Ch. 38
I’m eight years old again, standing on the deck of my parents’ yacht, the salty breeze whipping through my hair. The air smells of the ocean—fresh, clean, with just a hint of something wild and untamed.
We’re off the coast of New Zealand, where the sea is a deep, endless blue, and the sky stretches out like a vast canvas, painted with streaks of pink and orange from the setting sun.
It’s a family vacation, one of the many my parents love to take, hopping from one exotic location to another. We’ve spent the last few days exploring ancient temples and ruins on the mainland, marveling at the stories carved into stone by civilizations long gone.
It was fascinating, and I enjoyed it—mostly—but what really captured my heart was the ocean.
The yacht is a big, fancy thing, all polished wood and gleaming metal, with sails that catch the wind like the wings of a great bird. My cousins, who usually join us on these trips, were too scared to come aboard. They’d much rather stay on solid ground than risk the open water.
But not me. I’ve discovered that I love the ocean. The way it moves, the way it seems alive, a living, breathing thing that calls to me in a language I don’t quite understand.
I spend hours at the edge of the boat, staring down into the water, hoping to catch sight of the creatures that live beneath the waves. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like to dive in, to be part of that world instead of just an observer.
But I’m the only kid here, and without my cousins to play with, I have to keep myself entertained. It’s a bit lonely, but I’m used to it. I’ve always been good at fending for myself.
Today is no different. I’m playing by the edge of the boat, leaning over the railing to get a better view of the water. The sun is warm on my back, and the sound of the waves is soothing.
I can hear my parents talking somewhere behind me, their voices muffled by the wind, but I’m not paying attention. I’m too focused on the sea, on the endless expanse of blue that seems to stretch on forever.
If I close my eyes and listen hard enough, I can hear a faint melody calling out to me – the song of the sea. I listen to it now, gazing into the electric blue depths as if the source of the song is only just beneath the waves.
That’s when I see it—a flash of something just beneath the surface, long and sleek, moving too quickly for me to identify. My heart skips a beat, and I scramble closer to the edge, curiosity burning through me. It could be a dolphin! Or maybe something even more amazing. I have to see it up close.
I slip under the railing, knowing full well that I’m not supposed to, but I can’t help myself. I lean out as far as I can, my eyes straining to catch another glimpse of whatever it was. The yacht hits a small swell, the deck shifts beneath me, and before I know what’s happening, I lose my balance.
There’s a moment of pure, weightless terror as I fall, my arms flailing, trying to grab onto something—anything. But there’s nothing, just open air and the cold, unforgiving water below. I hit the sea with a splash, the cold shock of it driving the breath from my lungs.
I try to scream, but the sound is swallowed by the water. I bob to the surface, gasping for air, but the waves are higher than I expected, and the boat is already drifting away. I try to swim, to keep my head above water, but I’m not strong enough. The ocean is too big, too powerful, and it’s pulling me down, dragging me away from safety.
I’m scared—so scared. The water is everywhere, surrounding me, pressing in on me, and I can’t breathe, can’t think. I try to cry out for help, but all that comes out is a strangled gurgle before I’m pulled under again. The world above the surface disappears, replaced by the cold, dark silence of the deep.
I’m so tired. My arms and legs feel like lead, and no matter how hard I try to kick, to push myself back up, I keep sinking. My lungs burn for air, and my vision starts to blur. I feel myself drifting, the darkness closing in around me. I’m slipping away, and I can’t stop it.
But then, just as I’m about to lose consciousness, something grabs me—arms, strong and sure, pulling me close. I catch a glimpse of dark green hair, so dark it’s almost black, floating around me like seaweed. I feel a sense of calm wash over me, as if whoever—or whatever—this is, they won’t let anything happen to me.
The next thing I know, I’m back on the yacht, lying on the deck, coughing up seawater as my parents frantically call my name. I can barely hear them, my mind still reeling from what just happened, from the feel of those arms around me, the whisper of a voice I can’t quite remember.
“Pho-ebe.”
***
“Pho-ebe!”
The sound of my name, soft and distant, pulls me from the dream. My eyes snap open, and I’m back in the present, lying on the uneven, rocky surface where I must have passed out. My neck and back ache from the awkward position, but that discomfort is nothing compared to the cold fear that seeps into my bones as I realize I’m not alone.
Wake is back, staring at me from the water, his presence as imposing as ever. Seeing him fills me with a cold apprehension that’s hard to shake. His eyes are dark, unreadable, and I can feel the weight of his gaze, the tension crackling between us like a live wire.
“You,” I breathe, the realization hitting me like a tidal wave. “It was you. It’s always been you.”
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