Why Lie? II

Silora was submerged in a dark, endless sea, feeling only the cold surrounding her from every direction. She tried to look around, but the darkness was so dense, it was as if the sea had swallowed the light itself. There was no up or down; every sense of direction had disappeared. She couldn’t distinguish between the sky and the depths.

Her breath grew tight, her chest screaming for air, but Silora's attempts to rise or move were random… and finally, despair found its way to the red-haired girl. Everything she had gone through—loss, guilt, the fear of failure—returned to suffocate her with the same force the sea was preventing her from breathing.

Silora’s movements grew weaker, her limbs moving feebly, and her body jerked aimlessly. Suddenly, something hard struck her body—solid objects, as if the sea was attacking her with things from no visible source. Each impact pierced her flesh with icy coldness, as if the unknown were personally punishing her for her existence and mistakes.

In that moment, the darkness wasn’t just around her—it was inside her too. Sometimes, she thought she was touching solid surfaces or something she could hold on to, only for it to vanish before she could grasp it. The heavy silence in her ears was absolute, but her chest was full of silent screams, a reminder of all her fears and accumulated pain. The surrounding darkness wasn’t just the sea; it was the embodiment of the fears that always dragged her down.

Silora stopped resisting, hoping the remaining air in her lungs might lift her light body. But instead, she continued to sink, meaning either the air had nearly left her lungs, or her body had become waterlogged. She didn’t have much time left and didn’t know how long her lungs could endure.

She needed to think fast, to find a way to get air back into her lungs before it was too late.

Amidst the crushing water pressure and the assaults on her body, something enveloped her, starting from her head. She swung her one good hand in panic, trying to push it away, but then she clung to it again before letting go—it was fabric, and Silora recognized its texture—it was her cloak.

Before she allowed herself to feel hope, Silora scanned the 'prints' on the cloak with her senses, searching for a specific one. To her luck, she found it intact among many fading ones.

The world hadn’t abandoned her yet?

Silora clutched the cloak close to her chest, afraid of losing it. Without wasting any time, she poured some of her mana into the print for ‘matter separation’.

The print vanished, and magical energy began flowing from its place into the water around Silora, targeting the dissolved oxygen. It wasn’t easy—she could feel the oxygen particles swaying between her fingers while the hydrogen retreated slowly.

She took a deep breath as she formed a bubble of pure oxygen around herself, but time was limited, and the energy in her severely injured body was running low.

The moment of reprieve she had gained through a small miracle would soon end, and she hadn’t forgotten that she was still technically in the middle of the ocean, being pulled by the whirlpool’s current. She still needed to reach the surface to claim any relative safety amidst all that was happening.

At least that was better than her own thoughts—somehow?

Time was running out, and energy was draining. Silora resorted to her cloak again. She used her shaping skills to alter the material of the cloak, making it lighter and firmer, allowing it to turn into some kind of raft or buoyant device.

As her mana flowed, the cloak began to expand and wrap around Silora, taking on a shape capable of holding air. The cloak, now a flotation device, began to gradually lift her toward the surface, using the remnants of oxygen trapped in the bubble she had previously created.

The slow ascent worried Silora. She had done all this just to survive, ignoring her inner thoughts. Survival had always been the priority—what would happen if she reached the surface drained of mana?

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Silora thought about it for a moment. She took a deep breath and held it again. With a small mana push to her cloak, she used the remaining oxygen to give herself a burst upward, accelerating the ascent. Naturally, she reinforced the cloak's solidity to protect against any shock or opposing forces on the way up.

The ascent took longer than expected—she must have been very deep in the ocean. But upon reaching the surface, the impact jolted Silora, disrupting her balance and causing her to lose control of the cloak’s shape.

High in the sky, Silora took a wide look at her surroundings, filled with wreckage and… something intriguing. But her vision began to shift again, and she started falling back toward the black waters, along with the remnants of the shattered ship and scattered bodies.

The moving sea reflected the silver moonlight, which highlighted the terrifying sight on the water’s surface, but Silora’s attention was drawn elsewhere. Deep in the ocean, ghostly gray orbs floated quietly and eerily. Silora felt a strange connection and an unexplainable kinship with these ghostly shapes.

As she plunged back into the water, these shapes became clearer in the suffocating darkness. There were thousands of them, more than she could count. Each one had a human-like form—men, women, children, some with strange appearances but still human in structure. And every one of them was looking up at Silora with hopeful, expectant eyes.

Silora only wanted to get out of the water, but the strangeness of what happened next slowed her actions. Thin, gray threads emerged from the floating gray figures in the sea below her. The threads moved slowly, instinctively, changing direction dramatically whenever they collided with each other. But the destination remained the same—Silora.

[The broken souls.] A sad, familiar voice spoke directly into Silora's consciousness. [They are very fond of eternal souls, like yours.]

Silora felt something similar to her mother's consciousness return, reducing her sense of isolation, but the tone of the voice gave her an unsettling feeling she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She had many questions, but her focus remained on the broken souls—as the voice called them.

[Don’t connect to the threads of their past, it could be overwhelming for your small soul.] The voice warned nonchalantly, before adding hesitantly. [Ascend, your task awaits… and we need to talk.]

Silora felt uneasy about how the voice phrased its sentences, but she did as she was told, giving one last look to the smiling souls below.

Silora couldn't speak, but she sent her thoughts through the mental link. Most of them were answered by the consciousness that resembled her mother. [These souls, they say they are from the Age of No Records, perhaps even before. No one knows the events of that era to determine why they remain like this, behaving contrary to the nature of raging souls of the death. I don’t know why you can see them—I cannot, only from the perspective we share and through your thoughts. To see them, one must possess soul sight—high proficiency in soul sight. But I suspect your ability to see them is temporary, possibly due to your innate talent in both soul and mind magic. Your thoughts are still unstable for now, and I don't blame you for that. - - They are not harmful, they only seek recognition from living souls. Those threads are their way of sharing something they once were. They are familiar with being ignored. If you ignore them, they won’t force themselves upon you. If you connect with one of them, the others won’t leave you alone, as you would have acknowledged one of them. - - What they share is their history. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to understand any of it without the corresponding spiritual understanding. Souls have a different perspective than humans. And you won’t be able to acknowledge all of them. The most you can handle is four, so it’s best not to risk it.]

Silora took in the valuable and sorrowful information as she ascended to the surface. She didn’t ask more questions, sensing the consciousness’s impatience, and she hadn’t forgotten the unease she felt from its words. Silora’s head broke the surface of the water, and she used her good hand to push aside the wet hair clinging to her face and blocking her view.

She looked around for something to stand on and began swimming toward a large piece of wood, which she could only assume was the ship’s hull. Climbing it with one hand was difficult, but she managed.

[There, I’m waiting.] The consciousness sent darkly through the mental link.

Silora looked toward the place indicated by the consciousness resembling her mother in her mind. There, the killer stood, his body covered in wounds, with only one hand remaining. He was looking at her, but his gaze had changed. It no longer carried the same sharpness and madness as before. He looked impatient and… waiting.

Silora hesitated for a moment, but the consciousness calmed her nerves. [You can handle him now. Even in your state.]

Silora had already forgotten about her injuries—she couldn’t feel anything except numbness. That suited her just fine, even her thoughts felt numb, distant, and one-dimensional—was that why she had seen the souls below?

[That’s possible.] The consciousness said. [But you’re human, and a good one at that. You can’t just ignore your emotions because you can’t handle them.]

That was debatable—for now, Silora did as she was told and cautiously approached the killer. She placed her good hand near where she hid her silver dagger. She didn’t draw it, but she was ready.

She wasn’t running anymore!