Itsvixano -

Not an echo—a reply. A voice like her grandmother’s, but sharper, layered with other tongues. It sang the word back to her, but twisted: vitsaxino… tsivaxani…

She carved the word into the mast. Then she shoved off. itsvixano

And when she finally spoke— itsvixano —the city didn’t answer. Not an echo—a reply

“You came,” the echo said. “Now you must learn to speak it back.” no waves—just a hollow ringing

The fog split.

The fog swallowed sound. No birds, no waves—just a hollow ringing, like a bell under water. Days passed, or maybe minutes. She stopped eating. The raft seemed to float through a sky full of drowned stars.

It smiled.