At least, that’s what Dara told himself as he stepped deeper into the mangrove forest, his boots sinking slightly into the thick, black mud. The air was heavy—thick with salt, decay, and something ancient that clung to the roots twisting up from the ground like skeletal fingers. Every step made a soft, sucking sound, as if the earth itself didn’t want to let go.
He had come here chasing something small—a missing fishing net, carried off by the current during last night’s storm. But the deeper he went, the quieter the world became. The distant sound of waves faded, replaced by the creaking of branches and the faint buzz of insects. Even the wind seemed to hesitate among the mangroves.
Then his foot sank.
Not just a little—deep.
Dara froze.
He tried to pull free, but the mud tightened around his leg, cold and heavy. Panic flickered in his chest. He shifted his weight to the other foot—wrong move. That one sank too.
The mangrove mud wasn’t like normal ground. It wasn’t just soft—it was alive in a way. Thick, gripping, patient. The more he struggled, the deeper it pulled him in.
“Stay calm,” he whispered to himself, though his voice trembled.
He looked around. The trees all looked the same. Twisted roots. Dark water. No clear path back.
The tide.
It was coming.
He could hear it now—a distant rush, like a breath being drawn in. Slowly, steadily, the water began to rise, creeping through the maze of roots. It touched his boots first, cool and deceptively gentle.
Dara’s breathing quickened.
He tried to lean forward, to grab a root, anything solid—but the nearest one was just out of reach. His hands slipped in the wet mud, fingers clawing at nothing. The earth swallowed him a little more.
“Help!” he shouted.
But the mangroves swallowed sound just as easily as they swallowed him.
The water climbed to his knees.
Memories rushed in—his mother’s laughter, the smell of grilled fish by the river, the golden light of sunset reflecting on calm waters. Simple things. Ordinary things. Things he never thought he’d miss so fiercely.
The mud tightened again.
The tide didn’t care.
By the time the water reached his waist, exhaustion set in. His struggles slowed, replaced by a quiet, creeping dread. The forest remained indifferent—silent witness to a story it had seen countless times before.
Dara looked up through the tangled canopy, catching a glimpse of the pale sky above.
“So this is it…” he murmured.
