Chapter Text
Shaking hands cut through the water of the flooded cavern. Naoki can barely feel them, pushing himself forward by willpower alone. He doesn’t know how long he’s been swimming — only able to guess the time by the tangible ridges on his fingers and rough goosebumps littering his skin. With a strong kick, he breaks the surface, water lapping against the walls as he does. Heaving for breath, his bleary eyes flit between the stalactites, unfocused. In the phone light, the white-blue rays, the cavern shrinks in on itself. Like some unseen calamity, it stalks him; constricting around his airways the same way his shirt clings to his expanding chest.
There’s no way he is fast enough to escape the cave in time, let alone get to higher ground before it catches up to him.
In a crumb of time, the black water behind him rises and falls again; calmness long forgotten. Naoki swivels around, heart pounding. Is it too late already? Kicking his feet, he feels the telltale drag of the current in the waters beneath. There’s no time to debate the right decisions — he’s dead anyway. He sucks in a breath just as the shadow of a fin bounces against the pale orange light of the crystals below, and dives down.
The tail splashes against the surface as it follows.
The blaring alarm throws Naoki out of an already-restless sleep, the tale-end of stormy dreams clinging to his waking conscience. Untangling his legs from the mess he’s made of the sheets in his sleep, he reaches around and turns it off with a decisive thwunk. He lies back on his bed, mattress bouncing softly as he does.
With his eyes closed, the world around him comes into focus.
The chirping is what he notices first — the Cotaes singing loudly right outside his window. It is only when he concentrates, aiming his senses at the horizon, that he hears the too-familiar sound of the ocean waves lapping at the shore outside his home. After a few more moments of blissful rest, he sits up. There’s a weight on his chest today, some nervous current flowing through his veins, making his head sting.
“Annoying,” he mumbles as he rubs a hand against his sternum.
His eyes catch onto the remaining light of his phone screen; the silvery streaks a stark contrast against the dark colour of his bedside dresser. He swipes away the messages, lingering only a moment above the call this weekend? before closing his phone with a sigh. Numbers illuminate the dark screen. Absent-mindedly, Naoki finds himself tracing them with his eyes. He follows the angular lines of the boxed symbols; the square base sitting atop the — He shoots up as his mind catches up with his eyes, nearly flinging himself off the bed with muted curses.
“Qixa,” he spits as he tries to get into his diving kit without stumbling, “the tide guard.”
In a matter of moments, he’s out of his door, disregarding the shrine in his hallway to bolt down the dirt path to the shore. It only takes a few more minutes for his feet to hit the cobblestones on familiar turf, the citrus smell of fresh Bemoaes infiltrating his nostrils. Tempted to steal one off its wooden peak, Naoki slows momentarily and stretches up. His hand has just closed around the fruit when a high-pitched squeak makes him jump and messily rip it from its stem.
“Xi’a,” Naoki scolds as he turns around.
The Qomiat slings around his feet as it continues to squeak, fur moist against his hand. Another squeak and it sits down on its hindlegs, webbed paws reaching up towards Naoki in a silent plea. “Xi’a,” Naoki sighs again, “stop begging. These aren’t for you.”
“They’re not for you either, dear.”
Naoki starts, dropping the Bemo as he does. The fruit falls to the floor, the dull thud an audible proof of his just perceived crimes. He turns with a wince. “Hey, Cytau,” his hand rubs at the back of his neck.
“Cais, Naoki,” a bemused smile is playing on his Cytau's lips. Wrinkled lines adorn the sides of her mouth, joined by the crinkles forming around her slanted eyes. Her hair is pulled up today, Naoki notes, piaat stones weaved into the intricate patterns of her braids. There’s something comforting about the way the morning sun reflects off the white strands on her head. Her eyes follow the fruit as it falls, eyebrow raising when Naoki shrugs.
“I got up late,” he tries, rubbing his thumb against his pointer finger, “no big deal.”
“You haven’t had breakfast yet,” his aunt concludes, lips turning downward. Naoki deflects her concern with a wave.
“It’s cool,” he shrugs, body moving into the direction of the shore again, “I’ll just eat on the boa—”
“Naoki,” her voice is stern and it stops him in his tracks, “breakfast.”
With that, she makes a sharp turn and moves back into the house, bare feet loud against the heavy wooden stairs. Her absence is followed by the sound of paws trotting back towards the door — big orange fruit held tightly in its mouth as it jumps up and disappears behind her. Naoki glances back towards the path just once before taking a long, deep breath. There’s that pang in his chest again as he regards the open door; a feeling reminiscent of lost contentment. He leaves his shoes standing on the right, ignoring the boots that still remain at their usual spot just next to the altar.
“Mi zikoob,” he mumbles as he crosses the threshold. Immediately, he is hit by the smell of freshly ground nuts, earthy and sweet. He rounds the corner and for a moment, he expects to be greeted by booming laughter and the sound of fishing equipment, assembled just in time to go out to sea.
Instead, the television blares the latest news as his aunt stands in her kitchen, alone.
He swallows.
“Vaob qegaib,” she says as he pauses at the door of the kitchen. The wood feels old against his palm, splintered in places. “I prepared some Onubae earlier,” she grinds seeds into the big pot of warm fruit paste on the counter, “get another bowl and eat.”
Naoki sighs. It’s been nearly a month since he’s had her home cooked meals and he feels his stomach gurgling in anticipation. Still, the air feels stifled in his Cytau's place, the life nearly sucked out of it. Even the screen is gradually crystallizing at its edges. He makes a grab for his old bowl, stopping for just a moment when the television screen switches to a news broadcast, words flitting over the screen at lightning speed.
AIXEWOS TO START OPERATIONS AT COASTLINE -- XA. ZIWA ANNOUNCES NEW COMPANY MISSION TO PREVENT THE TREMORS IN FAR OUT DISTRICTS
“What bullshit,” Naoki mutters as he sits down, watching as the person on screen smiles into the camera.
“This is our island,” they say, lips turning downward, “the wellbeing of our archipelago determines the wellbeing of our people, our home. Aixewos knows this - the connection between the Kaozesys and Kalypso has proven it many times before. We have always lived by the principle of following the directions given to us by these lands. This is why we have launched Operation Coastline in Nauwai. We are confident that we will find the cause of those tremors, preserve our way of life, and do so by trusting in Kalypso.”
“You’re not preserving anything, you stupid Noca.”
“Naoki.”
“What?” Naoki flicks his spoon into the air with visible incredulity, “It’s not like these people have ever actually cared about any of us.”
“Some have,” she throws a glance towards the empty plate on their right as she takes the seat on the other side of the table. Naoki's fists clench. “Your food is going cold, Naoki.”
“I don’t— ,” he stops when she taps her spoon against his bowl. Sighing, he shoves a spoonful of Onubae in his mouth and takes a moment to survey the rest of the kitchen. Tidy, unlike his own home, except for the growing pile of post thrown carelessly onto the chair next to him. He almost skips them entirely, expecting the same addressee as usual. Then, he spots the name Laulis Nauwaikau printed out next to a familiar looking logo. He swallows heavily, the action making him sputter. “They’re still contacting you?”
“Hm?”
“Don’t let them force you into anything, Cytau,” his fingers press against the wood, “The only thing they’re going to do is harass you about Ohy.”
“Naoki,” she sighs, dropping her spoon into a half-empty bowl, “You don’t know what they— ”
“Whatever deal they’re trying to cut you is not something he would’ve accepted without a fight.”
Naoki watches her mouth snap close, food long forgotten. He recognizes the sadness in her eyes — that deep set grief that has been haunting her for over a year now. He’s gone too far; he knows that.
He watches her rest a hand against her chest; her long, thin fingers looking more frail than he’s ever seen. Subtle tremors showcasing the months of stress and anxiety, the kind of existential fear that would shock even the strongest person. Naoki’s own lip begins to shake. He doesn’t know how to help.
A squeak and there’s a brightly-coloured Qomiat on the table, frantically clicking as it rubs its head against his aunt’s hand. “Oh, Xi’a,” she coos, scratching behind its fin with gentle fingers. The animal continues its clicking, soft little sounds echoing through the kitchen. “You always know what to say.”
Lowering his gaze, Naoki attempts to take another bite, but finds his appetite gone. The oh-so delicious dish looks stale now; the once sweet smell resembling something rotten. Nose scrunching up, he turns to take another look at the abandoned chair next to his, varnish worn down and dulled.
He swallows.
“I better go,” Naoki mumbles, placing the bowl down with a clang.
His aunt doesn’t look up as he leaves, so he shuffles out of the door while avoiding the creaking floorboards. The moment he reaches his shoes, her voice resounds throughout the hallway. “Make sure you light a candle for yourself before you head out.”
Naoki’s shoulders tense. The pressure travels down his spine as he turns to look at the protruding stones on the other side of the door. His aunt’s altar hasn’t changed one bit. Except for the newly lit candle in its centre, clearly replaced earlier that day. His gaze remains there just another moment, lip worrying between his teeth. Then, he sighs, before lighting up his own.
There’s some peaceful quality to the way the amber flames illuminate the darkening rock, climbing up the ore of the monument. The large stone owl regards him with black eyes — unseeing and yet accusatory. Shaking his head, Naoki stands back up and stops.
“Love you, Cytau,” he calls and climbs down the steps of the house.
He makes it to the boat in a dash. It’s lower than it was the last time; the entrance being more of a jump than usual. “Fucking tide,” he mumbles as he directs it out of the bay. Accelerating, he lets the breeze hit his face with familiar vigor, eyes falling close.
Then, he hears a horn.
His eyes snap open. “Qixa.”
He spots it immediately. The bright red stripes of the boat vibrant against the blue of the ocean. Squinting against the sun, Naoki slows down as the figures of the tide guards come into view. “Oh, great,” he mumbles, “just my luck.”
“Xa. Naoki,” the guard at the wheel calls. She’s a stocky woman, years of coast work paying off in visible muscles and tanned skin. Naoki remembers when her hair was darker, its colour not yet bleached by the sun. “How did I know it would be you from way out there by boat shape alone?”
“Zias’ki,” his voice is light as he lets go of the wheel and leans over the side of his boat, his fidgeting fingers sliding out of view. His lips forcibly stretch into a grin. “I could say the same about you guys, though your boat’s a bit more of an eyesore.”
Zias’ki laughs. Naoki can't help but eye the man at her side. He’s never seen him before, noting the stiffness at his shoulders. His fingers tense.
“Surprised yours still floats, Xa. Naoki,” she says once the laughter has died down. The edges of her smile freeze momentarily when her eyes flit to her colleague and she straightens. “Tide’s going out farther today.”
“I’m aware,” Naoki says. Shifting his weight, his fingers find purchase on the metal pole at the side of his boat. His nails flick at its already-peeling paint as he thinks of what to say. “Just heading out to the village quick.”
Eyeing the direction of his boat, Zias’ki’s lips pull into a frown. “Docking there?”
“Yeah,” he replies, “Figured it’s fastest to drive around, dock for the tide, and just walk home.” At their disbelieving looks, he grins. “I mean it was, before you guys started chatting with me.”
There’s a beat of silence - Naoki’s hand wraps around the pole, tensing further. “I mean I’m already halfway there,” he tries, voice rising a few octaves, “would be kinda redundant to go back now.”
He watches as Zias’ki slowly begins to nod, motioning for her partner to go back to the helm. “Fair enough.” Then, her lips pull into a knowing smile. “Be careful on your way to the village, ey, Naoki? Don’t forget to say hi to Xa. Laulis for me.”
Already turning back to the wheel, he lifts his hand in a halfhearted wave. “Will do, Zi!” he calls as he pushes the boat forward, away from the judging eyes of the tide guard.
The moment he sees them move away, he lets out a loud groan. “Fucking shit, that was close.”
He slinks forward, allowing his weight to rest on the steering wheel for just a few seconds. Under his breath, Kalypsian insults stream forward; so quiet they’re carried away by the wind the moment they leave his mouth. A lucky coincidence to meet Zi of all people out here. He listens to the telltale sounds of the coast guard disappearing beyond the waves next to the eastern edges of the island and, with a sigh, uncurls upward. Turning the boat a full ninety degrees, Naoki heads towards the open ocean.
In these early hours of the day, the sun stretches over the deep blue water of the sea. Lavender shimmers over the waves, the colour vibrant with the sun still in its rise. There’s a beauty in it, the way the air is coated in a luminescent mist, rising over the warm water. Naoki breathes in the familiar scent. Simple, yet immense — salty smell reminiscent of swimming lessons and the morning dives of his early childhood. He can hear the slow waking of the world here; the waves lapping against his boat, the cries of the water birds hunting for food, and the gentle splashing of fish seeking sunlight.
Soon enough, he spots familiar rocks protruding out of the sea. Passing the stoney archway, he brings the boat to a stop next to it and moves back towards the stern. Shrugging his shorts down his legs, he kicks them away and reaches for his flippers.
“Gotta make sure they’re tight enough this time,” he mumbles as he straps them onto his feet, “got the pouch, the anchor’s down; don’t tell Cytau about the fins you broke the last time, Naoki.” Hopping up, he takes position at the very edge of the boat, watching the fish gather in hopes of receiving food. “Sorry boys,” Naoki says, “today’s for business.”
At last, he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with all the air he’ll need. Then, he dives down.
He breaks the surface in one continuous movement. His body cuts through the water as he descends, blinking rapidly to regain his vision. Just like that the world quietens down — no more waves, or wings flapping above him; all distractions become void as he is submerged. It is what he’s always loved the most, that feeling of weightlessness as the brine flows past his limbs, cool like the chills of early Loutgao. The light moves slowly along his outstretched fingers as he continues to dive into the deep.
It doesn’t take him long to spot the shimmering rocks he’s come to collect. Fishing his torch out of the pouch at his hip, he pumps his fist in victory as they light up, shining in a multitude of colours. He’s only just reached for the first few pieces of stone when he spots movement in the corner of his eye.
Head shooting up, he is greeted only by the vast expanse of the sea. Only muffled waves and the ambient noise of the ocean, the lone sounds he can make out.Fingers grip his pouch. His heartbeat accelerates. He turns back, recoils immediately. He pushes himself backward before his eyes adjust to the sight in front of him.
A turtle.
The giant turtle rounds him with a gentle push. Naoki swallows, keeping his mouth firmly shut as he reaches up and lets his hand graze the passing animal. Inside of his chest, his heart drums against his ribcage in a violent dance. He takes another moment to calm himself down, allows the current to center him and return his focus. Another swallow and he turns back to the stones.
A shadow - to his right.
It springs forward. Naoki turns and freezes. He doesn’t know what it is that he is seeing. He doesn’t understand. The creature’s tail cuts through the water with an immense speed; fluid, dangerous. But that is not what glues Naoki to the spot, making his blood feel like ice within his veins. The tail sinks into nearly-humanoid skin, scales breaking and ripping in between; an image taken straight out of the fairytales with which every Kalypsian child has grown up.
Seconds feel like hours and yet frighteningly short as the creature darts forward. Naoki gasps, air leaving his lungs in a rush. The creature’s glowing orange eyes and sharpened teeth are the last thing Naoki sees before he leaps backwards. Bubbles escape his mouth, open in a silent scream — his vision obscured, he kicks his feet against the ground floor. He shoots ups. His muscles strain; his lungs scream for air. Pure adrenaline fills his body as he ascends. He doesn’t dare look back; doesn’t want to know if he’s being followed. His eyes flit back and forth, chasing the sight of the sun in an attempt to find the shadow of his boat.
A shriek ascends from underneath him. It chills his bones, rings in his ears even beneath the waves. His feet kick harder; his chest burns. Body fighting through the thick water even in his panic.
He doesn’t stop when he breaks the surface, arms shooting up to push himself further, closer to the boat. Almost there, he thinks as exhaustion threatens to paralyze his tightening muscles.
Ages pass, seemingly, before his hands reach the steel steps of the ladder. The weight of his body almost drags him backwards, back into the depths as he struggles to push himself up. He hoists the anchor with quivering limbs. As he crambles forward, his flippers slip on the wet ground. “Qixa,” his breathing stutters, “Qixa, qixa.” His grip on the wheel slips, once, twice; fingers shaking. Then, finally, the motor rumbles to life, and Naoki lets himself fall forward onto the wheel, sucking air into his lungs.
“Qixa,” he stutters out, “no way, no way, no way.”
His heart drums a powerful beat against his ribcage. Naoki can feel it in his throat, threatening to force itself out of his body. He doesn’t know what to do, think, feel. This shouldn’t be possible. They were all stories weren’t they? Naoki remembers them; sitting by the fireplace in his Cytau’s place. His parents were there, laughing in the background at their family’s countryside myths. But Naoki could only stare with widened eyes at the figure in front of him, gesturing wildly as he spoke of the creatures hidden within the very depths of the ocean. When he was a little boy, he did believe in them, using every opportunity to search the water in hopes of spotting something bigger and shinier.
Then, he grew up.
But apparently, maybe— Naoki shakes his head, stopping that line of thought before it can begin. His eyes must’ve been playing tricks on him, he thinks as he watches the shore come into view. Turning the wheel with still-shaking hands, he directs the boat back towards the dock at which he has begun the day. If the tide guard see him, so what.
Stepping off the boat seems like a blessing and a curse at once. His legs shake underneath him, causing him to stumble and lose his footing the moment he feels solid ground beneath his feet. The dirt digs into his knees, soils his palms as he goes down. It is only here, in the safety of his island, that the adrenaline wears off. His fingers curl, soil accumulating underneath his nails. The earth is wet, muddy almost but not quite, a testament of the waves that overrun this area every time the tide rises. He doesn’t realise that he’s heaving at first, lungs begging for air in desperation. It simply cannot be. His heart constricts as he thinks of the last time someone tried to convince him of this. ‘Stop treating me like a child,’ he said back then, purposefully ignoring the crestfallen look on his face as he left the house in a storm.
A squeak makes his head shoot up, just as a wet tongue finds his face.
“Xi’a,” he breathes out, trying in vain to stop the Qomiat from licking him some more. “I’m fine, I’m okay.” Of course, it’d wait for him on the shore. It used to do that all the time, back when he— “I’m fine,” he repeats, more to himself than the Qomiat squeaking at him, “nothing happened.” His legs feel like lead when he stands up, quivering still. He makes his way back home on unsteady feet, shooing Xi’a away once they pass his Cytau’s house. He hurries past and a few moments later, arrives at his own house, climbing up the steps with exhaustion in his bones.
When he opens the door, the years seem to bear down on him. Unimaginable grief grips his bones, covers his shoulders like a shroud, linen burning his skin. His foot slips on the hardwood floor. He feels a stinging pain in his knee as it crashes to the ground. It was never supposed to be him. He was meant to be in Gos right now, sitting in some summit café with Lex and some poor Noca he’d charm later that evening. He’d listen to them gush about their instructors, the amber crystals travelling up the edges of the pyroclasts, and his latest conquests, all the while ignoring the continuous beeping of his phone just as he had done times and times before. The picture of his Cytau fading away as Lex’s phone would start ringing; the colour draining from their face as they’d lay the device into his shaking hands — words that shattered his world, his life, his future. It wasn’t meant to be him, kneeling on the wooden floors of his Nauwai home. It wasn’t meant to be him going out to sea; It wasn’t meant to be him seeing a real life siren. It was meant to be—
The sound of his hand slamming onto the wood echoes throughout the house.
When Naoki looks up, his eyes are drawn to the unlit candle of his shrine; as if he had never left in the first place. The owl in its midst is cold, unmoving. Less of a protector and more of a ghost.
“Good,” he mumbles as he pushes himself back to his feet.
He walks further into his home as if in a trance, legs getting steadier by the second. His heart still drums within his chest, hair on his neck standing in anticipation. There’s no way it was anything but his imagination. Whatever he’s seen, it’s not what he thought it was. “Lequhe,” he swears under his breath, “only an idiot would believe whatever that was.” When he looks down, his hands are wrapped around a mug. “When did I—,” he trails off, watching the kettle brew.
The air hisses in heat, the anger of the sound ringing in his ears. It is with shaking hands that he brings the cup up to his lips. It’s too hot; he feels the burn on his tongue and winces. This is real. This isn’t just his mind playing tricks on him, it’s felt, tangible, here.
“I thought you grew out of this, Naoki,” his voice shakes, words more unsteady than he’d like. Hot liquid laps over the sides of the cup, trailing down his fingers. “You’re not a child anymore. Snap out of it.” Any flavour is overridden by the burn on his tongue, sweltering and painful. Gritting his teeth, he swallows it anyway. “You’re not a fucking child, Naoki. That time’s over and it’s your fault. So deal with it.”
He places the cup back onto the counter.
“You can’t keep clinging onto his stories.”
With renewed determination, he drags his feet back towards his room, brows furrowed as his steps strengthen. The fog inside his mind lifts, blown away by the breeze flowing through his open windows. Things like that don’t just happen to common people, people without a vision, people like him. There’s no bigger path for him, no adventure that was made in his name. His hand wraps around the door frame as he finally reaches his room. In the corner of his eyes, a necklace swings with the rhythm of the wind. If he turned his head, he’d be greeted with the sight of its hematite glistening in the light of the sun. He doesn’t.
“It’s just a bedtime story, Naoki, it’s just—,” he pauses and sighs, “your mind’s still fucked up.” He walks in without a second glance. Behind him, the door slams into its hinges.
At the front door, the candle flickers.