The Drowning Gate

Amanse stood at the edge of the river, heart hammering in his chest, his eyes glued to the breathtaking figure rising from the water. A woman—or something like one—stood before him, utterly unclothed yet wrapped in an allure so powerful it seemed to silence the wind.

Her beauty was overwhelming. Her hair, black as the riverbed and so long it curled past her thighs, danced in a breeze that Amanse could not feel. Each strand shimmered with moonlight, framing her face like a living halo. Her skin glowed like polished bronze, flawless and smooth as river stone. And her eyes… gods help him, her eyes were ever-shifting—piercing blue one moment, tempestuous gray the next, and then pitch-black voids that seemed to reflect entire oceans.

The more he looked, the more beautiful she became—as if her face changed with every heartbeat, reshaping to reflect the purest image of desire in his mind.

He stood, mouth agape, his jaw practically kissing the wet earth. His throat ran dry.

Around them, giggles rang from nowhere and everywhere. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw other mermaids—lesser water spirits—peeking from the depths of the river, their glistening eyes fixed on him, some giggling, others whispering in aquatic tongues. But Amanse's eyes remained locked on their queen.

So this is her, he thought. Mami Wata. The goddess of the seas, the siren of legends, the devourer of men.

She turned slowly, casting him a look over her shoulder, then began to walk—no, glide—back toward the water, hips swaying like tides beneath a full moon. Just before the river engulfed her, she stopped, raised one delicate hand, and beckoned him with a single finger.

The gesture was simple. The effect, seismic.

Every fibre of his being urged him to follow. His heart pounded with a strange mixture of fear, awe, and longing. Lust licked at his bones. Desire threatened to consume him.

But he held his ground.

Whispers from childhood clawed up from memory. Stories whispered in dark corners about Mami Wata, the femme fatale of the deep. Tales of men who saw her, only to be driven mad by longing. Of fishermen who dove into the sea to embrace her—and never surfaced again. Of barren women who begged for children and received them, only to weep when those children died in their youth. Her gifts were like waves: beautiful, but meant to drown. The people of Amaaku knew enough to fear Mami wata.

Amanse clenched his fists. Beauty was not always salvation.

She laughed then, a sound so musical it made the river ripple. She tossed her head back and let the laughter flow like wine, before her tone shifted.

"Amanse, I can read your thoughts. I know your heart. Believe me, it is not your destiny to die by my hand. I was sent to convey you to the Alusi."

Her voice softened as she added, almost petulantly:

 "Curse that Amadioha. He thinks I'm his errand girl. If only he weren't so painfully handsome..."

She sighed like a lover denied, then flicked her fingers.

 "Come. Hurry, before I change my mind."

With that, she vanished beneath the water, leaving a glistening ripple behind.

Amanse didn't hesitate for long. He dove in after her.

---

The cold never came.

He expected icy currents, burning lungs, and darkness—but instead, the river embraced him like air. He began to sink, but not in fear. It was as if gravity had flipped. Down was up, up was memory, and his body obeyed a rhythm far older than the one he was born into.

As he fell, he panicked briefly. He kicked upward, trying to break the surface—but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank.

Then he gasped—and to his astonishment, breathed.

His lungs expanded. No water rushed in. He was breathing underwater.

Even more shocking—his clothes were dry.

He opened his eyes, and his breath caught again—this time from sheer wonder.

He was no longer in any river.

Below him stretched an underwater world unlike anything he had imagined. Schools of multicolored fish shimmered past like airborne silk. Massive sea creatures glided silently through coral forests. Towering kelp swayed like dancers at a sacred ritual. Anemones pulsed with ethereal light. The colors were sharp, unnatural—more dream than reality.

"Like what you see?" came Mami Wata's voice, playful and amused.

She floated beside him, somehow untouched by currents or time.

"This isn't an actual water body," she continued. "This is an astral ocean. A spiritual mirror of every body of water in the physical realm. That river you dove into? A doorway. A crack in the curtain. This… is our realm."

Amanse blinked. "Your realm?"

"Yes. The dominion of water deities. Every water body has a spirit. And every spirit belongs to a greater whole. I reign here—as Queen of the Coast. But this is not my ocean alone. It is shared. Partitioned. Just as lands have kings, seas have gods."

She swam beside him as they drifted deeper. Strange shapes loomed beneath—ghost ships half-buried in sand, ancient artifacts gleaming with forgotten runes, and massive statues covered in coral. Amanse couldn't stop staring.

"What… are all these things?" he whispered.

 "Relics," she answered. "Memories. Dreams. Desires. Lost ambitions. Failed promises. Untouched destinies. All those things mortals send into the world but never claim—they sink. And they come here."

Amanse gazed at a tattered scroll, a pair of footwear, a crown, a rusted blade—all resting in the sand like offerings.

 "Every gift you never opened, every love you never returned, every version of yourself you were too afraid to become... they rest here."

He didn't speak. There were no words.

They swam for what felt like hours—though time meant little here. Finally, they reached a massive gateway, rising from the seabed like a mountain. It was formed of obsidian-black marble, crisscrossed with veins of pulsing gold. The air—or water—around it crackled with pressure. Power.

Amanse doubled over slightly as he neared it. The weight of its presence was suffocating.

Mami Wata paused. For the first time, her confidence faltered.

 "This is where I stop. My jurisdiction ends here."

He turned to her, brow furrowed. "What… is this place?"

> "One of the Seven Cardinal Gateways," she said, her voice reverent. "Each gate leads to a different sacred realm. Each is guarded by a being older than the gods themselves. A Keeper. It decides who passes."

Amanse took a step toward it, then hesitated. "And if someone fails?"

She looked at him—eyes no longer playful, but heavy.

"Then they cease to exist."

The words rang out like bells in a funeral.

And with that, she vanished, leaving Amanse alone before the gate that pulsed like a heartbeat.

He stepped forward.

And the gate opened.