The blue-silver path glimred like moonlight stretching across water. Each step sent ripples through the air, as if they were walking atop a vast, unseen ocean. A faint rushing sound—like waves retreating from shore—echoed all around them.
Tovin squinted. “Anyone else feel like the ground’s... sloshing?”
Marra steadied herself as the path bowed beneath their feet, dipping like a floating dock. “We’re not on ground. We’re on mory given tide.”
Erian inhaled, sensing the pull deep in his ribs. “This fracture is... heavy.”
The Weave’s whisper rose, rolling like surf:
“Here dwells the pull of what could have been...
the undertow of choices turned away.”
The path widened into a vast shoreline suspended in nothingness. A shimring ocean spread out before them—made entirely of translucent images shifting inside the water. Every wave that rose carried scenes: decisions reversed, opportunities missed, monts fled.
Tovin pointed as one wave curled above him. “Hey, that’s ! That’s—oh no no no, that’s when I didn’t take that apprenticeship.” He winced. “Terrible haircut year.”
Marra watched another wave. Hers showed a younger self turning away from a friend who needed her. Her jaw tightened.
“Don’t look too closely,” Erian murmured. “This place is designed to drag you into what you think you should’ve been.”
The tide surged outward—then suddenly reversed.
Hard.
A powerful force yanked them backward, pulling their feet across the sand. The water rushed toward them like a living thing.
Marra dug her heels in. “It’s trying to pull us into the mories!”
The waves rose higher, towering dozens of feet above them. Each one shimred with overwhelming regret—shouting whispers of if only, should have, what if, you failed.
A massive wave ford directly ahead. But instead of a mory...
It held a silhouette.
A person made of ocean-light.
Erian froze. “No...”
The figure stepped out of the wave, dripping liquid mory.
It was Erian.
Older.
Tired.
Eyes hollowed by loss.
Marra whispered, “Is that—?”
“Yes,” Erian said tightly. “A version of who turned back. Who stopped moving forward.”
The older echo spoke, voice crashing like surf:
“You could still go back.”
“You don’t have to risk everything.”
“You can settle for what’s safe.”
Tovin gagged. “Ugh, even your regret-clone is dramatic.”
Erian didn’t move.
The echo stepped closer. “If you keep going, you’ll lose more. The tide only takes.”
Marra grabbed Erian’s shoulder. “Look at . That’s not you. That’s who you fear becoming.”
But the undertow strengthened, pulling all three of them toward the towering wave behind the echo.
The ocean whispered:
“Return...”
Tovin struggled to stay upright. “Any bright ideas?!”
Erian shut his eyes.
And then—he planted his foot forward, against the pull.
“No,” he said. “I won’t be ruled by the version of who stopped trying.”
The wave shuddered.
Erian stepped again. “Regret can pull. But it can’t choose for .”
He reached out—grabbing the echo’s arm.
The echo dissolved instantly into a cascade of silver droplets, splashing harmlessly into the sand.
The ocean roared—
then cald.
The tide released them.
The waves retreated to reveal a new path rising from the water: a narrow bridge of silver foam, steady and glowing.
Marra exhaled shakily. “That was... intense.”
Tovin wiped sweat from his forehead. “If the next fracture is guilt, I’m quitting. I an it.”
Erian smiled faintly. “Then let’s hope it isn’t.”
Together, they stepped onto the shimring bridge—
leaving the pull of the past behind.
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