💦 dars was right . d4 [FIN]

A  L  T  O

It's in the early morning that he whispers sweet nothings into the folds of the ocean, feeling the waters drag ice against his flesh and turn his skin to sandpaper. The rising sun watches him still, slowly, its veins piercing the horizon and scattering its remains in flashing lights all across the surface. He breathes in, out and feels the life and blood of Four do the same, pushing and pulling his soul away and towards all at once, rattling hollow bones inside of carved skin.

His grandmother used to do this same ritual, technique, practice and belief. She'd tell him under the guidance of the full moon that there were things in this ocean that only the few knew about, that it lived and breathed the same rotting flesh we carry attached to our forms. As dangerous as it was caring, deadly as it was beautiful, its why they honor the dead by praising the living underneath the waves, intertwining their beings with a force more powerful than the entire district itself, stronger than any amount of weapons held in white knuckles with strong heart.

They inscribe their beliefs in practices deemed ancient, offer solace to the living and refuge to the dead. Corpses floating in shallow waters going deep, funeral turned rapture turned the ocean claiming what was once its own once more. There is scarlet still in the districts, bodies and whispers sitting heavy in the water. He tells himself he does not recognize any of the beings that his family have helped move on, has tuned out the somber cries of the living as they mourn so many of their own.

Breathe in, not out, the cool morning air sits heavy in his lungs as he dips beneath the surface once more, feels the ocean consume him and chew at his sin and sainthood alike, wide eyed and heavy hearted, looking out into the dark void in front of him. He can hear it breathe, bellow and moan with ancient power. Feels it stare right back at him, through him.