I close my eyes, trying to erase the image of Joran—his cracked helmet, his body twisted by the pressure. But it lingers, seared into my mind like a burn. The submarine creaks, each groan reminding me we're only at 500 meters, the "safest" depth in the Abyss. If this is the beginning, what waits deeper down? I glance at my teammates. Mira cleans her plasma lance with methodical precision, as if the deaths of two of us were just routine. Taro, seated across from me, stares at his hands, fingers still gripping the sheath of his vibrating blade. Soren keeps muttering, his lips moving soundlessly. Kaelin and Vora, the veterans, talk in low voices, their words too muffled to catch. They seem barely affected, but I notice the tension in their shoulders, the way their eyes scan every corner of the submarine, as if expecting the Abyss to follow us even here.
I touch my suit, checking every seam, every joint. It's intact, but I still feel the vibration of the fight, the way the water pushed against me when the leviathan charged. These suits are engineering marvels, designed to withstand pressures that would crush a human body in a second. They're light, almost a second skin, but they have limits. A single tear, even tiny, and the Abyss claims its due. I saw what happened to Joran. I see his eyes again, wide with terror, just before his comm went silent. I wonder if he suffered long, or if the pressure killed him instantly. I want to believe it was quick.
Lira sits beside me, her helmet resting on her knees. She says nothing for a long time, letting the silence weigh between us. Then, in a low, almost gentle voice, she murmurs, "You did well, kid. Shooting the leviathan's eye was a good reflex." I look at her, surprised. A compliment from Lira is rare, they say. But her words don't comfort me. "Joran's dead," I say, my voice harsher than I meant. "And Dax. We could've saved them." Lira shakes her head. "The Abyss doesn't give second chances. You'll learn to leave the dead behind, or you'll join them."
Her words hit like a slap. I want to argue, to tell her she's wrong, that every life matters. But deep down, I know she's right. The Abyss isn't a place for heroes. It's a place for survivors. I think of the azure gem, tucked in a secure chest at the back of the submarine. It's beautiful, a pulsing blue crystal glowing with an inner light, like it holds a piece of the sky. But what's it worth if it costs lives? The floating cities need them for their reactors, to power the domes that shield us from the surface's toxic storms. But how many divers must die for a single gem?
I stand, unable to sit still any longer. I walk to the porthole, staring at the black water surrounding us. The bioluminescent corals fade as we ascend, replaced by total darkness. But even in that blackness, I feel a presence. Not a creature, not a monster, but something bigger, older. The Abyss itself. It's watching me, I'm sure of it. A shiver runs through me, and I turn away from the porthole.
Soren approaches, his face pale under his helmet. "You felt it, didn't you?" he whispers. I frown. "Felt what?" He hesitates, his eyes avoiding mine. "The Abyss. It… speaks. Not with words, but you feel it. Like a whisper in your head." I want to tell him he's crazy, that it's just fear playing tricks. But I can't. Because I felt something too. Not a whisper, not yet, but a pressure, an invitation to dive deeper. I shake my head. "Focus on the mission, Soren. We have to stay alive."
The fight with the leviathan replays in my mind. I see every moment, every mistake. Joran was too close, too slow. Dax was too bold, thinking he could face the beast alone. And me? I fired on reflex, hitting the leviathan's eye by luck more than skill. But it changes nothing. Two of us are dead, and I wonder if I could've done something. If I'd been faster, braver, maybe Joran would still be here. Or maybe I'd be in his place.
I think back to the surface, the life I left behind. The floating cities are hell, but at least they're familiar. Up there, I knew how to survive: steal a ration, avoid the gangs, sleep in alleys where no one finds you. But here, in the Abyss, the rules are different. Every dive is a gamble, every step a dance with death. And yet, there's something intoxicating about this place. The azure gem, with its hypnotic light, is more than a crystal. It's a symbol, a promise that the Abyss gives as much as it takes. But at what cost?
Mira approaches, her plasma lance holstered. "You're thinking too much, kid," she says, her voice sharp but not cruel. "The Abyss doesn't like thinkers. It likes survivors." I nod, but her words don't reassure me. She's right, though. Thinking about Joran, Dax, what could've been—it's a weakness. But I can't stop. Their faces haunt me, and I wonder how many more I'll lose before this is over.
The submarine reaches the surface, and the stale air of the floating cities replaces the metallic tang of recycled oxygen. We step out, exhausted, broken. The city officers greet us, taking the gem without a word for Joran or Dax. To them, we're just tools, replaceable divers. Lira pats my shoulder before leaving. "Rest, Kaël. The next dive is tomorrow." Tomorrow. The word makes me nauseous. But I nod, because I have no choice. The Abyss has marked me, and there's no going back.
I lie on my bunk, staring at the submarine's ceiling. The steel walls hum faintly, a constant reminder of the ocean around us. I close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come. Instead, I see the leviathan, its yellow eyes, its gaping maw. I see Joran, his body vanishing in a cloud of blood. And I feel that presence, that silent invitation to dive deeper. The Abyss is calling, and I don't know if I'm ready to answer.