You lose yourself in the emptiness, allowing yourself the dangerous luxury of losing sight of visible landmarks. You imagine what it must be like to be an open-ocean fish, completely independent of any cities or landmarks or locations. Wandering through the ocean, falling asleep while adrift and then waking up somewhere new—but not even noticing that you're somewhere new, because what difference does any single location make in the giant, open ocean? You shudder at the thought, and search in all directions.
From the edges of visibility, a giant manta ray glides down toward you, smiling with that permanent goofy grin. You indulge it and circle back. You notice three remora attached to it. Remora are not only edible but also have sucker discs that can be used as invaluable tools. You gently steal one for yourself and carefully place it in your bag.
Your mind can't stop turning it over: Why did Cinza steal the Orb in the first place? If something happens to it, the immortality of all merfolk will be lost. Which must have been her plan, since she ran away with it on land. You'd think with an artifact so important, the council would have sent more people, not just a single volunteer. It was an inevitable failure.
Your breath catches. Was the inevitable failure…intentional? That thought darkens you. You might lose your immortality at any moment. How can you even deal with something like that?