The sea banshee carried Everly through the jagged rocks, finally reaching a pile of rubble beside the lighthouse. There, she found a hidden cave and slipped inside as if she had done it a thousand tis before.
The cave was deep. The walls bore clear claw marks, gouged and scratched—the size and depth suggesting they were the work of the banshee herself. Crawling down the dark passage for about half a minute, Everly suddenly erged into a semi-collapsed underground stone chamber.
The walls and ceiling of the chamber were covered in so unknown bioluminescent plant, glowing a soft, eerie blue. Its light pulsed faintly with every breath, serving as the room’s only illumination. In this dim glow, Everly saw the banshee carrying her across the debris and depositing her in the center of the chamber.
Here lay a stone platform raised about half a ter from the ground. The platform was only slightly damaged. In the faint light of the glowing plants, Everly could just make out the remnants of carved relief patterns on its surface.
A small stone table sat crookedly atop the platform. At first, Everly thought it was dark red—but as the banshee hissed low in frustration and pinned her against the cold, hard stone surface, she realized the table was stained with blood.
A strong stench of iron-rich blood mixed with damp, decaying odors hit her face. Her cheek pressed against the stone, feeling a sticky chill. anwhile, above her, the banshee leaned down, opening a gaping, blood-filled mouth toward her—
Ah… so that dark red on the table… it’s blood…
The thought flickered briefly through Everly’s mind. Facing death, she felt an unexpected calm.
Try it, she thought. Go all out, even if it kills . Better than doing nothing, letting myself be slaughtered like a lamb…
From thought to decision, it took only a split second. As the banshee’s sharp, saliva-coated fangs lunged close, poised to pierce the delicate skin of her neck and shred her body, Everly spoke.
Everly lifted her eyes to the sea banshee right in front of her. With her underdeveloped, still trembling voice, she spoke the familiar yet strange syllable, muddled but resolute:
“Ma…ma!”
Like a paused video suddenly frozen mid-fra, the banshee’s lunging attack abruptly halted.
“Ah… uh…” Everly heard a strange murmur escape from her throat.
It seed to be working…
According to the popular science Everly had read in her previous life, there are thousands of languages in the world—but there is one word that has a similar pronunciation in almost every language: the word humans use to call their mother—“mama.” Scholars believe this arises naturally in human infants: the “a” sound erges from birth, combined with the “m” sound ford when the mouth closes during breastfeeding, representing the core emotional bond shared by all mammals between mother and child.
The sea banshee clearly understood the aning behind the word “mama.” She tilted her head slightly, a trace of confusion appearing in her crimson eyes.
Her claws still pressed against Everly, the rows of sharp, jagged teeth capable of killing the baby in an instant. It wasn’t safe yet, and Everly didn’t dare relax. Seeing the banshee hesitate, she pressed her advantage, calling out again and again:
“Mama… mama, mamamamamama!”
The more she called, the more confident and louder she beca.
The sea banshee, as if awakened by the continuous call, began to respond to a hidden maternal instinct. The red in her eyes faded slightly. She leaned closer to Everly, scrutinizing the tiny baby in front of her. Her grotesque features reflected a mix of doubt and struggle, the pale, swollen face making her expression even more eerie and nacing.
“%#@…” Everly heard her quickly utter sothing in a rough, guttural voice.
The sound was short, almost like a call—a word of recognition.
Although Everly couldn’t understand the language the banshee used, she could roughly guess that the creature was calling her. Summoning all her courage, she continued to cry out “mama,” while spreading her tiny arms, making a gesture as if asking for a hug.
The banshee froze.
“Ah… uh… ko, koko…”
Her throat seed as if sothing hard was stuck inside, emitting strange, staccato “ko ko” sounds. At the sa ti, her body began trembling uncontrollably.
Plop. A drop of icy liquid landed on Everly’s cheek. In the darkness, she at first thought it was water dripping from the cave ceiling. But when a second and third droplet fell, she realized sothing was wrong.
It wasn’t cave water—it was tears streaming from the banshee’s eyes.
The sea banshee was crying!
Thick pools of water had accumulated on her grotesque, protruding eyeballs, then rolled down her jaw, dropping one by one onto Everly below. The tears were cold, lifeless, just like the banshee herself—but Everly felt, through them, a heat far more intense than molten lava.
It was a feeling called motherly love.
“%#@!”
The banshee repeated her earlier call, this ti with certainty and the joy of having sothing lost returned. She released the claw pressing Everly, then carefully assud a perfectly maternal hold, cradling the baby in her arms. Lowering her head, she lightly patted the baby with her claw tips, her eyes overflowing with tenderness and affection.
Her long black hair draped like a curtain over her shoulders, falling across Everly. After passing through the sewer and over the rocky reef, the locks were tangled with leaves, paper scraps, gravel, and damp sea water, sticky and filthy. This curtain of tangled hair, combined with the banshee’s low hum, beca the last mory Everly carried before drifting into sleep.
Everly had a dream.
Even babies have dreams. In it, she encountered a blue-faced, fanged monster that chased her relentlessly. She stumbled, scrambled, and tried every possible way to escape, but nothing worked. In the end, the monster caught her, tearing her apart alive, and before she could even die, she was lifted onto a fire and roasted.
Waking from the chaotic nightmare, Everly realized it wasn’t an illusion—her body felt burning hot, her throat parched, her limbs weak, and her head dizzy.
She had a fever.
As a premature infant, her constitution had always been fragile. With Shelly’s careless, inconsistent care, the fact that she had grown up healthy so far was thanks entirely to her inner adult mind—her self-discipline and awareness. Before falling asleep, she had been terrified by the sea banshee, then endured crawling through sewers, traversing rocky reefs, and crossing the ocean. Her small body could not withstand such intense stimulation; it was no surprise that she had fallen ill.
But the timing of this illness was extrely unlucky.
Everly was now in a hidden stone chamber in the middle of the sea. There was no food, no drink, no thick clothes to keep warm, no modern dicine—only a dangerous banshee she could not communicate with, and an air that was cold, damp, and oppressive. For a tiny infant, this was hardly a survivable environnt.
She moved her head slightly in the banshee’s arms, tilting to observe her surroundings.
The banshee seed to treat Everly entirely as her own child. Even while Everly slept, the creature never let go of her, holding the baby close without pause.
She held Everly in her arms, curling her serpentine tail, sitting against a corner of the stone chamber, humming a soft, continuous lullaby. The tune was the sa one Everly had heard the banshee hum on the ocean surface—gentle and soothing, like a breeze rustling through a forest, or warm sunlight kissing flower petals.
The chamber floor sloped downward, letting seawater seep in from below, forming a dark, stagnant pool. The banshee sat at the edge of the pool, the tip of her long tail subrged in the water. Keeping ti with the lullaby, she lazily stirred the water back and forth, the motion almost leisurely.
The scene looked heartwarming… if one ignored the scattered piles of white bones surrounding them.
Everly averted her eyes in discomfort. Even having witnessed the decomposed corpses in the Mayflower Apartnt, confronting such a massive collection of human remains all at once filled her with unease. It was the instinctive fear of death common to all humans.
This area was likely the banshee’s feeding ground. Centered on the pool, Everly looked around: the ground was littered with countless human bones. Judging by the size of the skulls, most were infants or young children. The bones ranged from ancient, rotted fragnts fused with the earth to newer, intact skeletons lying atop the piles. Based on what she had seen at the Pukati Historical Museum, it wasn’t hard to guess that these remains belonged to children who had gone missing in Pukati over the past several centuries.
The banshee really did steal children—and she really did eat them. The bones were scattered and broken, with many showing bite marks. No naturally deceased skeleton would shatter like this.
Everly still couldn’t understand why the sea banshee, a mother herself, would treat other children so cruelly. Was it because she had lost her own child, and she couldn’t bear to see others enjoying the love of theirs?
Lost in thought, a sudden cold draft blew through an unseen crack in the stones, making feverish Everly shiver. She felt chilled all over and hunched her tiny body. Ti was not on her side, she knew, so she forced herself to push aside distractions, widening her eyes to carefully search between the skeletons by the faint glow of the moss.
Finally, next to a relatively “fresh” set of bones, she spotted her target—a torn light-brown woolen coat.
After being left in such harsh conditions, the coat had faded sowhat. The light-brown fabric was stained with dark red patches, silently testifying to the cruel fate its original owner had endured. But aside from that, the coat looked thick and roomy—more than enough to wrap Everly entirely, protecting her from the biting cold.
“Ah… ahhh…”
Everly reached toward the coat, her hoarse little voice letting out urgent, pleading sounds.
The banshee’s humming stopped. She leaned in, curiously and carefully observing the baby in her arms. Perhaps because of the differences in species, or because of her lack of childcare experience, the banshee didn’t understand Everly’s intention. Seeing the baby cry continuously, she assud Everly was hungry.
“%#@…” she murmured, lowering her head with affection. She pressed her cold, damp cheek gently against Everly’s forehead. Then, lifting her claw, she held one end of the soaked coat and brought it toward the baby’s mouth.
Everly stared in terror at the object being thrust near her lips.
Even without her mories from her past life, she would have recoiled from the idea of drinking mother’s milk—but in this case, the banshee’s form itself was horrifying: swollen all over, covered in scars, like a corpse left soaking in water until it beca giant and bloated. The exposed skin at the tip was pale and blue-white, seeping a foul, yellowish pus… This was absolutely not sothing she could put in her mouth!
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