The Last Fisherman of the Drowned Word

Bab 5 : Fading Echoes

Chapter 5: Fading Echoes

The engine room was a claustrophobic box of heat and the smell of burning oil. Caio sat on a stack of rusted oil drums, his hands covered in grease, watching Mirella wrestle with a stubborn, calcified valve. The ship groaned beneath them, a rhythmic, deep-seated protest that seemed to sync with the pounding in Caio’s head.

"Give me that wrench," Mirella said, not looking up. "The one with the chewed handle."

Caio slid the tool across the floorboards. "Here. You think this thing is going to hold? The vibration is getting worse."

Mirella grunted, leaning her weight into the turn. "It’s got to hold. We’re burning fuel faster than we can refine it. If we don’t hit the Shallows by tomorrow night, we’re going to be drifting until the next storm shreds us."

"Is it really worth it?" Caio asked, leaning back against the vibrating bulkhead. "The Shallows? You talk about it like it’s some kind of paradise."

Mirella finally looked up, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist, leaving a streak of grime behind. "Paradise? God, no. It’s a platform city built on the rusting skeletons of tankers. It’s crowded, it’s loud, and it smells like ozone and dead fish."

"Then why go?"

"Because of the Eternal Land," she said, her voice dropping, taking on a rare, soft quality. "The traders there, the ones who’ve been out in the deep for years—they talk about a spot in the north. They call it the High Ground. A mountain peak that stayed above the water when everything else went under."

Caio felt a hollow ache in his chest. "You think it’s real?"

"I think it’s the only thing that matters," she said, resuming her work. "Even if it’s just a rock sticking out of the waves, it’s solid. No hulls, no rot, no worrying about the depth gauge every five seconds. Just earth under your boots."

"I don't think I’d know what to do with myself on solid ground," Caio muttered. "I feel like I’ve lived on this boat for a thousand years."

Mirella paused again, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "You’ve been here for two days, Caio. You’re talking like a man who’s lived a lifetime of bad memories."

"Does it feel like two days to you?" Caio asked, looking down at his scarred palms. "Because to me, it feels like I’ve been shedding layers of who I was every time I close my eyes."

"That’s just the trauma, kid," Mirella said, shifting her position to get a better grip. "The ocean has a way of stripping the paint off you. You just have to make sure there’s still something underneath."

"What if there isn't?"

"Then you paint something new," she said firmly. "Look, I’ve lost enough people to these tides. I don’t plan on letting you drift away into your own head. Help me with this secondary intake."

Caio shifted forward, his movements stiff. "I’m trying, Mirella. But I look at this wrench, and I look at the water, and I know I used to have a life. I know I used to have a family. But the faces? They’re just shapes in the fog now. It’s like a book where someone took an eraser to the ink."

Mirella stopped working entirely. She sat back on her heels, her expression softening into genuine concern. "You’re scaring me, Caio. Is this about the stunt you pulled back there? The way you navigated that vortex?"

"I don't know what it is," he whispered, staring into the dark machinery. "I just... I don't remember being a kid. I don't remember school, or birthdays, or any of that. It’s just blank."

"Everyone gets disoriented, but total memory loss is different," she said, her voice cautious. "Did you take a hit to the head? Maybe the pressure change?"

"No," he lied, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. "I think I was just... empty to begin with."

Mirella reached out and grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "You’re lying to yourself. I’ve seen you look at that locket in your pocket. You wouldn't be clutching a piece of trash if you didn't have something to remember."

Caio felt the familiar hum of the System at the base of his skull—a cold, digital pressure that warned him to remain silent. "It’s not trash," he said, his voice tightening. "It’s all I have."

"Then use it," she said, standing up and offering him a hand. "Use it to ground yourself. If you don't keep a hold on who you are, the ocean will definitely take the rest."

Caio took her hand and pulled himself up. The room felt smaller, the air thinner. "I need water," he said suddenly, his throat dry. "And I don't mean the salt-swill from the purifier. I mean, we need a better way to filter the intake. If we’re going to make it to the Shallows, the engine is going to be the least of our problems if we don't have hydration."

Mirella blinked, clearly distracted by his shift in focus. "You’re changing the subject."

"I’m trying to survive, just like you told me," he countered, meeting her gaze. "I’ve been thinking about the way the hull plates sit. We can reroute the secondary cooling line through the emergency overflow. It would double-filter the condensation. It wouldn't be much, but it’d be enough to keep us going for another week."

Mirella looked at him for a long, silent moment. "You’re a weird kid, Caio. One minute you’re having an existential breakdown, and the next you’re playing engineer."

"I told you," Caio said, a faint, humorless smile touching his lips. "I’m just a guy who wants to stay alive."

"Fine," she sighed, waving a hand toward the hatch. "Go up to the deck. I’ll check the lines. But don't think this conversation is over."

Caio climbed the ladder, his muscles aching with every step. He pushed open the hatch and stepped out into the twilight. The sky was a bruising purple, the horizon a thin, jagged line of deep indigo. The wind was cooling, carrying the scent of damp metal and vast, open water.

He walked to the stern, his hands deep in his pockets. He pulled out the locket, the metal smooth and worn beneath his thumb. He didn't open it. He just held it, letting the weight of it press against his palm.

Mirella emerged a few minutes later, stepping out onto the deck. She stopped a few feet behind him, watching him stand at the edge of the world. He was leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun was dipping low, casting a long, blood-orange streak across the churning waves.

"You know," Mirella said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. She walked up beside him, leaning on the railing and staring out at the same view. "You look at the sunset like you’ve never seen one before."

Caio didn't move. He continued to watch the light flicker and die, his expression unreadable, haunted by a beauty he couldn't quite name. "Maybe I haven't," he whispered. "Maybe I’m seeing it for the first time."

Mirella turned her head to study him, her expression a mix of pity and frustration. "You’re drifting, Caio. I don't mean the boat. I mean you."

"I think I’m just waiting for the water to settle," Caio said, finally turning to look at her. His eyes were bright, almost unnervingly focused in the dim light. "Don't worry about me, Mirella. I’m not going anywhere. Not until we reach the Shallows."

"We better," she said, though her gaze remained fixed on his face, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle that had no pieces. "We better."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and profound. In the distance, a low, rumbling sound echoed across the water—something big, something deep, moving through the lightless miles beneath their feet. Caio looked down into the black abyss, his hand tightening around the locket.

"They're still out there, aren't they?" he asked.

"Always," Mirella replied, looking out into the dark. "But for now, the wind is with us. And the ship is holding together."

Caio nodded, letting the cold air wash over him. He felt the System flicker in his mind, a silent, persistent presence that reminded him he was far from home, even if he couldn't remember where that home was. He looked back at the sunset, the last rays of light dying away, and felt a strange, terrifying sense of peace.

"Yeah," Caio said, his voice barely audible over the waves. "For now."