I did not know how to swim.

  Three minutes—that was the measure of my breath. The fragile thread between life and surrender. Chara and Bore? Ten. But I? I sank like ash through stormlight, silence folding over me in thick, blue veils.

  Water filled my lungs like secrets never meant to be spoken.

  And yet—

  It didn’t hurt.

  Not the drowning. Not the slipping. Not the slow quieting of the world.

  Death, it seemed, was not cruel. It was soft. Gentle. Like silk being pulled across skin.

  It was the first peace I had ever known.

  For a moment, I welcomed it. My limbs floated as if no longer tethered to flesh or memory. My body curled like a question mark in the deep. I was ready to drift. To sleep. To finally… be still.

  But something stirred.

  A flicker.

  A thrum beneath the calm.

  A voice without sound.

  Live.

  It came not from above or below, but within. A primal chord inside my bones. The same one that had carried me through flame and blood, through solitude and betrayal. The instinct that had kept me breathing all this time—it screamed now, without words.

  Live.

  And then—hands.

  One at my back. Another beneath my arm. Chara’s grip, strong and sharp as iron. Bore’s push, wild and unrelenting—they too fought the current, but never let go, flailing through the dark water, searching for the light like moths caught in a storm.

  But it wasn’t their strength that carried me upward.

  It was mine.

  I did not know how to swim.

  But I learned. I learned. In the dark, with lungs brimming with the weight of almost-death and stars flashing behind my eyelids—I learned. My left arm stretched toward the faint light above, fingers aching as if they alone could pull down the sun.

  And then—

  Air.

  My head broke the surface like prophecy tearing through silence.

  I gasped. The air tasted sweet and of survival.

  Chara emerged beside me, coughing but alive, her hair clinging to her face like tangled red thread. Bore followed, eyes squinting beneath the glare, breath ragged but defiant.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Land. There was land. A jagged ledge of stone just beyond reach.

  Chara scrambled first, nails scraping stone, hauling herself onto solid earth. She turned, reached back—her grip finding mine. The bore’s hands found my hips, bracing, pushing.

  We rose together—one pull, one push, one breath.

  And then we were out.

  My body hit the stone like a dropped relic. Water dripped from our hair, our robes, from the very bones of us, as if the ocean still tried to keep us close. My lungs convulsed. Chara knelt beside me, fingers digging into my ribs as the bore pressed against my spine. Pain—white, sharp, and feral—ripped through my chest as water burst from my mouth in choking waves.

  I screamed.

  Not from fear, not from injury—but from the return.

  From being here.

  Death had been quieter. Softer. Kinder.

  But I was alive.

  I rolled onto my back, coughing, trembling, shivering in the heat of it. My throat burned. My ribs ached. My vision blurred. And then—

  I saw it.

  And the world—my world—shattered.

  It wasn’t a place. It was a revelation.

  The sky above us was not a sky. It was a cathedral of turquoise blue, veined with clouds that pulsed like breathing silk. The air shimmered like gold dust in sunlight, every breath like drinking honeyed wind. The grass glowed—not bright, but deep, as if the color green had finally remembered its own name. Trees towered, gnarled and ancient, their bark etched with veins of silver and ash. Some stretched so high, their leaves disappeared into mist.

  The valley opened like a womb, cradling rivers that curved like serpents and mountains that bled light from their snowy veins. Winged creatures, I had no name for, cut across the sky, their wings trailing stardust. The clouds moved with intelligence—slow, deliberate—like they, too, were alive.

  I fell to my knees.

  And I wept.

  Not loudly. Not brokenly. Just a single tear, trailing down my cheek like the world had reached in and touched something buried deep inside me. It ripped apart my soul.

  I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t blink.

  This place—it was untouched. Undreamed. As though the god had carved it in secret and forgotten to destroy it.

  I turned.

  Chara stood in stunned silence, lips parted, fiery hair clinging to her face like a veil. Her eyes shimmered—not from saltwater, but from awe.

  Bore dropped to a crouch, running fingers through the glowing grass, as if unsure it was real. He stared out, mouth open, eyes wide, breath stolen by wonder.

  We were all silent.

  Not because there was nothing to say. But because nothing we could say would ever match what we saw.

  I reached for their hands. One on either side.

  I just whispered—

  “Where are we?”

  And the wind answered—not with words, but with scent.

  Of cinnamon earth.

  Of wild orchids.

  Of old, old rain.

  I think—

  No.

  I know—

  We had not discovered this place.

  It had revealed itself to us.

  The Third Continent.