Chapter Two B
Salt and Silence
The world was quiet.
Not the comforting kind — but the kind that pressed on your chest like an invisible weight. The only sound was the gentle creak of wood, the occasional slap of a wave, and the hum of silence swallowing everything else.
Milo stood at the edge of the boat, knuckles white around the railing. Somewhere far behind, the world he once knew was fading. Somewhere ahead, the Forgotten Tides called.
The ocean had grown darker in color — an inky, ancient blue. The kind that felt like it held secrets older than the stars.
But it wasn't the sea that haunted him most.
It was her.
---
Then…
"Look," Eliora whispered, pointing up. "That's Cassiopeia. See the W-shape?"
They were lying on the deck of a small boat, years ago. Eliora's hair spilled over Milo's shoulder like spilled ink, and her voice was soft, warm, certain. The stars above them pulsed gently in the night sky.
"Cassiopeia was cursed for her beauty," she continued. "Chained to her throne. Imagine being punished just for being unforgettable."
Milo smiled faintly. "Some might say that's exactly your fate."
She smirked. "Then promise me, if I ever disappear, you'll read the stars. They'll guide you back to me."
He remembered the weight of that promise. The way he'd kissed her fingers and said, "Always."
---
Now…
He opened the old, leather-bound journal. His fingers trembled as he turned the page. The ink had faded in places, but one line remained bold:
> "Somewhere beyond the tides, memory becomes more than memory."
He hadn't written that. He was sure of it.
He flipped the pages back and forth. More lines appeared in unfamiliar handwriting, as if someone had written in his absence — or from another place entirely.
> "You are not alone, Milo."
"The sea remembers everything."
Milo's breath caught.
He slammed the book shut and backed away. He was sleep-deprived. Haunted. Grieving. That's all. Right?
Except…
---
Then…
"Why do you draw lighthouses so often?" Eliora asked, watching Milo sketch.
He glanced at the paper. "Because they're the only things brave enough to stay put. Even when the storm comes."
She smiled softly, then traced a finger down his sketch. "I think you're the lighthouse, you know."
He shook his head. "I'm the storm."
She kissed him then. Long, quiet, and aching. The kind of kiss that makes promises even your soul can't escape.
---
Now…
Something scraped across the hull below.
Milo turned sharply. The compass spun wildly. The air changed — the scent of her perfume ghosted by, that mix of sea salt and lavender. Impossible.
He stumbled into the cabin and sat on the bunk, heart pounding. He pulled out her old pendant from around his neck — a small vial filled with sand. Sand from their first trip. Their last trip.
The boat creaked louder.
The lantern flickered.
And then… a voice.
> "Milo…"
Whispered. Not loud. Not imagined.
He rushed back out, eyes scanning the black water. Nothing.
He dropped to his knees, overwhelmed.
This sea… this place… it was doing something to him. Or revealing something buried deep.
---
Flashback fragment…
There had been a storm.
Not just a wave, not just wind.
It came suddenly — wild and unnatural.
She had screamed his name.
He had held her hand until the boat cracked and they were swallowed.
And then… silence.
He had woken up alone.
But her body was never found. No closure. Just whispers in the waves.
---
Now…
The stars above swirled differently tonight. He remembered her stories — myths of lost places, of currents that pulled you into your past.
This journey wasn't just physical. It was a reckoning.
And something deep inside whispered that this wasn't madness.
It was fate.
He opened the journal again. A new line stared back at him:
> "Hope in the darkness. Love beyond the tides."
He didn't know if it was a hallucination or a message.
But either way, he was all in now.
He stood, steadied himself, and whispered,
"Eliora… if you're still out there, I'm coming."
The boat creaked like it understood.
And the sea began to whisper again.
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