Apparently, those stone peaks were much farther than they had first appeared—like the horizon itself kept shifting, stretching the distance just beyond reach. But Savin knew that their existence wasn't an illusion. The view might be distorted, yes, but the peaks were real. And he was definitely getting closer.
With every step, every passing minute, the shape of the peaks became a little more distinct, their size increased, and their angles became sharper. The way they bent inward was more defined. He could feel it in his bones—the subtle pull, the growing weight in the air, like something was drawing him in. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was something else. Either way, it didn't matter.
***
Savin wasn't sure how he had survived more than a day without water, but as he drew closer to his goal, nothing stirred him more than the sounds he was beginning to hear.
He and his sister had lived poorly all their lives. As far as he knew, vacations were something other people talked about—never an option for them. So instead, she showed him videos, glimpses of a world beyond their reach. He had always been fascinated by them, and one thing never left his mind—The sea.
Waves.
Was that what she called them?
Now, standing at the edge of a cliff, he looked down at the world below as a cool breeze swept up to greet him, brushing against his skin like a quiet welcome. For a moment, he stood there, stunned—breathless. The sea was so much bigger, so much more beautiful than he had ever imagined. Undulating waves stretched across the endless blue, swelling and falling like breath. Morning sunlight broke through the grey skies in quiet shards, scattering across the water's surface in glimmering fragments.
Savin stood there, breathless. His legs trembled—not from fatigue, but from sheer disbelief. Somehow, through sleepless nights, hunger, cold, and the haunting silence of the Nether World… he had arrived at something that felt like a dream pulled from the stories his sister used to tell.
Waves… Yes, that's what she had called them. Rolling giants of water, crashing and retreating like they were alive. He never thought he'd see them in person, not even on Earth, much less here. And yet, there it was—real, alive, loud, and beautiful. A whole ocean tucked away in this cursed realm.
Savin let out a shaky laugh as the wind tousled his hair. "You'd love this, sis," he whispered, his voice nearly lost to the wind. "You really would."
He stood there, taking in the scene for a while, the vastness of it all overwhelming at first. His gaze settled on the roots of one of the massive stone peaks near the cliff's edge. It was hard to fathom how something so immense could exist in such a place, yet it was there, half-hidden in the mist, its jagged surface reflecting the faint light.
Finding a way down wasn't difficult. Savin's eyes soon caught sight of some stairs carved into the cliff face—ancient steps, weathered by time, but still usable. He assumed that whoever had done this must have been thinking ahead, considering that others might need to traverse this treacherous cliff. It was practical, even thoughtful. But then, two conflicting thoughts struck him.
If they had been thinking ahead, considering the needs of others, then why had they gone to such lengths to conceal this place? The illusion that kept it hidden from sight, and then it was surrounded by an entire domain of Enigmas. That was too much of a coincidence, wasn't it?
Who, he thought, was trying to keep people away from this place—and why? The question gnawed at him, pulling his focus back to the towering stone peak before him. He approached it slowly, his eyes scanning its obsidian surface. As he got closer, he noticed something—etched into the stone, barely noticeable at first, but unmistakable once seen: a series of markings, strange and intricate, like a language.
Savin's fingers hovered above them, careful not to touch the stone just yet. Though he'd never had the chance to attend a formal school, Robin had ensured he could read and write. Unlike most of the kids in the slums, Savin could decipher at least the basics. But this—this wasn't any language he knew. The shapes of the markings were too alien.
He leaned in closer, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of them. "What's all this?" he muttered under his breath. His eyes darted across the etched symbols, as if they might reveal their secrets by some miracle. But nothing. It was like staring at an unsolvable riddle. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't decipher even a single character.
He took a step back, staring at the carvings as a sense of unease crept over him.
Damn curiosity. He was here to escape and not try solving some ancient of days riddle.
He exhaled sharply, shaking off the creeping questions. Looking around once more, he squinted as the mist thickened, curling through the air and veiling the landscape. His vision narrowed to shifting shapes and shadows, but then, just beyond the edge of the cliff, above the water, he saw it. A dark silhouette, distorted by the mist but unmistakable.
Bingo.
His chest tightened with anticipation. That had to be the monument he was searching for. But now, a new problem presented itself. It was across the water, and Savin had never swum a day in his life.
How am I going to get across?
Savin scanned the cliffside, searching for a bridge, a rope, any kind of mechanism that might help him reach the monument. But his efforts were wasted. There was nothing. If a way existed, the mist obscured it, swallowing the details before his eyes.
What the hell is up with this mist? Wasn't this place clear just a few minutes ago? He thought with anger, then his jaw tightened in frustration at the untouchable phenomenon. The silhouette of the monument still lingered, but it was slipping away, fading deeper into the mist with each passing second. And then, a crazy idea took root in his mind.
I'm not actually going to do that, right?
***
Minutes later, Savin was standing atop the cliff once more. The branches he took from the Fountain Tree rested on the grass, while one was in his mouth, and another was hanging through two belt holes on his back.
But why does it feel like I'm forgetting something? Savin thought. Well, it doesn't matter.
Savin braced himself. He had never done anything close to what he was about to do, and the fear clung to him like chains—tight, cold, and heavy. His instincts screamed to turn back, but instead, he whispered a shaky mantra to himself.
Let's just do this. It's just a stupid body of water. How hard can it be?
It was meant to be encouragement.
There's a chance you might not die if you jump… and even if you do, you were going to die in this accursed place anyway. He paused in his thoughts. Wait—that doesn't sound like encouragement at all.
Step by step, he edged closer to the cliff, inching toward the part he believed pointed closest to the Monument. The wind picked up, pulling at his clothes as if trying to stop him. He stared down at the water far below.
Gods… that looks deep.
He swallowed hard.
Focus, Savin. Just splash around, kick, and move your arms. You'll get the hang of it. Probably. Hopefully.
And so, as the young Seeker bent low, lowering himself until he was almost in a squatting position at the very edge of the cliff, he gathered every ounce of willpower he could summon. This was nothing like anything he had ever done before—no training, no preparation, no safety net. It was reckless, dangerous, and downright idiotic. But even so, with his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum and fear tightening its grip around his lungs like a chain, Savin launched himself forward without hesitation.
The leap felt like an eternity in midair—each heartbeat drawn out, every sound muffled by the roar of wind rushing past his ears. His body cut through the air in a single motion.
Then, at last, came the impact.
The sea accepted him with open arms, cold and consuming. It wasn't gentle.
Splash, kick and move your hands. Splash kick and move your hands.
The temperature shocked his skin immediately, a sharp sting running through every nerve of his, and he sank faster than he expected, the weight of his body pulling him down in a rush of bubbles and pressure. Still, beneath all of that, there was a strange, fleeting calm.
He was in.