For the first hour, I drifted in stunned silence—my breath coming in thin gasps, my fingers clamped around the edges of the crate as though they were the only things tethering me to the world. The waves rocked me gently, almost kindly, though the kindness felt cruel when paired with the biting cold.
My hair clung to my face in icy strands, plastered to my cheeks and neck. Every shift sent cold water trickling down my spine. At some point, I became aware—painfully aware—of the weight of my soaked pants, heavy and stiff against my legs.
"Idiot…" I rasped to myself through chattering teeth. "Absolute… fucking idiot…"
What kind of fool runs into the sea in winter—in the middle of eternal winter—and expects anything other than misery? The cold gnawed at my legs viciously, each wave stealing more heat from my skin. My boots squelched with every movement, water sloshing inside them.
I curled tighter into the crate, trying to lift my legs out of the water, but there was no room. My calves remained submerged, burning with numbness.
Another wave slapped my side, icy water splashing into my mouth.
I spat it out—
then paused.
Curiosity. Desperation. Both made me dip my hand over the edge and bring a palmful of seawater to my lips.
The moment it touched my tongue, I gagged.
"Oh gods—bleh—!"
The salt stung my throat. My tongue burned. My teeth felt like they'd been dipped in fire.
I coughed violently, sputtering.
Of all the ridiculous things I'd done that night, this might have been the worst.
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, eyes watering.
Good thing I didn't bring this back to my people, I thought bitterly.
It would've killed them faster than the cold.
The realization punched through the haze: I had nothing. No water. No food. No warmth. No plan.
Just a floating crate—half-rotten, half-lopsided—carrying me somewhere into a sea that didn't care whether I lived or died.
Time blurred.
Night became darker.
The wind grew sharper.
My breath slowed.
Two hours felt like one.
One hour felt like ten.
The crate tilted, then steadied, then tilted again. I clung to it with arms that felt like they belonged to someone else. My thoughts drifted in fragments—Lira's scream, the bucket, the fog, the monster's roar. They looped and tangled until they made no sense.
I tried to stay awake.
Tried to think.
Tried to remember who I was supposed to be.
But the cold crawled deeper.
I drifted.
Then drifted deeper.
Everything melted into silver waves and black sky.
If I spoke, I didn't hear it. If I dreamed, I didn't remember.
Hours passed.
Those hours stretched into more.
And more.
Until time lost meaning altogether.
By the time I felt anything again, it was the sun—warm, gentle, impossible—pressing against my face.
Sun.
My eyes cracked open sluggishly.
Blinding light stabbed my vision, and I winced. Something soft cushioned my head. Something coarse scratched my fingers. Something warm—warm—pressed against my cheek.
Sand.
My body jerked weakly.
Sand.
I was lying on sand.
For a moment, confusion gnawed at my mind. How was there light? The sky had always been dark. Fog had always choked the heavens. I hadn't seen real sunlight since—
I couldn't even remember.
I blinked again, tears leaking out as the world sharpened.
The crate lay half on its side beside me, one plank cracked, half its nails rusted. My legs sprawled in awkward angles, boots still dripping. My hair clung to me like wet rope. My lips were cracked. My throat felt raw.
I blinked slowly, head swimming.
When had I gotten here?
I tried to think.
Two hours…
then four…
then…
Days.
Had it really been days?
I couldn't recall the moment the sea spat me onto land. I hadn't felt the impact, hadn't heard the waves break, hadn't tasted air that wasn't salt and cold.
I'd been too delirious.
Too far gone to notice anything at all.
The sun warmed my face again, and I shivered, realizing how starved my body was for warmth. I curled my fingers into the sand, feeling each grain shift against my skin.
A sound escaped my throat—half whimper, half sigh.
Alive.
Somehow… alive.
I dragged in another breath, chest shaking from the effort. The air tasted different than the air of Absonditus. Cleaner. Warmer. Fuller.
My vision swam as I pushed myself onto my elbows. The world tilted violently, but I braced myself against the crate until the dizziness dulled.
Before me stretched a shoreline I did not know—golden, sun-touched, dotted with driftwood and shells. Behind me rose cliffs streaked with white stone and moss, towering into the sky.
No fog.
No snow.
No eternal night.
Just open sky.
Blue sky.
Blue.
I stared at it, breath trapped in my chest.
I had never seen it before.
Not truly.
Not like this.
My head fell back, resting on the crate as tears slipped down my temples.
Alive.
Free.
Somewhere new.
Somewhere the fog could not reach me.
My fingers dug into the sand again, and I exhaled slowly—
finally, finally aware.
I had washed ashore.
And nothing would ever be the same.