Clouds of eggs filled the water like a blizzard, drifting through the July currents in a synchronized dance of new life. Shimizu-sensei’s voice was a joyful drone through the comms as he pointed out the rare coordination of the reef, but Reina watched the "underwater snow" settle into the crevices of the coral with a more personal focus. For her, the milestones finally felt concrete: eleven months since the storm, four months since arriving on Umi-no-Hoshi. It was a victory her father would have documented with a scientist’s awe, and for a few hours, the beauty of the spawning made her forget the weight of her own gills.

  But the vibrancy of the reef only sharpened the silence waiting at home. In their pod, tension coiled like a serpent. If the ocean outside was a celebration of growth, the space inside their walls was a pressure cooker where nothing was allowed to bloom.

  Aiko worked longer hours at the research campus, which meant more nights when Reina and Hana were alone. Hana's body was lengthening into womanhood, her frame maturing into curves that strained against the tank tops she still clung to as she approached the threshold. In five months, on her December birthday, Shinju's customs would expect her to set aside her tops and swim bare like Reina, like all unmarried women.

  As the summer term was winding down, final projects and assessments filling their days. "You look stressed," Natsuki observed one afternoon at lunch. "More than usual, I mean."

  "Just a lot of work," Reina said, picking at her kelp wrap without much appetite. The heat killed her hunger most days. "And things at home are... tense."

  "Your sister?" Natsuki guessed, her perception as sharp as always.

  "Among other things." Reina glanced toward the middle school section, where Hana sat with her group. Yuuta was there, still hovering near her with that puppydog devotion, while Kanna and Saki flanked her on either side. Hana's body language was closed off, arms crossed, tail wrapped tight around herself despite the heat.

  Taro looked up from his sketchpad, where he'd been working on what looked like a detailed coral formation. "Growth is hard," he said quietly, with the insight he sometimes dropped like stones into still water. "Physical, emotional—all of it. Takes time to adjust."

  "Very wise, oh ancient one," Yumi said with a grin, but her tail stilled from its usual restless motion. "He's right though. My brother was a nightmare when he hit his growth spurt. Mood swings, attitude, the whole disaster. He got through it. Your sister will too."

  Reina wanted to believe that. But lately, every interaction with Hana felt like navigating a coral field in murky water—one wrong move and you'd crash into something sharp.

  Fuyu swam over, moving with her characteristic serene grace. She'd been joining their lunch group more regularly since they'd worked together on research for the history project. "Soma-sensei said you haven't turned in your culture project yet," she said to Reina, her voice soft but concerned. "The deadline's tomorrow. Do you need help?"

  "I'm working on it," Reina said, though in truth she'd barely started. The assignment felt too big, too personal—how could she capture Shinju's identity when she still felt like an outsider looking in?

  "If you want to work together after school, I'll be in the archive area," Fuyu offered. "Sometimes having company makes it easier."

  "Thanks," Reina said, grateful for the kindness that seemed to come so naturally to people here. "I might take you up on that."

  That evening, Reina swam home through Shinju's pathways as the heat pressed down like a physical weight. The pod's glow was dimmer than usual, Aiko's absence tangible—still at the research campus, losing herself in work again despite her promises. Hana's curtain was drawn, the alcove silent.

  Reina settled near the window, staring out at the distant shrine, trying to find some calm in its steady glow. An hour passed. Then two. The pod's cold, ambient glimmer dimmed toward evening, and something made Reina glance toward Hana's alcove.

  A flicker of movement behind the woven kelp curtain drew her gaze.

  Curiosity warring with caution, Reina swam closer and pulled the curtain aside just enough to peer in.

  Hana floated before a small mirror propped against the alcove wall, her back to the entrance. Her blue tank top lay discarded on the mat, drifting slightly in the current. Her tail curled beneath her, bare from the waist down, scales glinting in the soft light. But it was her posture that stopped Reina cold: arms crossed over her chest, shoulders hunched, her whole body radiating misery as she stared at her reflection.

  Slowly, deliberately, Hana lowered her arms. Her hands trembled as they fell to her sides, exposing her developing chest to the mirror. She stayed like that for a long moment, staring at herself with an expression that cycled through disgust, fear, and something that might have been resignation.

  "This is what they'll see," Hana whispered, her voice so quiet Reina almost missed it. She turned slightly, examining herself from different angles, each movement jerky with self-consciousness. Her fingers brushed her ribs where skin met scales, tracing the boundary between what she recognized and what felt alien. "I hate it. I hate all of it.” "In five months. Everyone. Yuuta. All of them." Her tail twitched. "I hate it. I hate all of it."

  She grabbed the tank top, yanking it back on with jerky movements, and then caught sight of Reina in the mirror's reflection.

  Their eyes met, and Hana's face flushed crimson.

  "Get out!" she shrieked, whirling around, her tail lashing hard enough to send the mirror tumbling. "What are you doing? Spying on me?"

  "I wasn't—I just—" Reina stammered, backing through the curtain. "Hana, I'm sorry—"

  "You never mean anything!" Hana shot back, swimming forward, her eyes wet with furious tears. "You just barge in and—and you don't understand! You're fine with all this! But I'm not you!"

  "I know that," Reina said, her voice rising despite her effort to stay calm. "But what were you doing? Practicing?"

  Hana's jaw clenched. "So what if I was? It's my body! I can try to get used to it if I want! Doesn't mean I'm okay with it!"

  "I didn't say you had to be okay with it," Reina said, softer now. "But you shutting me out—it's not making it easier."

  "I don't want your help," Hana said, the fight draining from her voice. "I just want it to not be happening."

  "I know," Reina whispered. "But it is happening. And you don't have to face it alone."

  Hana turned away, swimming back into her alcove. "Just leave me alone, Reina. Please."

  The next day’s aquatics practice was brutal. The warm water sapped everyone's energy, making even basic drills feel like swimming through syrup. Kamitani-sensei pushed them anyway as he demonstrated proper techniques.

  "Heat is no excuse for sloppy form," he announced. Reina pushed through another lap, her tail burning with effort, her gills working overtime in the oxygen-depleted warm water. Beside her, Natsuki moved with her usual grace, barely winded. They finished practice exhausted, muscles trembling, and headed to the lockers. Reina grabbed her kelp satchel, planning to take Fuyu up on that offer to work in the archive, when she heard raised voices from the middle school section.

  "—none of your business!" Hana's voice, sharp with anger.

  "I'm just saying, everyone knows you're going to have to eventually, so why fight it?" That was Saki's voice, though lacking her usual cheerful tone.

  Reina swam toward the sound, concern overriding fatigue. Around the corner, she found Hana facing off with her friends, Yuuta hanging back with an uncomfortable expression.

  "What's going on?" Reina asked, swimming between them.

  Hana's face was flushed, her tail creating small turbulent eddies that pushed against Reina's. Behind her, Saki hovered with her arms crossed, her usually cheerful expression tight with frustration. Kanna floated nearby, clearly wishing she were anywhere else.

  "We were just talking about preparing for the rite," Saki said, her voice carrying a defensive edge. "All of us who turn fifteen this year. It's normal to discuss it—"

  "You weren't discussing," Hana snapped, whirling on her. "You were telling me what I should feel. That I should be excited, that it's 'no big deal,' that it's just something we all go through so I should stop being dramatic about it—"

  "I didn't say you were being dramatic!" Saki protested, her own tail lashing now. "I said my cousin went through it two years ago and she was fine afterward. That's not the same thing!"

  "It feels the same," Hana said, her voice cracking. "Everyone keeps telling me stories about other people who survived it, who adapted, who're fine now. But none of you are there yet.

  Kanna came forward, her gentle nature showing through despite the tension. "Hana, that's not fair. My birthday's in February, and I think about it every single day. But talking about it and knowing we're not alone helps."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "Well it doesn't help me!" Hana's voice rose, drawing attention from passing students. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, arms rigid. "It just makes it more real. All your 'it'll be fine' and 'everyone does it' just makes me feel like I'm crazy for being this scared!"

  "You're not crazy," Saki said, her frustration softening into something more like concern. "But Hana, you can't avoid it. It’s coming whether you talk about it or not. Don't you think facing it with friends is better than facing it alone?"

  "I don't want to face it at all!" Hana shouted. "I don't want to give up my clothes, I don't want any of this!" She gestured wildly at herself, at the green tank top covering her chest, at the body she'd been fighting against for months. "But I don't have a choice, do I? Because 'that's how things are here,' and I'm supposed to just accept it because everyone else does!"

  "It's not about accepting," Kanna said quietly. "You think we aren't counting the days? We’ve been watching this tide rise since we were toddlers. It’s not that it’s 'no big deal,' Hana, it's about surviving. We're all going to have to do this. Don't you want to swim through it together?"

  Hana's breath came hard through her gills, visible fluttering at her neck betraying her barely controlled panic. For a moment, Reina thought her sister might soften, might accept the olive branch Kanna was offering.

  Instead, Hana's expression hardened. "You two were born here. You've known your whole life this was coming. I've had nine months to prepare for something I never wanted, in a place I never chose, because my mom couldn't deal with Earth after Dad died!" Her voice broke on the last word. "So no, I don't want to 'swim through it together.' I want to go home. To real home. Where I had legs and clothes and a father who—"

  She stopped abruptly, jaw clenching, and Reina saw tears mixing with the water around her face.

  The weight of her words hung in the water—real home—as if Shinju could never be that, as if nine months of adaptation had been forced on her rather than chosen. Reina felt the truth of it, the unfairness her sister carried daily.

  Yuuta, who'd been silent throughout, finally spoke up, drifting closer to Her. "Hana, I don't think they meant—"

  "Don't," Hana said, not looking at him. "Don't try to fix this. Nobody can fix this."

  The hallway had grown quiet, other students slowing to watch the confrontation. Reina felt their eyes, the weight of being the Earth-born family still struggling to fit in, still causing disruptions nine months after arrival.

  "Just... leave me alone. All of you!" She kicked off hard, swimming away down the corridor, disappearing around a corner.

  Yuuta moved to follow, but Reina stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Give her space. She needs to cool down."

  "She's been like this all week," Yuuta said quietly, his usual enthusiasm replaced with genuine worry. "Snapping at everyone, picking fights. I don't know how to help."

  "Neither do I," Reina admitted, the words tasting bitter. "But I'll talk to her. Thanks for trying."

  She found Hana later, curled up in her alcove in their pod, arms wrapped around herself. The kelp curtain was pulled closed, but Reina pushed through anyway.

  "Go away," Hana said, not looking up.

  "No." Reina settled onto the mat beside her sister, their tails touching. "Talk to me. Please."

  "There's nothing to talk about."

  "Hana—"

  "You don't understand!" Hana's head snapped up, her eyes wet with tears she refused to let fall. "You're fine with all this. The swimming, the bare skin, the traditions. You've adapted, made friends, found your place. But I'm not you! I hate how my body's changing. I hate that everyone expects me to just accept it. I hate that in five months I'll have to give up the last thing that makes me feel like myself!"

  "The clothes aren't what make you yourself," Reina said gently.

  "How would you know?" Hana shot back. "You shed yours on day one and never looked back. But I'm not ready. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. And everyone keeps acting like it's no big deal, like I should just accept it because 'that's how things are here.' But we're not from here! We shouldn't have to—" She choked on the words, finally letting the tears spill over.

  Reina pulled her sister close, ignoring the way Hana initially resisted before melting into the embrace. "You're right," she said quietly. "I don't understand completely. It was terrifying for me too, but I was older, and I didn't have months to dread it. But Hana, listen—you don't have to be ready right now. You have five months. And whatever happens, I'll be there. I promise."

  "I miss Dad," Hana whispered into Reina's shoulder. "He wouldn't make me do this. He'd understand."

  "He would understand," Reina agreed, her own throat tight. "And he'd tell you that you're strong enough to face it, even when it's hard. Even when it's unfair."

  They stayed like that until Aiko returned from the research campus, her white top damp with sweat from the warm water, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. She took one look at her daughters—Hana's tear-stained face, Reina's protective posture—and her expression shifted from weary to alert.

  "What's going on?"

  "Nothing," Hana said quickly, pulling away from Reina. "I'm fine."

  "You're not fine," Aiko said, swimming closer. "Neither of you are fine. Talk to me."

  "Like you care," Hana muttered, the old resentment flaring. "You're never here anyway. Always at the research campus, hiding in your work like you have since Dad died."

  Aiko flinched as if struck. "That's not fair."

  "Isn't it?" Hana's voice rose again. "You brought us here, and then you disappeared into your lab and left us to figure it out alone!"

  "I've been trying—" Aiko started, but Hana cut her off.

  "Trying what? Trying to pretend Dad never existed? Trying to forget us? Because that's what it feels like!"

  "That's enough," Reina said, but her voice lacked conviction. Because part of her—a small, bitter part she tried to ignore—agreed with Hana. Their mother had been absent, had been hiding, had been choosing work over them for months.

  Aiko's face crumpled, the professional mask she wore cracking to reveal raw pain underneath. "You think I'm trying to forget?" Her voice shook. "I'm trying to survive. I'm trying to keep moving, keep providing for you both. Because if I stop, if I let myself feel it all—" She broke off, one hand pressed to her chest. "I lost him. I lost the love of my life. And I'm terrified every single day that I'll fail you both too."

  The pod fell silent except for the muted thrum of the ocean. Hana stared at her mother, anger warring with understanding on her young face. Reina felt tears blurring her vision, salt water mixing with salt water.

  "We're not asking you to forget him," Reina said finally, her voice soft. "We're asking you to remember that we're still here. That we need you."

  Aiko's shoulders shook. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She swam forward, pulling both girls into an embrace that felt desperate, necessary. "I'll do better. I promise. No more hiding."

  "Everyone promises," Hana said, but she didn't pull away. "No one keeps them."

  "I will," Aiko said fiercely. "I swear it. Your father would want—he'd expect me to be here for you. I've been failing. But I'll do better."

  Later, after Aiko had gone to her own alcove and Hana had retreated to hers, Reina floated alone in the central area, staring at the memorial shelf. Her father's omamori, his photo, the shells she'd been collecting. Eleven months. Almost a year since the storm.

  She'd thought they were healing. Building something new. But tonight had shown her how fragile it all was, how easily the wounds could tear open again.

  The following day at school, Reina was exhausted, operating on minimal sleep and maximum anxiety. She’d managed to cobble together something for the culture project—a piece about how grief and adaptation intertwined, how traditions evolved through loss. It wasn't her best work, but it was honest. Soma-sensei, a kind woman with a gentle smile and a way of seeing through surface-level presentations, accepted it with a knowing look.

  "Sometimes our best work comes from our hardest moments," she said quietly. "This is good, Reina. Raw, but good."

  At lunch, Natsuki took one look at Reina's face and didn't ask questions, just offered quiet company. Taro sketched, his presence soothing in its calm focus. Yumi, surprisingly, toned down her usual boisterous energy, seeming to sense that today wasn't the day for chaos.

  "Want to come to the shrine after school?" Natsuki asked finally. "Mom's doing a purification ceremony. Sometimes washing away the day helps."

  Reina almost said no. She should go home, check on Hana, make sure her sister hadn't imploded further. But the thought of the shrine's peace, of Haruna's gentle wisdom, was too tempting.

  "Okay," she said. "Just for a little while."

  The shrine was quiet in the late afternoon, Haruna was preparing the basin with practiced grace. She looked up as they arrived, and something in her expression suggested Natsuki had warned her.

  "Reina-san," she said warmly. "Come. The water is prepared."

  The purification ritual was simpler this time—just Haruna guiding her through the motions, the cool water streaming over her hands, washing away some of the tightness in her chest. Isao appeared partway through, cutting through the water as he swam over from whatever task had occupied him.

  "Difficult times at home?" he asked, direct but not unkind.

  "My sister is struggling," Reina admitted. "With everything. She's not ready."

  "Few are," Haruna said gently. "But readiness isn't always required. Sometimes we must step forward even when we feel unprepared. The rite will come whether she feels ready or not. Our job—yours, your mother's, her friends'—is to help her find the courage to face it."

  "How?" Reina asked, the question coming out almost desperate.

  "By being present," Isao said. “By showing her that tradition can be a shelter rather than a cage.” He paused. "Your family has experienced tremendous loss. Grief makes everything harder. Be patient with each other. With yourselves."

  Reina nodded, not trusting her voice. Haruna placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  "You carry much for one so young," she said. "Remember to set down the weight sometimes. Let others help bear it."

  When Reina finally made it home, the pod was quiet. Aiko sat in the central area, her datapad dark beside her—actually present, as promised. Hana was in her alcove, curtain open, staring at the wall.

  "I made dinner," Aiko said, gesturing to three kelp-wrapped orbs from the synthesizer. "It's not much, but..."

  "It's something," Reina said, settling beside her mother. "Thank you."

  The orbs were nothing elaborate, but Aiko had added fresh kelp garnish and a hint of miso—small touches beyond her usual seasoning—and she'd shaped them carefully, presenting them with the kind of domestic care she'd abandoned after Kenta died but was slowly reclaiming. Progress measured in gestures, not just meals.

  They ate in silence until Hana emerged, swimming slowly to join them. She took her orb without comment, eating mechanically.

  "I'm sorry," Aiko said finally. "For last night. For how I've been these past months. You were right—I've been hiding. But I'm here now. I'll be here."

  "Okay," Hana said, not quite meeting her eyes.

  "And Hana," Aiko continued, "about your rite in December. We'll talk about it. Prepare for it. Together. I won't force you, but I'll be there. Every step."

  Something in Hana's rigid posture softened slightly. "Okay," she said again, quieter this time.

  It wasn't healing yet, but it was a fragile start.

  Outside, the summer darkness settled slowly. Inside their pod, three people floated together in the wreckage of their shared grief, trying to build something from the broken pieces.

  It was messy. It was painful. It was real.

  And somehow, that had to be enough.