slab of stone, its surface so polished it glimmers like a mirror.
I drift closer, caught by my reflection.
It’s the first time I’ve really seen myself since accepting the magic within me.
My serpent tail coils beneath me. Sleek, sea-glass green with soft blue and purple accents that catch the light.
Handfuls of scales are missing where my scar is formed down my tail.
My skin radiates a soft luminescence, my eyes brighter than I remember.
There’s power here, and for a breath, I don’t recognize the creature staring back.
It’s me . . . and yet, not quite.
The night has deepened, and I’m still drained from recovering after the battle with the Mordyth.
I reach down into the sand, digging a deeper hollow for myself, making room for my long tail.
The sand is icy beneath my fingers, colder than I hoped for.
I dig carefully, shaping it to fit me as I slither in.
I coil my tail around my upper body, trying to trap whatever warmth my body still holds.
The cold hasn’t bothered me since I arrived in Virellan, but here . . . it feels foreign. Magic seems to shift the temperature down here somehow, making the chill more fierce.
Finally comfortable, I let my gaze drift upward to the cavern ceiling, letting the shadows play across my vision. Only for a few moments, though, before exhaustion claims me, and sleep quietly pulls me under.
Laughter pulls me from my slumber.
I awaken, disoriented, straining to locate its source. No one is here, yet the sound continues, bouncing softly off the cavern walls.
I creep closer, drawn to it, and slowly images form on the stone around me.
Moments only I remember. Parties at my old college with Leo.
This one was us chugging beers before the cops forced everyone out of the frat house.
The room pulses with colored lights, music thumping so hard it rattles the floors.
Leo’s laughter rings above it all, rich and wild, and I can almost smell the sour mix of beer and cheap cologne in the air.
His grin, the way he slings his arm around my shoulders, and shouts something I can’t hear over the loud music.
It all feels real. Too real.
My chest tightens, tears pricking at my eyes as memories crash over me. Years of friendship, inside jokes, secrets whispered during study nights, every moment that made up the life I once had. I start crying hysterically, unable to stop.
I imagine how he must be feeling now, how he’s probably wondering where I’ve gone, and why I’ve been gone for so long. If he still sets out a drink for me during late nights at the lab, out of habit. If he still believes I’ll walk through the door one day.
The laughter fades, and the image wavers like water being disturbed. When it clears, I’m somewhere else.
My parents’ living room glows warm with lamplight.
A banner hangs crookedly across the wall—Congratulations, Sarah!
—and the smell of my mother’s cooking fills the air.
I watch as my past self moves through the room, shaking hands, smiling, hugging my dad.
Everyone’s clapping, celebrating the launch of my first independent dive expedition.
The pride in their faces stings more than I expect.
My mother presses a kiss to my cheek, her smile soft and proud. My father raises his glass. I can almost hear him say it again—You’ve always belonged to the sea, sweetheart, but don’t forget how you got here.
The words echo in my mind, and the image ripples, distorting until it’s nothing but light and shadow once more.
My heart aches. I have no sense of how much time has passed. Minutes? Hours? Confusion lands deeper than fatigue.
Why am I being shown my life on the surface? Why does it matter here—in a place meant to test my heart?
I return to where I was resting before, sinking into the hollow pit of sand I carved earlier. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the ache building behind them, but the memories linger like ghosts. A soft sob escapes me as I bow my head, crying over those that I love and miss dearly.
Exhaustion creeps in again, insidious and suffocating. My body gives way to it. My eyes flutter closed, refusing to open as I sink into an endless, drifting loop.
You can still return, Fishy.
The voice interrupts the quiet—familiar, teasing, heartbreakingly real. My breath hitches.
I pry my eyes open just enough to see him.
Leo. My best friend. My constant. He’s sitting in front of me as though he’s always belonged here, his grin soft, his eyes filled with that same warmth that could pull me out of any storm.
But it’s impossible. He wears no diving gear, no trace of protection from the crushing depths.
His hair floats weightless, his clothes stirring with the slow movement of the water.
This must be what Nyxalene meant . . . Illusions. The cave is playing tricks on me. But why?
“Leo, you aren’t real,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “You aren’t actually here.”
He tilts his head, that same crooked smile that used to make me laugh, now laced with something mournful.
But I can be, if you return home. We all miss you. I miss you.
The words echo through the water, curling around me like a current I can’t escape.
I close my eyes again, wishing—needing—his face to disappear.
The strength of our friendship pulls down on me like a tide I can’t fight.
All the years I leaned on him, the comfort I took for granted, the way he always made the world make sense .
. . and now, knowing I can never have that back—not in the same way—it breaks something inside me.
“I want to return home, Leo. I do,” I whisper, my voice cracking under the strain. “But my life has changed; I’ve changed. I could never have a normal life again if I went back to the surface.”
You've grown, Fishy. That’s all, he says softly, his expression tender, the edges of his face blurring slightly in the dim light.
You can still come home. Come home to us.
We can go diving again, grab beers at the pier, and talk until sunrise like we used to.
You can forget all of this ever happened.
His words fill my mind, and my heart responds with grief. The pull of his voice still affects me just like it did when I was with him on the surface. He always knew what to say. But this time, I’m not the same.
My physical form doesn’t fully describe the changes I’ve endured. My heart yearns for the ocean in a way I can’t explain, and my mind holds knowledge far beyond what I ever knew on the surface.
For a heartbeat, I want to believe him, to imagine I can climb out of this ocean and step back into my old life. But even as the thought takes hold, the water around us shimmers, and his outline flickers like a reflection disturbed by a ripple in a pond.
I shake my head slowly, my throat tightening. Leo wouldn’t tell me to forget something like this. He would tell me to embrace it.
“No—” I say. “I can’t forget something I've become.”
The cave hums faintly, the illusion thinning with each word I speak, as though it knows I’ve recognized the truth. The image of Leo lingers for a moment longer—sad, smiling faintly, and then dissolves into the darkness around me.
I’m left alone again, surrounded by warped silence. Only the steady pulse of the sea fills the void where his voice once was.
Those memories will never leave me. I'll carry them always, holding onto the laughter, the warmth, the moments that shaped who I was. But my role in this kingdom is asserting itself.
I’ve resisted it. Clung to the belief that I was meant to return home, but what if I’m not? Every reason I offer myself for going back feels hollow, more an excuse than an answer.
My thoughts spiral, teetering on the edge of mania, as I imagine ways to have it all, to remain in the sea while keeping my life on the surface.
But every scenario conjures only more illusions—images of destruction, failure, and disappointment.
It’s as if Mother Ocean is telling me that my only choice is to commit, to choose one world over the other.
The illusions pull me again and again to the surface, to the life I once knew. Yet each time, my heart tugs me back, reminding me of the role I now hold, the life I’ve built beneath the waves, and the responsibilities that anchor me here.
I picture my future, and the surface isn’t what I see.
Instead, I see the vast stretch of the ocean, uncharted depths waiting to be explored, friendships still forming, and knowledge yet to be uncovered.
Though, through it all, I see myself in this serpent form, no longer bound to the surface but drawn to the pull of the sea.
I may not fully understand it yet, but part of me knows. . . This is where I belong.