The darkness around Mikhail seemed to shift, the glowing red and yellow eyes narrowing as though their unseen owners were appraising him. The stillness of the water became oppressive, wrapping around him like a shroud. The voice returned, each word vibrating through the stagnant depths and into his very being.
“You are calm now, pupa. Good. Resolve such as yours is rare. Let us see if it is accompanied by truth.”
Mikhail’s fists clenched tighter. He had prepared for this moment as best he could, sticking firmly to the story he’d told his parents. He wouldn’t waver now, not when the stakes felt as high as they ever had.
“I wanted to prove myself,” Mikhail said, his voice firm despite the oppressive surroundings. “To train. To become strong enough for the GEWF. I treated the maze like my first real match. That’s why I pushed through. That’s all.”
The eyes blinked in unison, a rippling wave of light that radiated through the water. The voice responded, calm yet tinged with something deeper—curiosity, perhaps.
“An answer rehearsed,” it mused. “But perhaps not false. You are ambitious, Mikhail X’Cen. That much is undeniable. Tell me, do you understand what you are?”
The question caught Mikhail off guard. He hesitated, unsure how to respond. “I… I’m a Shorebraxian,” he said cautiously. “A pupa, I guess. I don’t really know what you mean.”
The voice hummed, a low vibration that sent ripples through the water. “Then listen, pupa, and learn. Your kind, the Shorebraxians, are an offshoot of us, the Deep Ones. Long ago, before your people walked the surface of your world, we cultivated the spark of life within your ancestors. You are our legacy, though you have strayed far from our design.”
Mikhail frowned, trying to process the information. “You’re saying… you made us?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the voice replied. “You were not shaped to be as you are now. Time and evolution have altered you. Most Shorebraxians have lost the spark that once bound us. They live simple, orderly lives, content to follow routines and maintain their traditions. But some retain what we call the spark—an ember of ambition and desire, a will to shape the world rather than be shaped by it.”
The glow of the eyes intensified, their focus sharpening. “You, Mikhail X’Cen, possess this spark in abundance. The willpower you displayed in the maze is proof of that. Few could have achieved what you did. Fewer still would have done so with such determination. It is… remarkable.”
Mikhail swallowed hard, unsure whether to feel flattered or unnerved. “I just wanted to win,” he said quietly. “To prove I could do it.”
“And that is why you are here,” the voice said. “Ambition is rare among your kind, but it is not unheard of. Throughout the galaxy, such willpower is the mark of those who rise above. It is the foundation of greatness, and in the Galactic Empire Wrestling Federation, greatness is more than mere spectacle.”
The mention of the GEWF sent a jolt of excitement through Mikhail. “You know about the GEWF?” he asked, his voice rising slightly despite himself.
The voice chuckled, a low, resonant sound that reverberated through the water. “Know about it? We understand it more deeply than you can imagine. The GEWF is not just entertainment, pupa. It is hyper-real. A stage, yes, but also a battlefield. A method of galactic management. Political and criminal. It has replaced war itself, a ritualized method for planets and governments to assert dominance and resolve disputes. The greater the champion, the more power they bring to their homeworld.”
Mikhail’s mind reeled. He had always thought of the GEWF as the pinnacle of sports, the ultimate test of strength and skill. To hear it described as a mechanism for galactic control was almost too much to comprehend. “So it’s… like a war?” he asked. “But with wrestling?”
“In essence,” the voice replied. “And you, Mikhail X’Cen, have the potential to be more than a participant. You could be a legend. We, the Deep Ones, seek to cultivate such legends from among your kind. It is why we created the cube you cherish, why we continue to guide those who show promise. And it is why we have brought you here.”
Mikhail’s breath caught. “What do you mean?”
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The eyes glowed brighter, their gaze unwavering. “We will sponsor you, pupa. Your journey to the GEWF will not end here. You will travel to Slamdara Prime, the poster planet of the federation. There, you will compete in the most prestigious scholarship tournament in the galaxy. The victor earns entry to Grapplepolis, the capital of the GEWF and home to the Pinnacle Dome—the most illustrious academy for aspiring champions.”
Mikhail’s heart raced. Slamdara Prime. Grapplepolis. The Pinnacle Dome. It was everything he had dreamed of and more. But the voice wasn’t finished.
“We cannot ensure your place in the academy,” it said. “That will depend on you. But we can ensure that you are prepared. Over the next three years, you will train in the martial secrets of the Deep Ones. The arts of cosmic dark grappling. When you emerge from your pupation, you will be larger, stronger, and ready to prove yourself. Until then, your life will be devoted to training. Discipline will be your religion, and the GEWF your altar.”
Mikhail’s excitement was tempered by the weight of the words. Three years of training. Three years of relentless preparation. It was daunting, but he felt the spark within him burn brighter. This was his chance. His path.
“I won’t let you down,” he said, his voice steady.
The voice chuckled again, a deep, resonant sound. “See that you do not, pupa. The galaxy will be watching.”
The eyes dimmed, and the water around Mikhail began to shift. He felt himself rising, the darkness giving way to light. As he emerged from the pool, gasping for air, he knew that his life had changed forever. The path to the GEWF had begun, and he would stop at nothing to walk it.
If the regiment of the Shorebraxians on the surface was strict, this new Deep One routine was a prison. Gone were the days of sneaking in matches on the holo screen or playing idly on the cube. Weeks blurred into a single, endless routine of rigorous training and mental discipline. Mikhail’s every waking moment was devoted to learning the fluid movements required to unlock his deeper potential.
The training felt otherworldly, as if the water itself conspired to mold him into something more. The Deep Ones taught techniques that were as much about harnessing his mind as they were about refining his body. Each motion flowed into the next with a deliberate grace, slow and methodical, like a high-tech Tai Chi reimagined for the weightless depths of the ocean. Every gesture demanded precision; a turn of the wrist or a shift of the hips could alter the water’s resistance, transforming the effort into a perfect harmony of strength and fluidity.
The water became both adversary and ally. It pressed against him as he moved, thick and unyielding, but its resistance shaped his form, forcing him to adapt, to flow. When he extended his arms, it seemed to carry the motion outward in ripples, amplifying his intent. Each session left his muscles aching, his lungs heaving, but with each repetition, his movements became smoother, more intuitive, as though he were learning a forgotten language spoken only by the currents.
At times, the sessions became surreal, almost meditative. The Deep Ones would weave through the water around him, their movements impossibly fluid, their glowing robes trailing like living tendrils. Their silence was profound, an unspoken demand for focus. Mikhail mimicked their actions as best he could, his arms slicing through the water in arcs that felt both alien and natural. His mind emptied of thought, his awareness narrowing to the rhythm of his body and the ebb and flow of the water around him.
There were moments when the training took on an almost mystical quality. The water itself seemed alive, responding to his motions in ways he couldn’t fully understand. Tiny bioluminescent organisms swirled around him, drawn to the energy of his movements. They illuminated his path, casting ghostly trails of light that lingered in his wake. In those moments, he felt connected to the vastness of the ocean, as though he were part of something far greater than himself.
Yet, the training was relentless. The Deep Ones demanded perfection, correcting him with subtle gestures or a faint hum that vibrated through the water whenever he faltered. Each correction was a lesson, not just in technique but in discipline. The smallest mistake rippled outward, disrupting the balance of the entire exercise. And Mikhail was not alone in this journey.
The tiny black squids, which he had initially found endearing, became an integral part of the training. These creatures, with their shimmering, inky bodies and curious eyes, darted around the trainees like silent sentinels. They weren’t merely onlookers; they practiced alongside the Deep Ones, their movements eerily precise and synchronized. Their small, delicate tentacles moved with an almost supernatural grace, weaving patterns through the water that mirrored the larger, more deliberate gestures of their mentors.
One day, during a particularly grueling session, Mikhail asked one of the silent trainees about the squids. The figure’s bioluminescent dust cloak shifted as they turned, their voice soft yet firm. “They are not mere creatures,” the trainee explained. “They are young Deep Ones, learning as you are. Their form now is but the beginning. They practice to grow, just as you do.”
The revelation sent a shiver down Mikhail’s spine. These small, seemingly harmless creatures were destined to become the very beings guiding his training. It gave their presence a weight he hadn’t felt before, and he couldn’t help but watch them more closely. Their movements were fluid and deliberate, their small forms gliding through the water with an elegance that belied their size. As they darted around him, their tentacles brushing against his skin, Mikhail felt both awe and a strange camaraderie. They, too, were forging their paths, growing into something greater.