Two pods slipped into the rocky gorge where old ships gathered like bones.
Light thinned quickly here. Sound bent. Coral swam ahead, colors flaring and fading in quick bursts meant to warn anything watching that he was not worth testing. Conch stayed lower, where the pressure was steady and familiar.
Coral circled once, unable to stop himself. Not knowing tugged at him harder than fear ever did.
Coral
It's one of these. I know it.
Conch turned, scanning the wrecks. There were too many. Hundreds of ships, stacked and broken, pulled here by currents Coral never bothered to understand.
Conch
You said that before.
Coral flicked his fins, annoyed.
Coral
This one feels wrong. Different.
That was Coral's way. He trusted instinct first. Conch trusted patterns. They passed one wreck. Then another. Coral's colors dimmed as they went deeper, his body tightening as the water cooled.
Conch
You remember it now.
Coral nodded.
Coral
Yeah. Not from the outside. From inside.
Conch stopped. Below them, a thick green cloud drifted like a living thing, swallowing light and sound. The cloud pool. Stories said creatures vanished inside it, or worse, came back wrong.
Conch
We don't have to go through that.
Coral hesitated, then flashed bright warning colors without meaning to.
Coral
That's where it sank.
They descended. The water grew colder. Wrecks appeared suddenly, then vanished again. Broken masts, torn hulls, and scattered treasure floated where sailors had died.
Coral drifted toward a spill of jewels, curiosity tugging at him.
Conch
Later.
Reluctantly, Coral pulled back. He focused instead on the way the cloud thinned ahead, retreating from something tall and unmoving. A ship stood upright in an open pocket of water, untouched by decay. Faint blue-green light pulsed from inside it, slow and steady, like breathing. The cloud unsettled him, but not as much as the open water above it. Too quiet. Too empty.
Coral's colors spiked without him meaning to. Being seen always steadied him.
Coral
That's it.
Conch studied the ship. The pulse. The way the cloud refused to touch it. Coral didn't know why this wreck felt different. He only knew his body had already decided.
Conch
It wasn't glowing before.
Coral
Everything changes down here.
They approached carefully. As they entered the opening around the ship, the cloud thinned unnaturally. The deck creaked faintly beneath them even though no current moved it.
Too intact.
Conch
This place isn't dead.
Coral
I don't care. I don't like how still this feels.
They slipped through a broken hatch. Inside, the corridors swallowed sound. The glow below them brightened slightly, as if aware of them. Coral burst into a large chamber filled with gold, silk, and relics from the surface world.
Coral
Look at this!
He dove in, laughing, the tension briefly forgotten.
Conch barely glanced at the treasure. His attention was pulled toward the glow beneath the floor. It felt heavy. Important. He moved to the back of the hall and peered through cracked boards. The light flared brighter in response.
Above, Coral surfaced wearing a crown he didn't understand.
Conch
I'm going lower.
Coral dropped the crown instantly.
Coral
Right. Coming.
They descended to the next level. A smooth wall blocked the way, glowing faintly. A rope hung loose in the corner. Conch pulled. The wall resisted, then slowly shifted. The rope snapped. He hit the floor hard. Coral rushed to him, colors flashing sharp and bright.
Coral
You hurt?
Conch shook it off and swam closer to the opening. Inside rested a large, smooth pearl, glowing brighter than anything else in the ship.
Coral
What is that?
Conch didn't hesitate.
Conch
A leviathan's pearl.
Coral's breath caught.
Coral
That's… that's worth—
Conch lifted it. The pearl weighed almost nothing. The pulsing stopped the instant it touched his hands, the glow turning steady. Coral reached toward it—and the light dimmed slightly.
Conch
We're not selling it.
Coral stared at him.
Coral
Then why take it?
Conch
Because this lets us go where we couldn't before. The meaning sank in slowly.
Coral
The surface?
Conch nodded. Coral grabbed him, spinning wildly, colors blazing.
Coral
We can leave. We can really leave.
Conch
Quiet.
Coral dimmed, forcing himself still. They secured the pearl and fled the ship.
As they climbed the gorge, a scream tore through the cloud below. Then another. Siren cries followed, warping the water with hunger. Conch reacted instantly, shoving the bag into Coral's arms.
Conch
Hold this.
The weight slammed Coral down. He hit rock hard, limbs locking as the pearl went dark.
Coral
Conch—wait!
The cloud swallowed Conch completely. Coral strained against the pearl, panic clawing up his chest. Then the water stilled. No screams. No movement. Coral's muscles loosened before he could stop them. The quiet felt right. That was when he realized something was wrong.