The low buzzing of the submarine echoed around Oliver, vibrating against his seat. It had been exactly like this for over two hours as they sank deeper into the pitch-black ocean.
He slouched back, staring at the curved metal walls, and then across the small cabin at his dad, hoping that watching him work might somehow make the descent go faster.
"Dad," Oliver called out, stifling a yawn just as he was about to doze off.
He unbuckled his harness and stepped over to the thick glass viewport at the front of the cabin.
He let out another heavy yawn, stretching his arms to wake himself up.
"Are we there yet?" he asked, staring out into the freezing, empty darkness.
Hank kept his eyes locked on the pilot's monitors. "Almost." He adjusted a small dial on the control panel to keep their descent steady.
"This time the satellites gave us a much more precise location. We aren't heading back with nothing. We'll either find something, or hear something down here." He paused for a second, his voice dropping slightly. "I hope."
Oliver leaned closer to the glass. "So you really think these magnetic spikes and sudden temperature jumps have something to do with all those Bermuda Triangle legends? Stuff we don't even know is real?"
Hank finally pulled his hand away from the thruster controls and looked over.
In the dim, pale glow of the cabin lights, his expression was dead serious. "Son, you're eighteen now. Don't you remember what happened on our last dive?"
"I do. I….." Oliver sighed, turning back to the thick glass viewport. He stared into the freezing, still water.
Hank's words triggered a memory Oliver had been trying to suppress. He didn't want to believe it.
They had convinced themselves they were safe because nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the Bermuda Triangle for decades.
But what if they were wrong? What if this dive was exactly when it was going to happen again?
Oliver shook his head, trying to brush the creeping dread away. But as he focused on the pitch-black ocean, his eyes locked onto something in the distance.
Something was glowing.
It was a faint, icy cyan—a soft trail of light drifting slowly through the darkness.
At first, Oliver thought it might be a searchlight.
Could another submarine be down here with them?
But… it doesn't really look like one.
"Dad?" Oliver whispered, his face practically pressed against the cold glass. "What is that?"
"What is what?" Hank leaned over the pilot's console, his eyes narrowing as he spotted it too. It looked like a submarine's lights, but it moved too smoothly, too organically.
The way the light pulsed and drifted... it looked almost like an animal. But at 4,000 meters deep, the crushing pressure made an animal that large completely impossible.
Plus, for a biological light to be that bright, that noticeable from so far away? Oliver had watched enough deep-sea documentaries to know something like this didn't exist. Never.
"It kinda looks like... um, a nautilus?" Hank whispered, his mind desperately trying to rationalize it.
"But it's not. That makes no sense," Oliver replied, his brow furrowing. "There's no way a nautilus could be that big and glowing. Its species doesn't even live this deep."
Oliver and Hank locked eyes, and for a split second, there was nothing else in the cabin but pure confusion.
"Hey!" Hank barked, shattering the quiet of the cabin.
He shot a cold glare at the hazard tech in the back corner, who was slumped over his console, dead asleep against the monitors like a high schooler failing to do his homework.
"Get up! Check the sonar!" he shouted.
"Huh? Mom. Yes?" the tech stammered, frantically rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh, wait... sorry, Boss,"
He forced a laugh, trying to make it less awkward than it already was.
He was supposed to be monitoring the sonar, but ever since their last dive, he had spent most of his shifts either sleeping or slacking off at his console.
"Oh, shoot..." the tech mumbled, his face going pale as he stared at the screen. "I forgot to watch the sonar."
But before Hank could yell at him again, a low, heavy rumble interrupted them.
A deep vibration shuddered through the deck plates, echoing through the entire submarine. Above them, the pale cabin lights flickered—just a quick, subtle dimming at first.
"Dad? Dad!" Oliver shouted, his voice tight with panic as he gripped the edge of the viewport.
Hank locked eyes with Oliver. They both knew exactly what that sound meant.
Based on all the evidence they had gathered, violent underwater vortexes occasionally formed in this area for reasons no one could explain.
Because the tech had been asleep, no one had checked the sonar, and they might already be trapped inside the pull of one.
They had heard this exact rumble on their last dive, felt this exact vibration, and barely managed to dodge it.
But... could they dodge it this time?
Suddenly, the low rumble exploded into a violent shake. The submarine lurched sideways.
The lights began flashing on and off aggressively, plunging the small cabin into strobe-lit chaos.
Loose documents, clipboards, and pens flew off the consoles, scattering through the air.
"Damn it! This is exactly what we wanted to avoid! How could you—"
Hank didn't even get to finish. A deafening groan tore through the metal hull, cutting him off. His hands flew across the pilot controls, desperately trying to stabilize them. "Is this an underwater vortex again?!"
Before anyone could answer, the submarine tilted sharply. Oliver lost his footing, his hands slipping from the wall, and he crashed hard onto the unforgiving metal deck with a heavy groan.
"Ugh!"
"Ah! Help! Somebody! Help!"
"Roar... roar... you're getting eaten!"
The frantic screams didn't belong to the crew of a dying submarine. They belonged to a nine-year-old boy.
Roughly 4,000 meters straight up from the chaos below, a sleek sailboat drifted idly on the calm ocean surface. The contrast was jarring.
Up here, there was no violent shaking, no blaring alarms. Just an eerie, heavy silence.
A thick blanket of fog had rolled in, swallowing the horizon entirely. The air was surprisingly warm, but the mist clung to everything, leaving the wooden deck slick with condensation.
Unwilling to risk sailing blind through the haze, David had lowered the sails and cut the engine, letting the boat drift idly as they waited it out.
He leaned against the cool steel railing, staring out into the endless wall of thick fog.
A soft smile touched his face as he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp, salty scent of the ocean.
Out here, completely disconnected from the world, it felt wild and exciting—even if the kids' mom wasn't there to share it with them.
"Dad, I'm gonna go back inside," Lucas, the 9 year old boy, announced, his voice breaking the quiet.
He scrambled up from the deck, abandoning his imaginary carnage.
David chuckled, watching his son march away toward the cabin doors, still making his plastic T-Rex aggressively chew on a battered toy car.
David turned his attention to his sixteen-year-old daughter. She was sitting near the stern, staring blankly into the gray mist. "Mia, your brother's cute, isn't he?" David asked, his voice low in the quiet air.
Mia didn't answer right away. She shifted in her seat, her expression slowly morphing from mild boredom to deep discomfort.
She let out a quiet groan, clamping a hand over her stomach as her face lost its color.
"Dad," she muttered, "I told you that canned food tasted expired. You said I can eat it. Ugh, I gotta go."
Without waiting for an apology, she quickly followed her brother's path inside the pilothouse, rushing past him and down the narrow wooden stairs toward the lower deck's tiny head.
David chuckled, a pang of fatherly guilt crossing his face. "Sorry!" he called out after her.
Left alone on the empty deck, David took a deep breath of the damp, salty air again. The boat rocked gently over the glassy swells.
It was so peaceful he could hear the water gently lapping against the hull. He turned back toward the foggy ocean, letting his eyes wander across the endless wall of gray.
Then, he noticed it.
Through the thick, swirling mist, the water wasn't just dark anymore. He squinted, leaning further over the railing.
There was no mistaking it—an eerie, icy cyan light was slowly blooming from beneath the surface, rising up from the crushing depths.
"What... is that?" David whispered, his breath catching in his throat. He leaned dangerously far over the railing, his eyes wide as he stared at the eerie glow blooming beneath the dark water.
THUD.
The impact was dull but violently heavy. Something massive had struck the hull from below, sending a deep shockwave through the fiberglass.
David's feet flew out from under him, and he crashed hard onto the slick wooden deck.
The entire sailboat pitched sharply sideways as a sudden, unnatural wave swelled around them, violently rocking the vessel in the otherwise dead-calm ocean.
From inside the pilothouse, David heard a loud clatter as Lucas's plastic T-Rex and toy car scattered across the wooden floorboards.
David scrambled to his knees, gripping the railing to keep from being tossed overboard. His heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the churning, glowing water, his mind racing.
What was that?