It's Here

The bathroom aboard the Washington was cramped, its narrow space divided into small shower stalls separated by thin curtains. Each stall housed a single ceiling-mounted showerhead, controlled by an old-fashioned valve system. The room lacked doors, offering little privacy beyond the fluttering of thin fabric, and along the opposite wall, a long mirror stretched above a row of sinks.

Though modest, the Washington at least had two bathrooms—one for men, one for women—each fitting up to four people at a time.

Tonight, Esther had it all to herself.

She let the icy water cascade down her skin, hurriedly scrubbing away the grime of the past day. Out beyond the steel walls of the submarine, the Sunless Sea stretched out in all directions—its frigid depths an endless, unforgiving abyss. It was ironic, really. So much water, yet never a drop warm enough for comfort.

Old habits died hard. Even now, after months aboard a military vessel, she still rushed through her showers like she had back home in Under D.C.

Reaching for the valve, she twisted it shut.

The showerhead sputtered—a final trickle of cold droplets spattering against the floor before silence took over once more.

The room was eerily still.

Though it was nearing morning, the ship's internal lights had yet to turn on—which meant the crew was still asleep.

Good.

Esther had learned to wake early to avoid the rush, claiming the bathroom for herself before the ship stirred to life.

Stepping out of the stall, bare feet against damp rubber flooring, she made her way to the sinks. In the mirror's dim reflection, golden strands clung to her back, dripping wet. She grabbed a towel and began drying her hair—an endless chore, given its length. She really needed to cut it soon.

Four months.

It had been four months since she left Under D.C.—since her world had shifted into a reality she had never truly prepared for.

She had learned so much since then. Some of it aligned with the theories and textbooks she once read. Others were lessons taught by experience alone—things she could never have learned in a classroom.

She learned the mechanics of a submarine, the intricacies of navigation, and how to steer a steel beast through the treacherous dark.

She had seen creatures that should not exist, lurking within the abyss.

She had made friends, forged bonds she never expected to form.

A soft smile curled her lips.

She thought of the crew of the Washington—those who had become her allies, her mentors… her family.

Holland. The formidable captain who had taken her under his wing, teaching her how to command the ocean's depths.

Commander Hector. Perpetually stern, always irritable, yet deeply protective of every single soul on this ship.

Matthew. The gentle lieutenant, whose reluctant indulgence had granted her far too many privileges.

Sonia. A kindred spirit, someone who understood her reckless curiosity all too well.

Will. The soft-hearted soldier, forever haunted by fear, yet standing firm regardless.

And Rain…

A mystery unto himself. A boy who had thrown himself between her and death more times than she could count.

They had faced so many dangers together. They had bled, fought, and survived.

And yet—despite everything—they were all still here.

This was more than an adventure.

More than she had ever dared to dream back in Under D.C., where her life had once been nothing but routine and repetition.

Esther set down the towel, her fingers resting on the damp porcelain sink as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

The rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water echoed through the empty room.

Overhead, a fluorescent light flickered, its unstable glow casting a stark contrast across her face. Half of it was illuminated in a dull, yellowish hue, while the other was swallowed by deep shadow.

For just a moment—no longer than a heartbeat—something flickered within the darkness of her left eye.

A faint glow, a sliver of amber light, pulsed from the depths of the shadow.

She blinked—and it was gone.

Just her own face, staring back at her.

Hello.

The word formed silently in her mind, an instinctive attempt to reach out—a test.

No response.

Only silence.

Only the dripping of water from the shower behind her.

Esther frowned.

She had done this before—spoken in her mind, reached across some unseen boundary—back when she had dreamed of the battle between the great whales and the Yamato battleship.

Back then, something had answered her.

But not this time.

Not now.

Maybe I'm just going insane.

The thought made her smile, a small, dry chuckle slipping from her lips. She reached for her clothes, preparing to dress.

And that was when she saw it.

Her reflection—standing still.

Not mirroring her movements.

Not following her gestures.

The girl in the mirror stood rigid, arms hanging stiffly by her sides—and in the dim light, her left eye glowed with that same eerie, amber hue.

Staring back at her.

"Hello."

The voice echoed, unmistakably her own, yet… not quite.

Esther staggered backward, her breath catching in her throat. The clothes in her hand slipped from her fingers, tumbling onto the wet tile floor.

I'm hallucinating. I've lost my mind.

Her reflection shook its head.

"You are perfectly sane. I am simply communicating through your visual perception."

Esther stared, unblinking, at the mirror—at herself, unmoving, unblinking. Her reflection did not mimic her.

She slowly lifted her hand and pinched her cheek. The sharp sting was real.

"You… you're inside me?" she whispered.

"I am bound to the neural pathways behind your left eye, connected to the organ you call a 'brain.' That is how I am able to transmit images to you."

A memory flashed through her mind—the battle at Giza, the tentacle of that thing piercing through her eye.

The mirror Esther spoke again, her tone eerily monotone, devoid of emotion.

"You saved my life, even though I was your enemy."

There was no gratitude in her voice. No accusation, either. Just a statement of fact.

"Why did you do it?"

For a fleeting moment, Esther considered lying, telling this… entity something that would make her seem noble, altruistic—something that would resonate.

But she dismissed the thought.

Because she wasn't sure they even had a concept of gratitude.

Instead, she gave the most honest answer she could.

"When you fought my friends at the port, I saw something—a vision. A battle between a pod of whales and a battleship from Saipan."

A faint flicker crossed the reflection's unreadable face.

"I think I spoke to one of your kind," Esther continued, searching for the words. "And I think… he asked me to protect you."

The reflection was silent for a long moment.

Then, flatly, she spoke.

"And you followed the advice of a species that wants to exterminate your own?"

"I saved you because I want to stop this war." For the first time, Esther stood her ground, her voice unwavering.

"I want to share this world with you. That's what I told your friend."

The amber eye flickered.

"That is impossible," the reflection stated.

"How do you know that?" Esther shot back.

"Because a single planet cannot sustain two sentient species."

Esther hesitated.

"Why? What makes you so sure?"

"Basic resource allocation, territory, and survival dynamics," the reflection responded smoothly. "Even your own species is incapable of coexisting peacefully amongst itself."

And that, Esther could not deny.

She had seen it—lived it.

The wars, the endless battles for land, resources, control. Even this very expedition was nothing more than a desperate attempt for the United States to gain an advantage over the Neo-Soviets.

Her people couldn't even find peace amongst themselves.

How could they ever hope to share a world with another species?

Yet something bothered her.

The way her reflection had phrased it—not as an opinion, but a fact.

As though she hadn't just believed this truth…

She had already seen it happen.

"Your friend told me that our species have been at war for a long time. That there was once a ceasefire. I want to know why you broke that truce. Why did you attack the coastal capital?"

Esther didn't hesitate—this was the question that had haunted her the most.

The flickering light overhead stuttered again, casting the bathroom in erratic shadows. She could barely make out the dark figure reflected in the mirror, swallowed by the surrounding void, but its amber eye burned like a smoldering ember.

"Because you created a god."

Esther froze.

There it was again—that word.

A god.

The whale that perished in the battle against the Yamato had said the same thing. Their kind feared the 'god' that mankind had created.

"What is 'god'?" Esther demanded. Surely, the entity in the mirror didn't mean the divine being worshipped in religions.

"It is what we call them. The enemy. A threat to our survival. And you made them. Even if you did not intend to destroy us."

"That tells me nothing," Esther snapped, frustrated.

Humans couldn't literally create gods. Was it a metaphor? A name? A mistranslation?

What was something humans could build—could unleash—that might pose a mortal threat to an entire species?

Nuclear warheads?

Bioweapons?

Plastic?

Everything that came to mind was a weapon of mass destruction.

"Not those," the amber glow shifted—left, then right. It took her a second to realize… the shadow was shaking its head.

"Then what the hell is it?!" Esther shouted, exasperated.

The click of a switch.

The lights flared back to life.

And standing in the doorway, staring at her in utter bewilderment, was Sonia.

The other girl was frozen mid-motion, her left hand still on the light switch, her right arm clutching a bundle of clothes and a towel.

Esther went rigid.

Her mind caught up to the scene Sonia was seeing:

Her, completely naked, standing in the middle of the empty bathroom, screaming at a mirror.

"I-It's not what it looks like!!!"

The heat rushed to her face, her entire body flushing crimson as she scrambled to grab the towel, wrapping it desperately around herself.

She wasn't sure what she was trying to explain—

The fact that she was talking to something that wasn't there?

Or the terrifying possibility that she might actually be losing her mind?

The two of them stood in silence, staring at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Esther felt her heartbeat slow, the tension unbearable—until Sonia, still looking at her, finally smirked.

"I used to sing in the shower too. No need to be embarrassed."

Esther let out a breath of relief. She wasn't sure whether she was relieved that Sonia hadn't heard her talking to something—or that she didn't think she was losing her mind.

Sonia strolled past her to the sink, casually squeezing toothpaste onto her brush.

"Smart of you to shower early," she remarked, her voice muffled as she began brushing. "No waiting in line, no half-asleep crew members bumping into you."

"Not really," Esther muttered, pulling on her shirt. "The water's freezing, and I still have to drag myself out of bed before sunrise. Seems like a fair trade-off."

"I guess so."

As Esther finished dressing, Sonia brushed in silence, though she kept glancing at her every so often.

The unspoken tension made Esther uncomfortable. She decided to break the silence.

"Where have you been after your shifts? I wanted to have dinner with you, but I couldn't find you."

Sonia's gaze flickered to the sink. "Oh, that? I've been helping Rain in the engine room. He asked me to fix his radio."

"Rain? He asked you to fix a radio?"

"Well, I think Holland or Matthew probably told him to ask me, but yeah." Sonia shrugged, rinsing her mouth. "Either way, I've been busy, so I might not be free after shifts for a while."

Esther nodded absentmindedly, but something clicked in her mind.

"Oh, wait—back in Giza, you were trying to tell me something about Rain, weren't you?"

Sonia blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"When we were checking on him—you said there was something about him I needed to know. But I told you I wanted to be alone."

Sonia froze, then slowly nodded. "Oh. Yeah. I remember now."

"So? What was it?"

Instead of answering, Sonia studied her for a moment. "What do you think about him?"

Esther frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer me."

Esther sighed, considering her words carefully.

"I met him at the docks before the journey started. He's the one who made me decide to stand up to my father and get on this ship. He was my first friend." She paused. "He cares about people even if he doesn't show it. He fought through the dam without killing anyone. He protected us on the island. He…" She hesitated before continuing, carefully. "I think he's a good person."

She waited for Sonia to reply.

But when she turned to look at her, Sonia was already watching her—with an expression that looked like a mix of disappointment and concern.

"So?" Esther pressed. "What were you going to tell me about him?"

Sonia snatched her towel and walked toward the showers.

"Nothing. I was just going to say I thought the same as you."

"Wait—what? That's it?"

"That's it."

And with that, Sonia pulled the curtain closed, cutting them off from each other.

…

Esther pushed open the door to her cabin, balancing a tray of food from the mess hall in her hands.

"Dinner delivery," she announced, drawing out the words in an exaggerated tone of boredom.

Arthur sat in a folding chair beside his bed, hunched over a cluttered metal table that had been pulled from the wall. It was buried under a mountain of documents, books, and notebooks, all stacked haphazardly. At the sound of her voice, he paused mid-sentence in his notes and glanced up.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Just set it here."

He swept a stack of books off to the side, sending them crashing onto the metal floor with a loud thud.

Esther winced. "You're turning this ship into as big of a mess as our house, you know."

She placed the tray down on the now-cleared portion of the table before glancing at the notebook her father had been writing in. "What are you working on, anyway?"

Arthur leaned back slightly. "Keeping a record. Scholars, captains, explorers—they all keep logs of their journeys. In this case, I'm documenting everything we've encountered. It might be valuable for science—help future generations understand the world better."

Esther thought about the things they had encountered:

A whale capable of wiping out half a continent.

A creature so massive it was mistaken for a drifting island.

A song echoing from the abyss.

"And who's actually going to believe any of this?" She raised an eyebrow. "I feel like the scientific community is more likely to think of your journal as a collection of sailors' ghost stories."

Arthur simply smiled—a patient, knowing smile. "Maybe someday, you'll want to read it."

"Someday," Esther echoed, more out of politeness than conviction, as she turned toward the door. "You're not coming up to the control room? The outpost we're docking at just hired Holland to sink a ghost ship. You might find something interesting to add to your log."

Arthur shook his head. "You know I don't believe in the supernatural."

Esther rolled her eyes. Right, because everything we've seen so far has been perfectly normal.

She shut the door behind her, exhaling softly.

Truth be told, she didn't believe in ghost ships either. More likely, the Aurora had been hijacked by pirates and used to prey on fishing vessels. And if that was the case, it wasn't something Holland couldn't handle.

She was about to climb the stairs to the third deck when she heard something.

'No.'

It wasn't a sound.

It was inside her head.

'It's here.'

The words echoed inside Esther's head, carrying a surge of rage and pure terror that wasn't entirely her own. It was its emotions, bleeding into her thoughts.

"What is?" she asked.

There was no response. Not until she reached the second deck and stood before the control room door.

'God.'

That was the only answer.

A shiver ran down her spine, though she wasn't sure if it was her own fear anymore.

The only thing humans had ever created that could truly terrify the abyssal creatures… was now on this ship.

Or—more likely—had been brought aboard.

Had Holland unknowingly retrieved something from the Aurora?

Before she could fully process the thought, she shoved the control room door open.

The first voice she heard was Hector's, sharp and demanding. "Just get to the point. What the hell did you find on that ship? And who the hell is this kid?"

So, they'd returned.

Holland sat casually in the captain's chair, boots propped up on the meeting table as if none of this was particularly urgent. As usual, Rain stood off to the side, leaning against the wall. Through the open hatch above, Esther could see Will and the rest of the boarding team climbing down from the pressure chamber.

Holland exhaled through his nose. "The people at the fishing village lied to us."

Esther watched as the captain's expression darkened. "That ship… was full of corpses. Refugees. I don't know what the hell happened on the Aurora, but one thing's for sure—those bastards back at the village didn't tell me the full story."

Hector narrowed his eyes. "And how exactly do you know that?"

Holland didn't answer. Instead, he tilted his head toward the staircase.

That was when Esther saw him.

A stranger.

A boy, no older than fifteen or sixteen, stepping into the light.

The first thing she noticed were his eyes—a striking shade of ice blue. His facial features were sharp, well-defined, almost regal in their symmetry. His skin was pale, untouched by the harshness of the Sunless Sea.

But the most unsettling thing about him…

His hair.

Pale green. Pulled back into a loose ponytail.

And the blood.

He was drenched in it.

"…Nice ship," he remarked, casually glancing around.

That was when the screaming began.

Esther whipped her head toward the source.

It was Tony.

The dwarf from the outpost—the man they'd taken aboard as a guide. He was staring at the boy, trembling, his wide eyes wild with panic.

"Y-You—how the hell are you here?!" Tony stammered.

Hector immediately turned to him. "You know this kid?"

Tony's face was ashen, his breaths ragged. "Know him!? Everything—everything—happened because of that little bastard!"

Tony shouted, his voice shaking with pure fear. "You should be dead—" 

The words never finished.

His head snapped back.

His body went limp, slumping back against his chair.

A knife was buried in the center of his forehead.

A pool of dark crimson began spreading beneath him.

The entire room froze in stunned silence.

Esther's pulse hammered in her ears.

For a moment, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

It was Hector who reacted first.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO?!"

His rifle was already raised, aimed squarely at the boy's chest.

The boy—unfazed—merely lowered his hand, the one he'd used to throw the knife.

"Revenge," he answered, tone flat, emotionless. "That man killed my father."

Hector's finger twitched over the trigger. "And just who the hell are you?"

"My name is Satoru. A pleasure to meet you all."

The green-haired boy bowed slightly, a polite gesture completely at odds with the blood still dripping from his clothes.

When he straightened, his gaze locked onto Esther's for just a fraction of a second—long enough to make her uneasy.

"I don't give a damn about your name," Hector growled, crossing his arms as he stared the boy down. "I want to know what the hell you were doing on that ship. And what do you know about it?"

Satoru did not flinch.

In fact, he smirked.

"My father and I escaped from New Marrakesh on that ship," he said, tone light—as if recounting an amusing anecdote. "We found a fishing village and wanted to settle there, but the locals weren't too keen on the idea. I don't know all the details, but from what I saw, the village leaders decided to exile the extra refugees—sent them off on that cargo ship with barely any food or fuel. People started killing each other over supplies. I hid. When I came out…" He shrugged, smiling as if he were recounting an old ghost story. "Everyone was dead."

Silence hung in the air.

Esther noticed Hector's grip tighten on his rifle.

"So your father…" Holland glanced down at the lifeless body of the dwarf, still sprawled on the floor in a growing pool of dark red. "You're saying he died back at the village? Before they forced the refugees back onto the ship?"

Satoru nodded.

"And this guy—" Holland nudged the corpse with his boot, "—he was the one responsible?"

"One of them," Satoru corrected cheerfully.

His casual tone sent a shudder down Esther's spine.

"So tell me," Sonia cut in, arms folded, standing beside Will. "Were you the one who piled up those bodies in the cargo hold?"

"Oh, no. It was like that when I came out."

"Then why the hell were you hiding under them?" Will asked, his voice lower than usual.

Esther glanced at him—he was pale, just like Sonia, just like the other soldiers…

Whatever they had seen on that ship had shaken them.

Satoru grinned.

"I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I thought maybe it was the same people who killed the rest of the refugees. Figured I'd play dead, just in case."

A chill crept up Esther's spine.

Something about him felt… off.

The others must have sensed it too—the way their eyes flickered between each other, searching for unspoken confirmation.

"So," Matthew's voice broke the silence from his seat at the controls, fingers tapping against the console. "What do we do with him?"

"Go back and get the fuel, obviously." Holland's response was casual, as if Matthew's question was too obvious to ask. "And if what this kid's saying is true, I think I need to have a little chat with the head of that village."

"And what about him?" Hector's gaze remained fixed on Satoru, sharp and untrusting.

"I'll drop him off at the next station where a ship passes through," Holland said as he rose from his chair. He strode past Esther, heading for the door. "Until then, he's under lockdown. No wandering around, no unnecessary conversations. Assign a rotation to bring him food and water. That should be fine with you, right, Hector?"

"Yeah. Just don't forget to disarm the kid first," Hector muttered, reluctant but resigned. "I don't like the idea of sharing a ship with someone who can plant a knife in my skull that fast."

"I don't mind," Satoru replied smoothly, still smiling.

Then, with zero hesitation, he reached beneath his crimson hoodie and pulled out four more knives, setting them on the long table—one by one, with deliberate slowness.

A heavy silence followed.

"What kind of kid carries that many knives?" Hector's muttered words barely reached Esther's ears as he followed Holland out of the control room, presumably to store the weapons away.

The green-haired boy followed suit, flanked on either side by Rain, Will, and the remaining soldiers. They marched him out, their movements wary—like they were escorting a wild animal rather than a teenager.

And just as he passed Esther, he glanced at her.

And smiled.

Under normal circumstances, it might have been a charming, boyish grin—one that could put people at ease.

But in this moment, Esther felt cold.

Her skin prickled, a chill crawling down her spine.

She thought about what she had heard.

The thing humanity had created—something that terrified the abyssal creatures.

Something they had named "God."

Something that had been on the Aurora—and was now on this ship.

Esther shook her head, as if trying to dispel the thought.

No.

That's impossible.

…Right?