Primal moved forward through the soft land.
He walked in silence.
The land ahead sloped gently downward. Thin trees stood along the path, spaced apart, with smooth trunks that looked like polished stone. Their leaves shifted quietly in the breeze, colored in shades of violet, copper, and pale gold. As they moved, they caught the light, reflecting different angles of the sun.
Small, birdlike creatures flitted between branches. They were light and fragile-looking, with hollow bones and wings that made a soft clicking sound as they moved. They watched Primal from above but didn't get close.
Then, a sudden rustle broke the stillness.
A creature burst from the side—four-legged, fast, and lean. It crossed the path in a blur, muscles rippling beneath a coat of faintly glowing fur. Its eyes were milky and unblinking, and a tangled pair of antlers curved upward from its head like twisted roots. It didn't stop to look at him. It ran straight into the trees and disappeared. More smaller creatures followed.
Primal paused and scanned the area the creature had come from. "No threat detected." he said.
He continued walking.
The forest here felt open and orderly. The plants didn't crowd each other, and the trees left space for light to shine through. Their leaves swayed gently, like slow dancers. The ground beneath him was soft and damp—more like packed sediment than dry soil. Ahead, he could hear something faint. A pattern. A rhythm.
Waves.
He walked until the trees began to thin.
And then, through a break in the trunks, he saw it: the ocean.
It stretched far into the distance, calm and blue, reaching toward the horizon. The surface shimmered in the sun, casting soft reflections against the nearby trees. The shoreline curved in a wide arc, open and quiet.
Primal stepped forward, leaving the forest behind him and walking toward the sea.
"Surface liquid detected. Chemical breakdown… 98.2% H₂O. Salinity: moderate. Pressure at 0km: standard. Light reflectivity… high." He began walking toward the water.
With each step, the ground changed—darker, softer, now damp with layers of fine, wet sediment. Tiny shells cracked quietly beneath his metal feet. Overhead, strange seabirds circled in wide loops. Some circled around Primal as the got closer to the ocean while some laid around.
At first glance, they looked like gulls—but not quite. Their wings were longer, stretched thin and curved at the tips like sharpened leaves and, their beaks black and pointy. They glided silently, carried by the sea breeze in smooth, effortless arcs. Only now and then did one twitch a wing to correct its path. The sounds they made were sharp and high cries, like whistles mixed with clicking glass. Not unpleasant, but strange. Unfamiliar.
He reached the shoreline.
A small wave pushed in and broke gently over his feet, bubbling as it met him. He didn't stop. He kept going.
The ocean slowly climbed his body—first his calves, then his thighs, until it lapped at his waist. The water was colder now, thicker with movement. Still, he moved forward, step by step, until the surface reached his chest.
Then, without hesitation, he let himself sink.
His systems adapted instantly. Internal stabilizers shifted to keep him balanced in the water. Small propulsion jets on his back and legs activated, guiding him deeper with quiet bursts. The surface above became a blur of light, then a ripple, then vanished completely as he sank below.
"Descent in progress. Depth: 500 meters… 1,000 meters… 1,500 meters. Pressure: within limits. Terrain: uneven. Currents: stable."
At around 1,500 meters down, the turbulence faded. The sea around him grew calm.
Light still reached this depth—soft and filtered, casting pale blue and green bands through the water. Everything moved slower here, like the ocean had taken a deep breath and held it.
There was no chaos. No threats. Just the quiet pull of the deep. Primal slowed his movements. He drifted for a moment, letting the stillness surround him.
He scanned the water around him.
And then—movement. The first creature that floated into view was long, thin, and ribbon-like. Its body was nearly transparent, glowing faintly with pulses of yellow light. It drifted through the water like smoke, curling and twisting through the current. It didn't seem to notice him—or maybe it didn't care. It just floated by.
Then something tugged at his leg.
He looked down.
A group of tiny fish had gathered around his right leg—no larger than a finger. They were colorful—some blue and orange, others red and gold. They swam in tight loops around his limb, their small mouths nudging at the surface of his plating. They weren't feeding, exactly. Just... Investigating maybe. As he shifted slightly, they moved with him, trailing along like curious children.
Further ahead, another creature glided past—much larger and heavier. Its body moved slowly, with wide fins that trailed beside it. The top of its head had a light crack that faintly blinked in a repeated pattern as it swam. The mouth opened in an O shape as it sucked unto the water or breathed.
"Marine life detected," he said. "Light-emitting. Movement: slow. Behavior: non-hostile. Type: unknown."
Below him, the ocean floor spread out like a strange, alien garden.
Coral-like structures stretched upward—tall and branching, colored in deep greens and shades of violet, blue, orange and red. They waved gently in the current, moving as if asleep. They weren't made of rock or bone. Their surfaces looked soft.
Tiny fish darted between the folds. Some were flat like leaves, others round like marbles. Their shiny scales caught the dim light, flashing like mirrors. Some moved in tight, coordinated groups, weaving through the underwater forest in smooth patterns.
"Ecosystem density: high. Behavioral complexity: moderate. Environmental stability: confirmed. Territory designated: Western Oceanic Basin."
He drifted lower, stopping just above the sea floor.
For several seconds, he didn't move. He only observed. Then he reached out. His hand brushed one of the tall plants. It bent gently under his touch and released a small stream of bubbles. Through his sensors, he recorded its texture—smooth, flexible, and warm.
"Material: semi-organic. Membrane elasticity: high. Photosynthetic activity… confirmed." Below him, the soft grasses swayed
Above him, a shadow moved.
Primal looked up. From where he hovered near the ocean floor, he could only see the creature's underside—a smooth, pale belly that stretched wide and long, larger than any marine life he had recorded so far. Its surface was patterned with faint lines, like veins running beneath its skin.
He activated his jets and rose slowly through the water, ascending toward the creature.
As he neared the surface, the creature came fully into view.
It was a massive fish—if it could even be called that. Its body was long and curved to the side like a crescent moon, moving in slow, steady ripples that stirred the water without force. Its scales were dark blue at the edges, but the center of its body shimmered with streaks of silver and deep red.
Long fins stretched from its sides like wings, trailing thin threads of glowing filaments that danced behind it like jellyfish tentacles. Across its back, ridges rose and fell in a slow rhythm, glowing softly with internal pulses that matched the beat of the sea.
Its eyes—one on each side—were huge and dimly blue. But they didn't blink. They simply stared forward, unbothered, as though locked in thought.
And along its spine, tiny creatures clung to its surface—small crustacean-like animals with translucent shells and leaf-like limbs. They fed on the algae that grew in slow rings around the creature's ridges. It didn't seem to notice.
As Primal watched, the massive fish slowly turned, its body curving toward the open sea. It moved with no urgency. It did not fear.
Primal hovered in silence, watching the massive fish disappear into the blue. The water shimmered and rippled slowly but he remained still, processing.
Then something gripped his leg.
It happened so fast that his stabilizers kicked in without command. A sharp tug—cold and sudden—latched onto his right ankle and yanked him downward.
He spun.
The water around him darkened. The coral forests blurred above as he plunged past them. Long stalks and branches whipped by in flashes of color. He passed schools of flat, diamond-shaped creatures that scattered in bursts. A long eel-like things twisted out of the way just in time. Then another cluster of fish—transparent, glowing like floating organs—split apart as he shot through them. Then another and another.
The grip didn't loosen.
Pressure increased. His systems adjusted, internal supports reinforcing his frame. But the force dragging him down only grew stronger. Primal's readings blinked rapidly. "Depth: 1600m… 1850m… 2510m. Current velocity: abnormal. External pressure: rising. Structural integrity: holding." He tried to engage reverse thrusters. Nothing. The grip on his leg was unyielding. He turned his head slightly to see what held him.
Nothing visible.
Just darkness, bubbles, and motion.
The water became murkier the deeper he sank. Strange shapes passed in the corners of his vision—creatures with fan-like limbs, wide jaws, or no eyes at all. Some swam in circles. Others blinked and vanished into the black.
At 5000 meters, light barely filtered down. A dull green glow hung above, fading fast.
Below him, the ocean seemed to open wide.
Primal's systems mapped a trench—deep, narrow, and old. "Depth: 5000 meters… 6000 meters. Environmental condition: hostile. Water composition: unknown biological trace detected. Source… unidentified."
His sensors pinged rapidly now, unable to define what held him. It wasn't a hand or claw. It felt more like a thread—thin but impossibly strong, tightening the deeper he went.
He didn't resist.
He only recorded.
And down he went—past corals, past light.