"Mom, please, no!" Jordan's voice cuts through the water, thin and breaking. "Stay with me. I can't lose you again."
The ocean feels endless here. Not wide—deep. Like it doesn't stretch outward but inward, pressing into every thought, every memory. The cold isn't just temperature. It's grief. It sinks into my bones, into my lungs, into the space behind my eyes. Even the sound feels muffled, like the world itself is holding its breath.
"I can't lose you again. Dad, my brothers—they need you," Jordan says, her words shaking as much as her hands. "You'll understand how hard it was without you. What I had to go through. What I had to take care of."
Her mother floats just below her now, hair drifting like ink in water, eyes full of something heavy and tired. When she speaks, it's barely more than a whisper.
"Oh, honey… I don't know if I can."
The water shifts.
Chains rise from the darkness below—deep blue, almost blending into the ocean itself. They wrap around her mother's legs, slow at first, almost gentle. Then they pull. Hard. Final.
Jordan lunges forward, grabbing her, kicking, fighting the current with everything she has. The ocean resists her like it always does. Like it's already decided.
Then my lungs seize.
The water I was breathing just vanishes. One second it's there, the next it's gone, replaced with fire. I choke. My chest tightens so hard it feels like it's folding in on itself. I try to call on my power—anything—but nothing answers me here. In this place, I'm nothing. Just another body drowning.
"I can't continue to be strong," Jordan cries, her voice echoing through the water. "I can't continue to take care of everyone. I need you."
Her mom reaches up, touching Jordan's face like she's trying to memorize it.
"I'm sorry," she says softly. "But I can't."
And then she's gone—dragged down faster than feels possible, swallowed whole by the dark.
Jordan doesn't scream.
She collapses inward, arms wrapped around herself, knees pulled tight to her chest. The space around her feels hollow, like something essential was just ripped out of the world. That's when the claws appear—thin, black shapes drifting toward her, slow and patient, like they know she won't fight back.
They reach for me too.
My vision blurs as I draw my sword, swinging through the water, the impact dull and wrong. Every movement burns. I kick upward, desperate, lungs screaming.
Air.
I break the surface for a breath—just one—but something yanks me back down again.
Jordan is still there.
Still curled in on herself. Still alone.
And suddenly I understand.
Not just her grief—but the weight she's always carried. The way she once told me she used to stare at the stars as a kid, because it let her forget for a moment. Forget the responsibility. Forget the burden her family placed on her when her mom died. She never really got to be a kid. She was always holding something together.
I didn't really understand Jordan before. We argued. We clashed. We became a team because we had to. But this place doesn't let you hide. It shows you everything.
My body moves before I think.
I swim.
Every stroke feels slower than the last. The cold cuts deeper. My lungs fill, my vision darkens, but I keep going. I have to reach her.
The water begins to shake violently—like something inside her finally cracked. The ocean trembles, fractures rippling outward, but I push through it.
I reach her shoulder.
She looks up at me, gray eyes empty and overflowing all at once, tears spilling like they could flood the ocean itself. I try to think of something to say. Anything. But nothing comes.
So I just pull her into my arms.
She hesitates—then clutches me like she's afraid I'll disappear too.
Suddenly, I can breathe.
Her sobs hit my chest, raw and uncontrolled. My throat tightens, and the only words that come out are the honest ones.
"I see you."
The water disappears.
No cold. No darkness. No weight.
Just silence.
She keeps repeating it, her voice breaking every time.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I couldn't save you again."
I hold her tighter. She presses into me, gripping my jacket, and when our eyes meet it feels different than before. Like the moment she came to my house, when she let me see a part of her—but deeper. No walls. No pretending.
This place shows you your worst fear. Your trauma. Your emotions. All at once.
And when I look into Jordan's eyes, something shifts inside me. Something unfamiliar. Something real.
Maybe it's a connection.
Maybe I'm overthinking it.
But the way she looks back at me—
It makes me want to believe more