The ocean remembers.
Not just ships and sailors, not just wreckage and songs.
It remembers the weight of breath before lungs.
The salt before blood.
It remembers every eye that ever gazed too long into its black.
And the ones that blinked… when something blinked back.
Beneath the tides, where pressure warps time and silence breeds sentience—something ancient watches.
Not a god. Not a monster.
But a memory that learned how to move.
Some call them sirens.
Some whisper mermaid.
Others say nothing at all—for fear that the sea listens.
But one of them came to the surface.
And saw a boy.
And remembered something fragile.
Something warm.
A heartbeat.
And the sea… has never forgot