The trench was endless.
Not dark—black.
A place where even the sea dared not breathe.
Lyrielle floated alone, descending deeper. The sirens had stopped following. She didn't blame them. Even they knew the difference between fear and instinct.
This place wasn't death.
It was before death.
And it was humming.
Not music, not sound—just pressure. Like something was trying to remember itself.
She muttered, "So this is where the first song was swallowed."
And went lower.
---
The Hollow Deep
The water changed.
Cold.
Still.
Not even her hair moved.
Lyrielle reached a shelf of jagged stone carved with forgotten glyphs, like coral had once tried to scream and failed. She brushed one with her fingertips. The mark pulsed.
And then—
BOOM.
A voice hit her skull like thunder underwater.
Not words. Not language.
A memory.
She saw the birth of the seas. Before gods. Before names. Just chaos and flesh and tide.
And then… a choir.
A real one.
Not hers.
Something older.
