Chapter 3 - The Singing Sea and the Living Legend

I don't know how long I've been there, just crying over what's passed. I stand up and give the same smile I do every week. Every time I come here carrying hope, at least I have something to wish for. That is… may they be happy there. 

"Well then, I'll head home now. See you again next week. Mom, Dad." 

I walk home. Truthfully… I've been doing this every week, and every week I cry over the same thing. Maybe I'm just sensitive, but this is all I can do—I can't do anything else. Their absence has made my world feel so empty. 

The Sundering Sea Village. I live in this village, though I don't know why it's called that. What's certain is… the ocean here is alive. At first, I didn't believe it. Maybe even now, I still don't fully believe it. But my doubts always end up making me accept it. 

Legend says the ocean here always kidnaps small children, ideally aged 3 to 5, especially girls like me. That's why the villagers of The Sundering Sea never let their kids near the shore. They say if you hear the ocean's whispers, you'll get taken. 

That's why The Sundering Sea is rarely visited by tourists or even outsiders. Just hearing its name makes them uneasy. 

In this village, I have no friends at all. No one even greets me. Only a few, if I greet them without saying their name—those are usually strangers. But if I greet them and say their name, they're people I know. Thankfully, I met Rose back then. My friend… no. My only best friend. 

They're scared to be friends with me. But I'm used to it here. They don't want to be friends with someone who's been "called" by the ocean. And I'm one of them. But… I survived. I still wonder—who saved me that day? 

My mom was famously kind. So much so that people called her the Gem Princess—obviously, it was because she was beautiful and good-hearted. She earned that title when she was still a teenager. Mom was a native of this village. 

As for my dad… He was a city boy assigned here for work, and that's when he fell in love with Mom. 

So in love that he chose to stay in this rural village. He could've taken Mom to the city, but that wasn't the only reason. Mom… she loved this village too much. 

"Better get home now." 

I run toward the house.

***

After a few minutes, I finally arrive. My house—my parents' legacy. It's old and worn, but to me, the memories inside are far more precious than any renovation. 

Creeak… I open the gate. 

I stop in front of the door, take a deep breath, and exhale hard. 

"Huff… I'm home!" I say loudly, trying to mask my longing. 

I kick off my shoes and head to my favorite room—the living room. The place with the most memories. Well… even if they're hazy now. 

I drop my sling bag onto the old wooden chair in the room, walk to the kitchen, and lift the food cover. I grab some snacks. 

Stepping out the back door, I spot a middle-aged woman hanging laundry. "Grandma." 

I call out and approach her. 

"Let me help." I start sorting clothes from the laundry bucket. 

"You're back?" she asks. 

"Yeah. Just got home from the graves." 

She sits for a moment on a small bench—probably tired from her age. 

Her name is Grandma Yumi. She's my mom's mother. Yep, my mom's mom. I've lived with her since seven years ago, when Mom left. So Grandma stays here with me, in her daughter's house. 

"Have you eaten, Snow?" 

"Not yet," I answer quickly. 

I keep hanging the laundry, arranging them neatly from largest to smallest. 

"Come eat first." She heads inside through the back door. 

"Okay, just a sec. Almost done." 

I work swiftly. House chores are part of my daily routine—washing dishes, hanging laundry, cleaning. 

I treat them all like friends. How lonely I am. 

Once done, I grab the bucket and head inside. Grandma's already prepared food for me, even served rice on my plate. 

"Eat a lot. So you'll grow up fast." 

I freeze. Those words feel like a jab—is it because I'm short? 

"Grandma, that's not funny." I narrow my eyes. 

"Hahaha… Eat up, dear." She just laughs. But that's how Grandma jokes with me. It's better than nothing. 

I want things to stay like this forever. 

I sit at the table and slowly eat the food she made. Grandma just smiles at me. 

"So alike. Exactly alike." 

That's what I always hear when Grandma looks at me. Maybe it's her way of showing love? If so… thanks, Grandma. I love you too. 

I tilt my head up, mouth full, and say: "Tomorrow, don't make me wake you up." 

I tease her a little. Grandma's a heavy sleeper—she goes to bed at 9 PM but can sleep till 11 AM. 

"Grandma can do what she wants." 

"No way. You're supposed to set a good example," I fire back. 

"Kids don't know anything." 

She walks away. Honestly, I'm annoyed and just… Ughhh! I wish I could retort. 

"Kids don't know anything?" So just because they're older, they can say stuff like that? So unfair! 

Well… I am happy she gets to sleep soundly without interruptions. 

I finish the food quickly.

***

9:12 PM. 

"Excuse me… Uncle…" I call out in front of a house, Grandma Yumi beside me. 

Someone opens the door, revealing a burly man with a scar on his neck. 

"Come in, Snow. Mom." 

I step inside the house of the man I call Uncle. 

Marco. That's his name. He's my mom's younger brother. And… the one who supposedly saved me. I walk in, carrying a large plastic bag. 

"Have you eaten, Snow?" 

"Yeah, Grandma and I ate before coming." 

"If you want more, help yourself." 

"Thanks, but I'm full." 

This is Uncle Marco's house. It's concrete, and Mom used to visit here often. The walls are yellow-brown. I've seen this color so many times, but I never get tired of it—especially with the scribbles on the walls. 

The photos here are glimpses of the past—him with Mom as kids, back when Dad was still around. Back when they hadn't all left yet. 

I walk over to a small room where family photos are kept. The one I always look at is a photo of Mom and Dad holding me as a baby. Our house doesn't have these photos—they'd break if they fell. 

Uncle Marco approaches me. 

"Wanna hear the story again?" 

That's the question he always asks me, ever since I was little. The story about Dad. Honestly, I'm tired of it, but… it's the only way I can feel like Dad's beside me. 

"Hope you don't change it this time." I tease him because he always tweaks the story. 

We sit in the living room, snacks laid out. 

"The ocean is water that never runs out. But what's feared isn't the water—it's the depth." 

He gestures, painting the scene of the sea. 

"And… there was a brave, mighty man who dared to challenge it." 

I already know how it goes. His name was Kyires—my dad. 

"His name… was Kyires. An outsider, but wise and smart. The villagers even called him the Ocean Conqueror." Uncle exaggerates the tale. 

"He even tamed the deepest parts of the sea with his wooden ship." 

"Until one day…" He mimics the ship's movements. 

This is my favorite part. The ocean, like a titan. 

Uncle acts it out like he's reliving it. 

"Pull the sails!" A captain's voice shouts. 

White hair. Green eyes. And… a wedding ring. 

The crew yanks the sails hard and fast, fighting the ocean wind dragging them toward the waves. 

A massive wave looms ahead. Maybe over 100 meters tall. Ready to swallow anyone whole. 

The man—Kyires—stands firm, staring at the wave with unshaken confidence. 

"Captain… something big's coming." 

"True. But what makes it terrifying… is when fear takes over." 

The wave nears, revealing its fury, towering over their wooden ship. 

"Release the sails!" the white-haired man yells. 

The sails snap open, and the crew clings to anything stable, bracing for impact. 

"CRAAASH!! The wave slams into them!" Uncle tells it with passion. 

I listen closely—I love this part. 

"The wave swallows the ship. Gone… vanished." 

He drags his hands across the table, mimicking the calm after the storm. 

"Whooosh…" 

And here it comes. 

"The ship—" 

"—bursts from the ocean, like a dolphin leaping out!" I finish. 

Uncle Marco just laughs. "Haha… you've memorized it, huh?" 

"But it's fine. You can keep going. I'm just testing my memory." I don't want to disappoint him. 

"..." Silence. 

"You stopped at…?" 

I facepalm. Uncle might look tough with his neck scar, but he's as forgetful as ever. And he's still young! 

"Dad survived." I jog his memory. 

"Ahhh, right." 

"Kyires and his crew cheer in triumph." 

"We did it, Captain!" Uncle acts out the crew's celebration. 

"That's our legend…" He points to a photo. 

An old wooden ship, the crew cheering after conquering the terrifying sea. 

That… was my dad. The legend everyone admired. 

"Okay. That's enough. I need to prep for tomorrow's ritual." 

"Okay, Uncle!" I say casually. 

I look at the photo again—Dad's smiling face, full of courage. 

That story is how I know him. The only way. Even if I've heard it a thousand times, I still love it. 

My dad became a fisherman after moving here. That's why he sailed the vast ocean. The stories say he was a conqueror of the sea. But… obviously, the sea also took his life. He died on his way home—when I was just three. 

The weather that day was bad. Worse than usual. I don't know why. But the waves weren't huge—just deadly. 

His ship shattered, swallowed swiftly into the depths. 

I step outside, staring at the silent ocean. 

I don't know what to feel—anger? Sadness? What's certain is… this ocean is alive. From its whispers, its calls, its waves… and one thing maybe only I've heard from its depths. 

A… song. 

Every time I ask, they say it's not a song—just whispers. 

Back then, at night, when I was five: 

"Mom… does the ocean sing?" My tiny voice asked. 

Mom gently stroked my head. Her soft voice still lingers in my ears. 

"Sing?" She chuckled, hugging me tight. "The ocean never sings. But… it calls." She booped my nose. 

"But…" 

I looked toward the sea. That faint, beautiful sound—like a song. 

"It's really singing, Mom." I insisted. 

"Sweetheart… look at me." 

I met her blue eyes, her dark-brown-streaked hair. 

"The ocean might sound like it's singing, but it's not." 

She gazed at the quiet sea. 

"If the ocean sang, everyone would hear. But I don't hear anything. So what you hear… isn't a song, dear." 

Her words were gentle. I wondered—was she right? Or was what I heard real? It's still a mystery to me. 

"The ocean… sings…" I whisper. 

But since then, I've never heard it again. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I was just stubborn. 

"Better sleep. There's a ritual tomorrow—can't be late." 

I head back inside. 

Far away—in the depths, in the distance—I'm left doubting what I heard… or what they claimed. 

————