Chapter 1 — Echoes of the deep (part 1)

The sea had been restless for three days.

Fishermen refused to sail. They tied their boats, knot by knot, away from the seashore. 

Usually children played there…but this time, their parents drew them back; afraid of what hid in the waters. The gulls sounded wrong—sharp, fractured cries that scattered too quickly, as if they knew something was amiss.

Maya listened. She always did.

Still, she walked toward the water.

She stepped into the cold sand, barefoot, her dress damp with mist. While the others watched from a careful distance.

No one called her name. No one tried to stop a priestess who moved with that particular stillness—the kind that meant the vow had already been made to avoid the ocean’s rage.

The wrongness lodged itself behind her ribs, heavy and familiar, the way a cicada does before it’s reborn. Her memories flashed before her, entranced by the voice of the sea.

The waves drew back as she approached, retreating farther than they should have, exposing smooth stones and tangled seaweed.

Come closer.

The water climbed to her ankles, sharp with cold, yet she didn’t shiver. Instead, images flooded her mind—boats torn open, nets snapping loose, the moon stained red as it sank into the horizon and she, alone, holding her little sister. 

She fell to her knees. 

Maya pressed her palms into the sand, breath tearing from her chest.

There was still time.

Behind her, the village stirred. Fear moved through the crowd like a sickness no one dared to name. No one crossed the invisible line drawn by tradition and terror. They had learned, long ago, what it cost to interfere when the sea spoke a vision through one of its chosen ones.

Maya thought back to her mom’s soup, the way she’d play with the village’s children and hide on top of the trees. She wished, truly, to travel afar. To learn all there is to learn and come back to teach it.

Maya looked back once.

Her sister Mirva stood among the others—too young and naive to the ways of the world, eyes too wide, fingers clenched in their mother’s shawl. The next one. The one who would inherit the calling if Maya failed.

Remember Mirva, Maya thought.
Even if you have to lie to survive, live freely, Do what your sister could not..

But this was the first time a priestess had not been taken, but had gone willingly.

From that day on, the Muhien people bowed when a priestess passed. They listened when warnings were spoken. Still, they misunderstood what Maya had truly given.

Because the sea does not forget its offerings. It keeps them.

When the water surged forward, the village would later say she disappeared without a trace.

_ _  _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

The next morning, Mirva questioned her mom “ What happened to Sis? Why are people thanking her?”

“She has protected us all, she is somewhere beautiful and serene” her mum calmly responded.

“What do you mean? Why isn't she coming back? Does she hate me that much?” Mirva cried with childish fury that would later twist into vines, piercing her adult heart with resentment.

________________________ Echoes of the deep (part 2)__________________________

The Present

Evan dreamed of the sea again.

Not waves this time—just the surface of water rising and falling, slow and deliberate.

He woke at exactly 3:00 a.m.

The studio was dim and crowded with unfinished projects. Prints taped crookedly to the walls. Photos stacked without order. An open can of pineapple by the sink. A chair that had never been meant to hold a sleeping body, but did anyway.

He sat up, heart beating for a dream that had already begun to slip away.

Mira’s voice lingered in his head, light and sharp all at once.
You’ll spend money on lenses but not on groceries.

He exhaled.

She wasn’t wrong. He is lucky he could eat the leftovers at Jaafar's cafe.

He crossed the room, stepping over cords and books, and slipped into the red-lit corner he called a darkroom. The red glow steadied him.

He fed a strip of film into the tray.

Faces surfaced slowly. The recording showed two of his closest friends.

_________________________REC°_______________________________

“Mira said she likes Demian” Joseph said, smirking, 

Joseph is a cool guy but he looks goofy whenever we’re together, Evan thought while watching 

“WHAT NO” 

“STOP SAYING THAT”, Mira blushing furiously while hitting Joseph.

She defensively rejected the idea that she’d ever crush on her bandmate, but maybe Joseph was right.

_______________________38%___________________________________

Evan softly smiled at the video, he remembers recording it during their first year of high school. It's been so long, they're now in their twenties. 

As he reminisced about the past, his eyes drifted to his mother’s picture.

Evan leaned back, the necklace at his throat cool against his skin.

He didn’t remember when he’d started wearing it every night. Some habits arrive quietly, the way grief does—not as a wound, but as a weight you learn to balance.

He wondered, as he did most nights, how long a person could wait for someone who never came back.

He had been looking for his mother for over 8 years. He had been waiting.

And somewhere, far beneath a patient, breathing tide, something had been waiting for him too.