The air had turned heavy.
Thick.
Suffocating.
The ink spread faster than any of them could react—rolling out like a living shadow, swallowing the once-clear water until everything below their knees turned black.
Eli's breath hitched. The sight alone made his chest tighten. The ink wasn't drifting—it was crawling, curling over itself, alive in the way it moved.
Every ripple felt deliberate, as if the water itself had become aware of their presence.
He heard the others behind him—boots slapping against water, splashes echoing wildly—but the sound soon began to change.
The splashing slowed.
Thickened.
Each step came heavier, muffled, as if the water had turned to mud.
"What—what is this?!" Zaira's voice broke first, trembling between exhaustion and panic.
Mio cursed under his breath, his tone strained and breathless. "It's—sticking to me—shit, I can't—!"
