The sea did not roar as they descended.
It whispered.
Selena had prepared herself for pain. For the crushing pressure of the ocean's depths to wrap around her lungs like a noose, for the biting cold to gnaw at her bones with merciless intent, for darkness to fold her in as if she had died a quiet, drowning death. She expected resistance—waves clawing at her skin, the weight of water heavy on her limbs, a silence born from suffocation. But what embraced her as she stepped into the abyss was none of those things. It was warmth. Not warmth in the way of fire or sun, but something deeper—older. A warmth that reminded her of lullabies hummed in languages forgotten by time, of prayers whispered beneath temple arches swallowed by ivy. It was a welcome she did not understand, but could not deny.
