Page 12 of Drenched

Sebastian stood at the water's edge. His silhouette was dark against the ocean. He didn't move. His shoulders slouched like he was carrying something too heavy to bear.

I hesitated for a moment, but the way he stood pulled me forward.

“Sebastian,” I called softly.

He turned slowly. His face was pale in the moonlight. I could see dried streaks of tears on his cheeks. His eyes, red and tired, met mine.

“She wasn't always like this,” he said, shaking his head.

I knew this wasn't going to be a simple conversation. I stayed quiet, letting him find his words. The waves crashed in a steady rhythm, and salt spray clung to my skin, sharp and cold.

“She's my older sister,” he said after a pause. His voice barely rose above the sound of the ocean. He kicked a piece of driftwood, his boots sinking into the wet sand. “When she was young, she got sick. Cancer.” He looked down, his hands shaking as he pulled them from his pockets. He started tracing circles in the sand with his fingers. “My dad... he couldn't accept it. He was desperate to save her.”

The wind picked up, stinging my face as it whipped my hair into my eyes. A seagull screeched, circling overhead before diving into the water.

Sebastian stared at the waves. “My dad made sacrifices. He went deeper into the ocean than anyone dared. He did things no one should have to do. He risked everything. All to get the algae. All to save Amanda.”

He stopped talking, his face tightening like the memory hurt too much to share. I watched him, my chest heavy with something I couldn't name. I didn't know his father, but I could picture him - a man pushing past every limit, desperate to save his daughter.

I hugged myself, the cold seeming to seep right into my chest. “So... the algae healed her?” My voice came out small.

“It did,” Sebastian said. His face twisted, his jaw clenching. “The cancer was gone in weeks. But it took something else from her. A part of her.” He paused, shaking his head. “I don't know if it was her soul or something else, but it's like it ate her bit by bit.” He kicked a shell, sending it tumbling down the sand. “Now she can't go out in the light. She can't be in the sun. She's been like this for twenty-five years. Trapped in a darkness she can't escape.”

His words hit me hard. My chest tightened as I tried to take it all in. “Twenty-five years?” I asked quietly. “But she looks...”

“Young?” His laugh was harsh and bitter. “She hasn't aged since she was a kid. Since after she took the algae. She's frozen. Stuck. And it's driving her mad.”

He stared at the water, his breath visible in the chilly air. “When I was born, Amanda was twelve. She raised me. Loved me. But I grew up, and she didn’t. Everything changed. Suddenly, I wasthe one looking after her.” He swallowed hard. “She hates me for it. She hates needing me.”

The wind whipped past us, carrying the salty, rotting tang of seaweed. The waves crashed relentlessly, loud in the quiet night. A fog was rolling in. I reached out and rested my hand on his arm. His jacket was damp, and his muscles were tense beneath it.

“You're doing the best you can,” I said gently. “You're trying to help her.”

Sebastian turned to me, tears clinging to his lashes, his face wet with salt spray and grief. His eyes looked stormy now, the blue clouded with something darker. “At what cost, Pearl?” his voice cracked as he let out those words. “She's trapped. During the daytime, I hear her scratching at the walls of her room. Crying. Begging me to let her die.”

I couldn't speak. His words settled over me like a heavy weight.

Sebastian wiped his face with his sleeve, his breath shaky as he straightened. “There's something else,” he said, his hand brushing mine. His calloused fingers were warm. “I need to show you something.”

He led me along the beach, the path narrowing as the fog thickened. I kept my eyes on the uneven ground, careful not to trip. The sky was starting to lighten, a dull gray glow hanging over the cliffs. The fog was thicker here, wrapping around us like it had weight.

Sebastian stopped in front of a cave, half-hidden behind moss and thick vines. The entrance was dark and uninviting.

“Here,” he said and his voice echoing faintly in the stillness. “This is where it all began.”

The cave loomed before us, its dark entrance like an open mouth waiting to swallow us whole. Sebastian stepped inside first, his flashlight cutting through the gloom. I hesitated at the threshold, the air colder here, damp and heavy. It smelled of wet stone and something faintly metallic, like old blood.

“Come on,” Sebastian urged. “You gotta see this.”

I swallowed hard and followed, flicking on my phone’s flashlight. Our beams cut through the shadows, lighting up the slick walls. Water dripped somewhere, each drop landing with a sharp, steady tap. The deeper we went, the tighter the air seemed to squeeze in.

Sebastian stopped, his light catching strange markings on the wall. The script curled and twisted, the edges softened by time.

I leaned closer. “What language is this?”

He traced the letters, brow furrowed. “Proto-Norse. My grandfather taught me a little. It’s older than Icelandic, almost forgotten. Only a few of us still know how to read it.”

His words landed hard, pressing into my chest. These weren’t just carvings; they were warnings left for anyone who dared follow.

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