We walked for hours before the land disappeared.
Or perhaps—
it had already disappeared,
and I only began to notice it then.
The water rose gradually.
Knee.
Waist.
Then higher.
Each step took more from me than the last.
The ground no longer held its shape.
It shifted.
Gave way.
Sometimes without warning.
Durandal moved beside me.
Close enough
that I did not fall completely when the ground failed.
“Careful, Miss DeLuna.”
Each time he said it—
something in my chest tightened.
Not fear.
Not entirely.
Something else
I did not have time to understand.
We arrived as the light began to thin.
“This is the Heartroot Mangrove,” he said.
It did not resemble what he described.
Not anymore.
The water was deeper here.
Chest.
At times, near my neck.
The trees grew closer together.
Their roots hung above and beneath the water
like something woven
and left unfinished.
Structures remained between them.
Or what was left of them.
Platforms.
Roofs.
Fragments of wood caught in the roots.
Some still held objects.
Others had already let them go.
They floated past us
without direction.
Durandal spoke again.
“This should not look like this.”
His voice remained steady.
But something in it resisted what he was seeing.
Caravan Master answered.
Calm.
As always.
“The terrain shifted.”
“A result of the vault.”
Nothing more was added.
Nothing needed to be.
We continued forward.
The water resisted each movement.
Pulled at my legs.
Held them longer than I intended.
Twice—
I lost my footing.
The second time,
I did not think I would recover it.
Durandal caught me before I sank further.
His grip was firm.
Unhesitating.
“Careful, Miss DeLuna.”
Again.
I nodded.
Though I was not certain I could follow the instruction.
We were not alone here.
They moved around us.
Through the water.
Between the trees.
Some carried what remained of their lives.
Others carried each other.
One passed close to me.
Larger than the rest.
Four smaller figures with them.
Two held in their arms.
One supported by the tail.
Another following closely—
grasping at worn fabric that barely remained above the water.
They did not stop.
Did not look at us.
Only moved.
Forward.
As if there was nothing behind them worth turning toward.
I watched them longer than I realized.
Something in their movement stayed with me.
Not the form.
Not the sound.
Something else.
Something I could not name.
It felt like loss.
But I do not know if that is what it was.
Caravan Master continued ahead.
Two Siltfang guided him.
They spoke as they moved.
The same sounds as before.
Tongue.
Teeth.
Breath.
It did not become clearer.
Not even here.
I had already stopped trying.
Still—
it did not feel like noise.
Only something I was not meant to hold.
Durandal remained beside me.
Occasionally steadying me
before I realized I would need it.
We moved toward the sound of falling water.
It grew louder as we approached.
Different from the rest.
Clearer.
Almost… separate.
I saw it before I understood it.
Water descending from above.
Cleaner than everything around it.
Blue beneath the dim light.
It gathered below in a slow turning current.
Durandal spoke its name.
“Mother’s Tear.”
The words did not feel like a description.
More like something already accepted.
We did not stop.
We only passed it.
And continued deeper.
The further we moved,
the less this place felt like something broken.
And more like something
still changing.
Not for them.
Not against them.
Simply—
without them.
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