The first rumble. It was so slight, I almost didn’t notice it. I probably wouldn’t have if I didn’t have heightened hearing. The low groan of some sort of ancient machinery, and the slight shifting of the sand beneath us. I looked down just as another rumble hit, but it was stronger. Alotstronger. The vibration flung me back onto my bottom as if I weren’t submerged and sent Dante floating farther away from me. Still grasping the key in one hand, Dante met my gaze. His eyes were wide as he gestured frantically up.
Let’s get out of here.
I couldn’t agree more.
Pushing off from the bottom, I dragged my arms through the water, pulling up and kicking toward the top. But another rumble followed, then another, so frequently, there was hardly any break between them. The once still water gained a current, and it slammed into us from one side, then the other. We were halfway up when a ripple sent us a few meters back down. We kicked wildly now, desperate to reach the top, to get some air.
Dante reached out for me with his free hand after we were again forced down by the increasing current, and I grasped it, swimming madly with my other hand. But the pool had become a vortex, a swirling mass of wild waves and deadly depths.
We were trapped in a whirlpool.
Dante looped the key through the belt at his waist and we both swam furiously, side by side, fighting against the water with all our might, using the enhanced strength we’d been granted after the third Trial. Even so, we were barely managing progress.
We were running out of time. My lungs strained, my esophagus compressed. I needed air, and I needed it now.
When we finally crested, the whirlpool spun wildly at the top of the vortex and it dragged us along. We kicked and flailed to keep our heads above water and avoid being pulled back down, but we could at least suck in a few precious seconds of oxygen.
We need to find something to grab onto and—
The enormous stone head, the one of Callidora which I’d pulled from the wall to lower me to the bottom of the pool, rose from the water and slammed into Dante, sending him spiraling away from me.
“Dante!” I cried, reaching out in vain.
I had just a moment to see him, eyes closed and body limp, before his head dipped below the waves.
With one guttural scream, I dove after him.
Dante, talk to me,I demanded as I swam.Say something, damn it! Just let me know you’re alive. Dante, please.
He floated just below the surface, his limp form tossing and turning in the tumultuous current. He was unconscious and bleeding, the golden key gleaming at his belt.
So help me gods, if you die, I’ll kill you.
I kicked off of the wall with all my might and swam straight through the center of the vortex. It pulled me down two meters before I got to the other side and could swim up to grab him.
No, Dante, please. Don’t do this. Wake up. Can you hear me? Wake up!
I wrapped an arm around him and pulled upward, gritting my teeth against the sheer weight of him. I fought the current. I fought the whirlpool. I fought my own lungs. But the Blessing of Third Trial had gifted us strength. Enhanced, superhuman strength, and I used every bit of it now to press forward, clutching Dante tightly at my side.
Eventually, mercifully, I rose to the top again. Without thinking, without a plan, I tossed Dante onto the stone and leaped up beside him, every muscle shrieking in agony, my lungs burning as if they were on fire.
He was still unconscious, his mouth slightly open, dripping water onto the rocks. Fresh blood trickled from his head, and his hands lay useless at his sides. But that damn golden key was still shining at his belt.
“No,” I muttered, thinking of Cyrus, of Dahlia. “No, this isn’t happening. Not again!”
If you can hear me, breathe, damn you. Breathe, Dante, or I swear to all the gods, I’ll tell Myrine I beat your sorry ass in sparring yesterday.
But he didn’t move, didn’t answer. He wasn’t breathing. I choked on a sob, salty tears streaming down my wet cheeks as my lips trembled.
But the memory of Dalhia and Cyrus brought something else with it, too. It was something Dante himself had done, some kind of technique he’d attempted with Cyrus. Resuscitation.
I didn’t know how to do it, not really. I hadn't been trained for this like he had. Why hadn’t we spent some of the last four months out of the pool and practicing this instead? Especially after what had happened with Dahlia and Cyrus.
Pushing the panic away, I leaned over Dante, placed my mouth over his, and blew what little air I’d managed to take in since rising from the water into him. I did that again and again until spots blurred my vision and darkness crept into the edges. I did it until he coughed, jerked upright, and heaved the contents of his stomach onto the stone at his side. I collapsed back against the rocks, my chest rising and falling as I gulped in the air I’d been denied.
My vision cleared, the ache in my lungs faded. And Dante’s eyes fluttered open and stared at the ceiling above us. His own gasping breathing beside me was a strange kind of relief.
“What…what happened?” he asked after a moment. “I remember the key and getting to the top, that whirlpool, and then—”
