The outward path unfolded without ceremony.
No surge of current, no guiding pressure—just a long, open flow that felt neither deep nor shallow, neither fast nor slow. It carried them the way a thought carries itself once it has been chosen.
Behind them, the hollow faded—not erased, simply… no longer insisting on being seen.
Rhys noticed the change first in himself.
The water no longer pressed to test him. It rested against him, familiar. Not welcoming, not resisting. Acknowledging. As if it knew his outline now—and would remember it.
Caria swam beside him in silence for a while, her movements unhurried, reflective. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter than before, not from fear, but from care.
"Do you feel it?"
Rhys nodded. "Not like a bond."
"No," she agreed. "Like a responsibility that doesn't weigh."
