Chapter 9 - I Still Wait

Tidecall Memory Fragment 𐤔𐤓𐤉𐤁𐤕: "The Shore Without Him"

Location: Mikonos Coastline | Cold Season Drift

Phase: Waning Crescent — Tui's Eye Nearly Closed

Namecall: Saeh-Li of the Silent Vein

Status: Surface Margin. Watching. Waiting.

He is gone.

The stone wall still stands. The same broken edge where waves greet the shore with tired hands.

The shell he left me is still there too—bleached whiter now by sun and wind. I never took it. Not because I did not want it, but because I could not bear to claim it and lose him again.

I thought he would return.

The way tides do.

The way light eventually follows the trench.

But moons have passed. Many.

And still, the stone waits alone.

So do I.

Each night, I rise with the current, near enough to see the land in full. Sometimes I glide just below, where the sea hugs the cliff belly. Other times I hide behind reef shadow, kelp hair drifting in rhythms too slow for surface minds.

Always, I watch.

And I hope.

Not in the way trench-born are taught to hope—not for food, or pod, or safety.

But for him.

For his voice carried on the wind.

For the sudden thud of boots on stone.

For that laugh again—strange, bright, awkward.

It never comes.

At first, I told myself he was ill.

Then I told myself he had moved.

Then I told myself he had forgotten.

But now…

Now I wonder if this is what grief feels like when it is chosen. Not because of death. But because of absence. Because of a soul you touched once, who touched you back—and then vanished.

I have not taken form again. My legs are beginning to forget the shape of steps. My skin remembers only the current, not the cold air. But my eyes…

My eyes search the land every night. Every light. Every figure. Hoping, aching, trying not to believe it was only once.

Trying not to believe I was the only one who remembered.

Tonight the sea is calm. The stars thick above. The wind low.

I press myself to the shallows again, arms resting on the rocks, chin just above water. Like a ghost in a lullaby. I stare at the place where he sat.

Where his warmth once spilled onto the stone.

Where I once raised my hand, and he mirrored me.

If I had a voice that could carry through the air,

I would call him now.

Not with song. Not with compulsion.

But with memory.

A sound that says:

I am still here.

I did not leave.

I still wait for you to return.

Even if you never do.

Even if your world forgot.

I will remember.

And I will wait,

just a little longer.