Page 97 of Stolen Magic of the Deep

The cold hasn’t bothered me since I arrived in Virellan, but here . . . it feels foreign. Magic seems to shift the temperature down here somehow, making the chill more fierce.

Finally comfortable, I let my gaze drift upward to the cavern ceiling, letting the shadows play across my vision. Only for a few moments, though, before exhaustion claims me, and sleep quietly pulls me under.

Laughter pulls me from my slumber.

I awaken, disoriented, straining to locate its source. No one is here, yet the sound continues, bouncing softly off the cavern walls.

I creep closer, drawn to it, and slowly images form on the stone around me.

Moments only I remember. Parties at my old college with Leo. This one was us chugging beers before the cops forced everyone out of the frat house. The room pulses with colored lights, music thumping so hard it rattles the floors. Leo’s laughter rings above it all, rich and wild, and I can almost smell the sour mix of beer and cheap cologne in the air. His grin, the way he slings his arm around my shoulders, and shouts something I can’t hear over the loud music.

It all feels real. Too real.

My chest tightens, tears pricking at my eyes as memories crash over me. Years of friendship, inside jokes, secrets whispered during study nights, every moment that made up the life I once had. I start crying hysterically, unable to stop.

I imagine how he must be feeling now, how he’s probably wondering where I’ve gone, and why I’ve been gone for so long. If he still sets out a drink for me during late nights at the lab, out of habit. If he still believes I’ll walk through the door one day.

The laughter fades, and the image wavers like water being disturbed. When it clears, I’m somewhere else.

My parents’ living room glows warm with lamplight. A banner hangs crookedly across the wall—Congratulations, Sarah!—and the smell of my mother’s cooking fills the air. I watch as my past self moves through the room, shaking hands, smiling, hugging my dad. Everyone’s clapping, celebrating the launch of my first independent dive expedition. The pride in their faces stings more than I expect.

My mother presses a kiss to my cheek, her smile soft and proud. My father raises his glass. I can almost hear him say it again—You’ve always belonged to the sea, sweetheart, but don’t forget how you got here.

The words echo in my mind, and the image ripples, distorting until it’s nothing but light and shadow once more.

My heart aches. I have no sense of how much time has passed. Minutes? Hours? Confusion lands deeper than fatigue.

Why am I being shown my life on the surface? Why does it matter here—in a place meant to test my heart?

I return to where I was resting before, sinking into the hollow pit of sand I carved earlier. I press my palms to my eyes, trying to block out the ache building behind them, but the memories linger like ghosts. A soft sob escapes me as I bow my head, crying over those that I love and miss dearly.

Exhaustion creeps in again, insidious and suffocating. My body gives way to it. My eyes flutter closed, refusing to open as I sink into an endless, drifting loop.

You can still return, Fishy.

The voice interrupts the quiet—familiar, teasing, heartbreakingly real. My breath hitches.

I pry my eyes open just enough to see him. Leo. My best friend. My constant. He’s sitting in front of me as though he’s always belonged here, his grin soft, his eyes filled with that same warmth that could pull me out of any storm. But it’s impossible. He wears no diving gear, no trace of protection from the crushing depths. His hair floats weightless, his clothes stirring with the slow movement of the water.

This must be what Nyxalene meant . . . Illusions. The cave is playing tricks on me. But why?

“Leo, you aren’t real,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “You aren’t actually here.”

He tilts his head, that same crooked smile that used to make me laugh, now laced with something mournful.

But I can be, if you return home. We all miss you. I miss you.

The words echo through the water, curling around me like a current I can’t escape. I close my eyes again, wishing—needing—his face to disappear. The strength of our friendship pulls down on me like a tide I can’t fight. All the years I leaned on him, the comfort I took for granted, the way he always made the world make sense . . . and now, knowing I can never have that back—not in the same way—it breaks something inside me.

“I want to return home, Leo. I do,” I whisper, my voice cracking under the strain. “But my life has changed; I’ve changed. I could never have a normal life again if I went back to the surface.”

You've grown, Fishy. That’s all, he says softly, his expression tender, the edges of his face blurring slightly in the dim light. You can still come home. Come home to us. We can go diving again, grab beers at the pier, and talk until sunrise like we used to. You can forget all of this ever happened.

His words fill my mind, and my heart responds with grief. The pull of his voice still affects me just like it did when I was with him on the surface. He always knew what to say. But this time, I’m not the same.

My physical form doesn’t fully describe the changes I’ve endured. My heart yearns for the ocean in a way I can’t explain, and my mind holds knowledge far beyond what I ever knew on the surface.

For a heartbeat, I want to believe him, to imagine I can climb out of this ocean and step back into my old life. But even as the thought takes hold, the water around us shimmers, and his outline flickers like a reflection disturbed by a ripple in a pond.