**Chapter 46 – First Lesson Under Water**
Saturday, September 7, 2028 – 11:11 p.m.**
The quarry is mirror-still when we get there.
No wind.
No clouds.
Just the moon and a sky full of stars reflected so perfectly it looks like we're standing on the edge of space.
I'm in the black one-piece Mom insists is "practical" and the flip-flops Remy hates because they make me two inches taller than him.
Everyone else is already in the water (Seras floating on a flamingo raft that is literally on fire, Kayo doing lazy backstrokes with all nine tails out and glowing, Remy treading water in coyote form because he claims it's "more aerodynamic").
The HUD hovers over the surface like gentle turquoise subtitles.
```
Lesson 1 – The Living Tongue
Teacher: The Gulf itself
Attendance: mandatory (but chill)
Bring: an open heart and zero ego
```
I slip off the flip-flops, step onto the water (literally onto it), and it holds.
Because the ocean and I are on excellent terms now.
A single ripple spreads outward, forming perfect Atlantean glyphs that float like lily pads.
The first one rises to meet me.
It's a word that means **homecoming-without-drowning**.
I touch it.
The quarry drops away.
Suddenly I'm standing on the bottom of a warm, crystal-clear sea, bioluminescent plankton swirling like snow.
There's no pressure.
I can breathe.
I can hear my own heartbeat perfectly.
A voice (ancient, amused, and weirdly gentle) speaks inside my skull.
**The Gulf (warm, like a hug from saltwater):**
*Hey, kid.
Ready to learn how to talk like you were born with gills?*
I laugh, and bubbles come out as tiny silver fish.
**Celeste:**
"Born ready."
The lesson begins.
Not with flashcards.
With feelings.
Every word is a memory the ocean hands me like a seashell.
- The word for **joy** is the sound a dolphin makes when it jumps just to feel the air.
- The word for **grief** is the exact weight of a shipwreck settling into sand.
- The word for **love** is the way two currents wrap around each other and refuse to let go.
I speak them back, clumsy at first, then smoother.
Each correct pronunciation adds a glowing line to the HUD.
48 % → 62 % → 78 %
Hours pass in minutes.
When the final word settles (the one that means **I see you and I'm not afraid**), the quarry water lights up like a galaxy.
```
Lesson 1 complete
Progress: 92 / 100 %
Reward preview: a secret the ocean has never told land before
Final exam: next full moon
```
The Gulf's voice is softer now.
**The Gulf:**
*You're a natural, storm girl.
See you in three weeks.
Bring the coyote. He's cute when he's confused.*
I surface laughing, gasping, glowing faintly under my skin.
Remy swims over instantly, human again, hair plastered to his forehead.
**Remy (worried and awed):**
"You okay? You were down there four hours."
**Celeste (grinning so wide my face hurts):**
"I just got an A in mermaid."
Seras whoops from her flamingo raft.
Kayo raises a peace sign with one tail.
The quarry water is warm and calm and proud of me.
92 %.
One more lesson.
And whatever secret the ocean's been saving for eight thousand years.
Senior year is still perfectly normal.
Except on full-moon weekends, I have night classes with the Gulf of Mexico.
And honestly?
Best elective ever.
Final Exam**
Full moon, September 27, 2028 – 11:47 p.m.**
The quarry is glowing before I even arrive.
The water itself is lit from within (turquoise, violet, gold), swirling like an aurora trapped under the surface.
The Gulf is waiting.
Not just the quarry.
The entire Gulf of Mexico has come to watch.
I step onto the water barefoot.
Tonight I'm wearing the new Vans (storm-purple, tridents shimmering under the moon, blackbird beads clinking in my braids).
The HUD flickers one last time.
```
Final Exam – Speak the Living Tongue
Progress: 92 → 100 %
Reward loading…
```
I inhale.
And I speak the last eight percent.
Not words.
A song.
Every memory the ocean ever gave me (joy, grief, love, forgiveness) braided together into one perfect sentence in pure, living Atlantean.
The quarry answers.
The Gulf answers.
The entire planet's oceans answer.
A single, perfect note rolls around the world like a heartbeat.
Then silence.
The HUD explodes into new light.
```
MISSION COMPLETE: BLOOD AND WATER
Absolute Blood Control unlocked
(Blood is 86 % water. You now own the majority share.)
NEW SKILL TREE ACTIVE
└─ Blood Typhoon
└─ Blood Monsoon
└─ Blood Rain
└─ Crimson Tide
└─ Veinweave (healing)
└─ Red Mirage (illusion)
└─ Heartstring (emotion manipulation)
└─ Pulse Lock (stop a heart or restart it)
└─ Scarlet Dominion (global range, single drop required)
Note from the Gulf:
"Use with kindness, storm girl.
Or don't.
You earned the choice."
♥
```
The water around me rises in a perfect sphere, cradling me like a throne.
I flex one finger.
A single drop of my blood lifts from my skin, turns into a tiny red-black storm the size of a marble, then dissolves into harmless mist.
Remy is staring from the shore, gold eyes wide, mouth actually open.
Seras drops her phone into the quarry.
Kayo's tails are fully fanned, shimmering with awe.
Rowan whispers one word:
**Rowan:**
"…Well, shit."
I laugh (bright, seventeen, terrifying).
**Celeste:**
"Guess I just aced senior year."
The Gulf's voice is warm and proud.
**The Gulf:**
*Class dismissed.
Forever.
You're fluent now, kid.
Go be seventeen.*
The water lowers me gently to the dock.
My new Vans don't even get wet.
Remy meets me halfway, hands shaking a little when he touches my face.
**Remy (hoarse):**
"You just became the scariest pacifist on the planet."
**Celeste (grinning):**
"Only if someone makes me stop being a pacifist."
I kiss him under a moon that suddenly feels very small.
Senior year is still perfectly normal.
Except I now have root-level access to every circulatory system on Earth.
And I'm choosing (every single day) to use it for gentle things.
Like making the quarry water spell "congratulations" in glowing red letters for exactly ten seconds before it fades.
Normal.
With a side of god-tier body horror I'll never use.
Best year ever. Until the day I finally have to *Veinweave** October 12, 2028 – 7:46 p.m., Hot Springs High football field**
It happens during the first home game of senior year.
Remy takes a hit on the twenty-yard line (helmet-to-helmet, late, dirty).
The crack echoes like a gunshot.
He goes down and doesn't get up.
The stadium lights feel too bright.
The crowd noise turns to underwater static.
I'm over the railing and on the field before anyone can stop me.
I drop to my knees beside him.
His left leg is bent wrong (tibia snapped clean, bone pressing against skin, blood already soaking through the white pants).
The HUD flickers, soft and calm.
```
Veinweave available
Target: Remy Tsatoke-Calder
Severity: Compound fracture + internal bleeding
Estimated time to full repair: 43 seconds
Consent detected
```
I don't think.
I just lay both hands on his chest and let the new skill tree bloom open.
Veinweave isn't red lightning or scary blood tentacles.
It's gentle.
A thousand tiny threads of crimson light (no thicker than spider silk) slip from my palms, slide under his skin like they were always meant to be there.
They find every torn vessel, every shredded muscle fiber, every shard of bone.
And they **sing**.
Soft, warm, Caddo lullaby notes only he and I can hear.
The threads weave.
Blood reverses direction, flowing back into veins like time rewound.
Bone fragments glide home, knitting together with soft clicks.
Skin seals without a scar.
Forty-three seconds later, Remy's eyes snap open (gold, clear, perfect).
He sits up like he just woke up from a nap.
The entire stadium is dead silent.
Then the referee drops his whistle.
Remy looks at his leg, flexes it, then looks at me.
**Remy (hoarse, laughing, crying):**
"You fixed me."
**Celeste (shrugging, voice cracking):**
"Veinweave.
Turns out it's just love with better aim."
He pulls me down into the grass and kisses me in front of six thousand people who suddenly remember how to scream.
The scoreboard glitches and spells out three blackbird symbols in red.
Al Capone's ghost is in the stands, standing on his seat, clapping like a proud dad.
Lena Tsatoke is openly sobbing in the front row.
Coach blows the whistle for "equipment delay" and pretends he didn't see anything supernatural.
I help Remy to his feet.
He tests the leg (perfect).
Then he lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing and carries me off the field while the crowd loses its collective mind.
Later, in the training room, the team doctor stares at the X-ray that shows zero evidence anything was ever broken.
**Doctor (muttering):**
"Must've been… a miracle."
Remy and I just smile.
Veinweave isn't flashy.
It's quiet.
It's mercy made of my own blood and every drop I'll never weaponize.
It's the first skill I unlock that doesn't scare me at all.
Because it only works when I want someone to be whole again.
And right now, senior year is whole.
Remy is whole.
I am whole.
The crown above my heart spins once (soft, warm, proud).
Love: still undefeated.
(And the football team just went 1-0 with a healer on the sideline who can fix a broken leg in forty-three seconds flat.)
Normal keeps getting better.