Where Stories Sink
By Kayla S
The water stretched out endless and cold, dark as wet stone beneath a bruised sky. Ripples moved like living shadows across its surface, whispering in deep voices only those who listened attentively could hear.
Two figures rose, the older gliding effortlessly through steel-like waves, and the younger observing carefully, every movement made with hesitation. The younger one shivered as he trudged through the icy wind, his teeth chattering from the sting of cold sprays. The older one moved beside him, steady and patient, always just a pace ahead with a hand on his shoulder–or maybe it was an elbow? Forearm? It was hard to tell in the swirling white mist.
Above them, the sky threatened rain, and the wind cut sharp through the air, carrying a tang of salt. Every time the younger one took a deep breath, he could taste it on his tongue, making his stomach churn with unease. He tried to speak, to ask a question, but all that came out was a sputter, swallowed by the wind. The older one laughed softly, a hearty sound that seemed to echo in the empty around them.
“You seem a little panicked,” the older one said, her voice mellow and warm, carrying across the chill. “There is not much further to go.”
“Grandma,” the younger one started, the wind allowing him to finally get a word out. “Can you tell me a story? To pass the time on the journey back to our family!” His brown, beady eyes looked at her with hope, seeming to grow larger with each passing second of silence.
Cutting off the chattering voices of the wind and ocean currents, she spoke again. “What type of story would you like to hear?”
The younger one, giddy with excitement, replied instantly. “A legend! One from long ago, that you heard when you were my age!”
“When I was your age, I heard an old story–much older than even 3,000 moons.” She stopped speaking for a moment, but he could feel the tale forming in the icy waters around them.
Long ago, the Spiral Currents was a lively route where many families traveled. Food was plentiful, rain was gentle, and the water always carried voices of lovely singing neighbors near and far. Those who lived there depended heavily on sound–songs, rhythms, melodies–to navigate, communicate, and stay connected.
In those times lived four young travelers, who although loved their home, wanted to find a greater purpose in life. There was Lysa, who was daring and adventurous, Milo, nervous but clever, a reader of the currents, Shale, she was gentle and a natural-born listener, and The Singer. Nobody knew of his name. He joined the small pod of purpose-seekers as a young orphan, but his voice was said to be as elegant and bewitching as clear prismed skies after a hideous storm. Throughout the entire ocean, his songs were known for being able to coax even the angriest of waves to calm into tranquil ripples.
The travelers went on many adventures together, voyaging from the iciest, darkest of waters to the most shallow and warm.
One day, the pod decided to return to the Spiral Currents for a while.
“I can’t believe it!” Lysa shouted out. “We’re back home!”
Even on break from traveling, the group couldn’t help roaming around and exploring because they believed nothing in their home waters could harm them. On the contrary, the Spiral Currents was hiding something far more powerful than they knew, and that is how they found the Heart of the Spiral.
It was an accident really, the pod was traversing through the only dark region in the Spiral Currents when Shale had asked for a song. She enjoyed The Singer’s music more than anyone,–or anything–and thought a small tune would help pass the time.
As he began to sing, the sea started to rise and fall in slow pulses, as if it was breathing. His notes began to warp and stretch out, bending before returning back to their ears, and although it was much different from The Singer’s usual melodies, it sounded just as elegant.
Undoubtedly, they had reached the very center of the route, where the ocean did not move like water. Milo was tenser than usual, and even Lysa grew hesitant to keep moving. Every instinct told them to turn back, but The Singer was drawn to it.
He said the ocean was singing back.
“Singing back? The ocean can’t sing! Maybe The Singer only thought that because his notes were being changed so much by the currents,” the younger one said, skeptical on where his grandmother’s story was going.
The older one chuckled softly and stated, “you’ll have to see what happens next. And no interruptions this time!”
What the duo had not noticed, however, was a huge metallic shadow above them slowly creeping closer and closer…
The Heart of the Spiral was nothing like the waters the pod knew. The ocean thickened around them, dense with drifting particles that shimmered like dust caught in beams of sun. Milo trembled as he felt the thickening pressure around them, vibrations crawling up his spine. Shale listened closely, her senses sharp, but even she could not make sense of the sounds. They didn’t echo, nor did they fade.
The Singer drifted forward.
He wasn’t afraid. If anything, he looked relieved that he had found something that truly understood him. He released a soft note, a small sound that sparkled through the water, and the Heart responded.
A low, resonant hum rippled forward, turning the water warm for a moment and pulling spirals into a graceful loop. The currents steadied and the pressure eased. Milo felt the vibrations smooth into a gentle pattern.
“It’s listening to you,” Shale murmured.
The Singer didn’t reply. He was already humming and whistling another melody, longer this time. It wound through like a thread of silver. The Heart tried to answer again, adjusting itself to match him.
But this time, something was off. The reply came back too strong, too eager, and too forceful. The pressure flickered, and the spirals tightened. The hum beneath them deepened into something that felt almost hungry.
“Maybe we shouldn’t stay,” Milo said, backing away from the rest of the group.
“I agree,” Shale breathed.
But The Singer didn’t move. His eyes looked distant, like he was entranced in a conversation others can’t hear.
The currents suddenly began to lash out in sharp bursts. Water cracked with sudden movement, smashing spirals into erratic knots.
Lysa darted forward and grabbed on to The Singer, trying to pull him away, but a surge of water heaved her backwards.
“We need to go!” She shouted.
For the first time, he looked petrified. He tried to sing a calming note, but the Heart answered with a violent tremor that shook the entire Spiral. The water buckled, and the currents collapsed in.
A sudden downward pull ripped through like a silent thunderclap.
Milo and Shale were hurled backwards tumbling in the chaos. Lysa fought the harsh currents, pushing towards where The Singer had been.
But there was nothing.
Just a whirl of silver particles.
That was until Milo saw a shadow slowly swim towards them.
There he was! Shaken up and shocked, yes, but alive.
The same could not be said for the Heart, however.
The pod drifted for a moment, catching their breath as the final violent shudder faded into stillness. The ocean around them felt…hollow. The shimmering dust that had once seemed full of life now drifted aimlessly, as if the Spiral Currents could no longer remember how to move.
Milo floated closer to The Singer. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice trembling more from worry than fear.
The Singer nodded slowly. “It wasn’t aggravated,” he whispered. “Just lonely. It wanted someone to sing with” His gaze lowered slightly.
Lysa scanned the dim, drifting waters that had once been their home. The lively currents that used to carry songs from pod to pod were now gone. No more soft harmonies weaved through the depths, no more warm spirals to guide families across the ocean. The route was now completely and utterly quiet.
“We should go,” Lysa said softly. “There’s nothing left here for anyone. If other pods come through…” She paused, her voice dipping. “They won’t be safe.”
Reluctantly, the group gathered themselves and began swimming away from the Heart’s remains. With every stroke, the silence behind them grew heavier. The Spiral was no longer living, but now just a memory, a place frozen in time.
As they reached the open waters beyond the dark region, Milo glanced back one last time. “Do you think it’ll ever recover?” he asked.
Shale hesitantly shook her head. “Maybe some places aren’t meant to be fixed. They’re meant to be remembered.”
And so, the four travelers pressed onward towards brighter waters. The Spiral Currents rested behind them, no longer singing. Though the route was now destroyed, its stories would travel on, held carefully in the hearts of the only ones who had ever heard it sing.
As the older one finished her tale, the younger one drifted closer, soaking in every word.
“So no one ever went back? The Spiral Currents was just abandoned after it was destroyed?” he asked quietly.
“Well,” she replied. “Some things change forever, but their songs live on through those who remember.”
The younger one thought about that: about losing a home, losing a voice, losing something that felt eternal.
However, he wasn’t able to ponder long.
All of a sudden, a horrible noise shot through the water, faster than a sailfish at top speed. There was a violent roar, not from an agitated sea lion however. It vibrated harshly, far too close, and nothing like the living sounds of the currents in the story. Deep and low and mechanical, it rumbled through his bones.
Then, a raspy shout.
“Finn!”
Then, searing hot pain.
Then, darkness.
When he came to, the dark blue water was mixing with a cloud of red, turning almost purple. There was an immediate ache in the right side of his body, but that wasn’t what made him gasp in horror.
In the middle of the red-purple cloud, an unreactive black silhouette was slowly sinking deeper and deeper, leaving an ugly trail of crimson colored ichor. It wasn’t until the young one’s hazy vision started to clear that he realized the shadow was his grandmother.
Her black body was slowly turning and spinning in the water, like how a rusty oil barrel does, dumped in the ocean without a care by the land-dwellers above. Her sharp and lively white eye patches now looked like dry icy clouds floating through a dead-cold night sky. Her beautiful shiny fins and tail now hung limp on her body, and her once snow-white belly was now tinted with red. Straight through her spine, a long metal rod with a sharp-pointed end stood with gratification, like it was proud to have caught such hefty prey.
The young one looked up to see a large metal belly groaning and screeching loudly. Through the deafening sounds from the steel monster above, he heard faint shouts and yells, and although he did not understand the language of the land-dwellers, he knew they must’ve been talking about the murder of his now dead grandmother.
Through the aching in his side and the sickening memory of red, the young one swam the rest of the journey alone.
He didn’t sing, or tell himself stories.
That night, only one figure, battered and injured, returned home.
And the story of the Spiral Currents became his to carry.