The girl, Amira, jumps to her feet, wrapping her arm around John's waist. "Thank you, mister, for helping me!"
Amira must've surprised John with her sudden hug as he dropped the lantern into the water.
He faces toward me, making some gesture that I couldn't see in this dark. Morgan and I share a glance at one another before both of us step forward, moving beside John and Amira.
I move to pick John's lantern before the water snuffs the light. Morgan goes on ahead, looking for the chamber's exit. Amira lets go of John and follows Morgan, slowly walking behind him.
I reach into the dark water, the cold biting at my wrist as my fingers fumble for the lantern. I lift it just before the flame chokes out, cradling the thing.
John adjusts his weight, leaning heavily on his crutch, becoming more comfortable with it. "Little quick on the hug, huh?" John mutters.
"She's just scared," I say, watching the girl drift after Morgan. I wonder if a girl as young as her got into a place like this.
"Amira, lass," Morgan calls out ahead. "You see anything that looks like a gate?"
"No gate," she says. "But I felt a breeze that way. It's gentle. Mother says that's a good thing, to follow the sea's breath."
"That's wise, lass."
We move again, the chamber narrowing. The stone arcs downward, forming a throat. We follow it, one by one, Morgan first, Amira second, and John hobbling next to me at the rear.
"She's calm for someone who lost," I say, watching her walk beside Morgan, who's suddenly holding her hand. His pace is slower than it was before, eyes off the map, staring forward. I see Amira begging to go ahead of Morgan.
"She's just a child, Cole. Girls her age are easily trustworthy when adults say it'll be alright."
I remain quiet, unsure whether to question John's statement. Perhaps it's because I've had a different experience with life, but even I was afraid of the dark when I was younger, despite my mother being nearby.
And Morgan... he's acting different. I didn't know he was soft for children like Amira. Then again, I've known for less than a day.
The water at our feet thins out as we go deeper, leaving behind a mirrored trail. Ahead, we only hear the low breath of wind brushing against the walls, almost like it's breathing with us.
Morgan hasn't spoken about the route, or at all, in a while. Neither John nor Amira.
I hear another strange sound coming from Amira. The sound of her bare feet, padding gently beside Morgan's boots.
There's something strange about that sound, as if it's off-beat.
As if she's not stepping, just gliding, when I blink, she steps normally, clutching Morgan's hand. In the lantern light, her arms seem too long, and her skin paler than any other I've seen.
I rub my eyes, and Amira seems ordinary once again.
The tunnel curves again, the stone narrowing further. The ceiling hunches down some more.
Morgan huffs. "Feels like we're walking into the belly of a kraken."
Amira giggles. "It's not a kraken, mister," she says sweetly. "Just the bones and people who get lost."
"That so?"
"Mm-hmm." She swings their hands like a pendulum.
John lets out a breath beside me. He doesn't say anything. His hand tightens around the crutch, sweating in the humid atmosphere. His steps are off, different from before, ever since we entered the chamber.
His body doesn't look fine, but his face says otherwise, holding a tiny grin, continuously glancing forward. Actually, neither Morgan nor John has shifted their necks in a few minutes other than to look at Amira when she says something.
"Where did you say your mother went again?" I ask. Morgan and John don't look my way, except for Amira, looking over her shoulder, right at me with her wide eyes.
"She's waiting, she replies. "She always waits for me whenever I get lost."
Morgan slows a bit, glancing down at her. "You sure we're heading the right way, lass?"
"Of course, mister," Amira says, letting go of Morgan's hand and pointing forward, her eyes not leaving mine. "Just keep going that way."
Morgan listens to Amira and continues walking, with John following behind, while Amira begins to drift toward me.
No, not drifting, strolling toward me with purpose. Her steps are soft. I feel a pulse in the air with each one; not with sound, not with scent. But with something. The feeling brushes the edge of my thoughts, like a fingertip grazing water.
The lantern flickers as Amira gets close.
"Are you okay?" Amira asks with her tender voice. It's small, yet it echoes in my ears.
I nod slowly. "Yeah, just tired."
She's close now, really close. When her hand touches mine, it's surprisingly warm. Her fingers curl gently over mine like flower petals.
And then, I blink.
For some reason, Amira is pulling me ahead of Morgan and John. Morgan is laughing, telling a story to John about a whale hunt. John limps beside him, grinning at every word.
Amira is still pulling me farther ahead than the others. She stops for a moment, glancing behind her. "Come on, guys! We're almost there!" Amira shouts excitedly.
I nod dumbly. My feet carry me forward before I realize I'm moving. The lantern sways in my hand, the light dimmer now.
John and Morgan follow behind us, still laughing. John's limp softened, or I'm imagining that. His stride doesn't change the way it did. Morgan's voice rolls like thunder in a bottle, booming with one story after another.
None of them seems bothered by the way the air has changed.
I should be bothered, and yet I'm not.
I'm just listening, watching, breathing.
Amira skips ahead of me now, spinning once before landing in step. Her hair floats, too light for the damp air. Her feet don't splash.
"I think you'll like her," she says suddenly.
"Who?" I ask.
"Mother," Amira chirps, her head tilting. "She'll be so happy you came."
Something in my chest stirs. It's not fear, not quiet—something I can't define.
I glance at the wall for a moment, seeing them ripple.
No, not ripple. That's wrong. They bulge and flex. The stones sweat.
I blink and it's gone.
"Why would your mother be happy?" I ask more of myself than her.
Amira doesn't turn around. "Because you're sweet. You're soft. She likes the soft ones."
I don't respond.
I can't.
My thoughts feel like they're sliding away each time they come together. Every time I try to pin them down, they sound wrong.
Ahead, the tunnel widens again, forming another chamber that's circular and hollow like a throat waiting to swallow. The ground drips slightly, water pooling in the center. I think I see something floating in it, long and wrapped in cloth.
A banner?
A tarp?
No, I realize it's hair.
Amira steps into the pool barefoot. The water doesn't move around her. It parts, recoils, like it's scared of touching her.
"Ha!" Morgan laughs again. "It reminds me of this grotto I once stumbled into near Duke's Bay. You could hear the walls breathing down there, I swear it."
"I believe it," John says, eyes locked forward, his pupils faintly reflecting like Amira's.
I swallow. My throat feels coated in syrup. I raised the lantern high.
The stones around us are no longer cracked and worn. They're smooth and seamless, as if there's a wet gloss coating over them, like spit. I don't remember when it changed. I should've remembered.
But all I can do is stare.
"Almost there," Amira whispers, brushing her fingers along the wall. "She's already looking at you."
I look behind me, seeing Morgan and John still smiling as they walk.
The air is too thick now. Not just heavy, but it pulses. It vibrates in time with our steps. The walls are pale, no longer stone, but not flesh either, somewhere in between veined and soft-looking.
I blink once more.
The floor is slick beneath our boots.
Ribbed
Organic.
Like cartilage molded into a path.
Amira keeps skipping, her dress stays dry, and her hair does not move.
"She likes the way you think, Cole," she says sweetly. "The way you look at things, the hurting things, the things you don't say out loud. You're going to be her favorite. I know it. I just know it."
The tunnel slopes downward.
The light grows pinker. No, not pink, blood-colored.
Wet and alive.
There was only silence, neither Morgan nor John saying a word, merely putting one foot in front of the other.
I can't feel the lantern anymore. I'm not sure if I'm even holding it.
At some point, we stopped moving, standing in the middle of a chamber. I don't know when. My legs lock like they were never mine to begin with.
The chamber stretches out around us, the walls transformed entirely.
They now rise in a slow, curving arc, meeting in a trembling dome overhead. They breathe. Everything is flesh. Slick folds of muscle and sinew curl and twitch around thick membranes—only venous tissue, trembling softly with wet noises.
The walls drip with maroon ichor, slowly leaking down into the shallow basin in the center of the chamber. It's there, floating, into the shape I saw earlier. Not hair or cloth.
A woman.
"She's been waiting for you," Amira's voice whispers into my ears.
"She's been waiting for so long."
John and Morgan stand like dolls, as pylons of flesh clutch them, tying them in place. Their eyes gleam with the same soft light from the chamber's walls.
The chamber shivers.
Then, a sound comes. Soft at first like a whisper.
No, a murmur of many mouths speaking together as one.
A choice, smooth and deep and warm as blood.
"You've come far, little one."
I don't just hear the voices. I receive them. They press gently into the folds of my mind like a mother wiping tears from her child's cheeks.
"You've wandered through dark places. And now, you've found your way to me. You should be proud."
The basin quivers as a woman appears from the darkness.
The woman smiles inhumanely. Her mouth sat in a perpetual, cruel crescent—an ear-to-ear pale smile. Her mouth splits so far across her face that her lips quiver, torn and glistening pink, tugged open at the corners by something more muscle than joy.
I could feel what she wants. I can feel what she is.
I witness death incarnate before me.
"Welcome home, Cole Sear."