Echoes in the Current

Prologue

* * *

Water. 

She always finds herself near it.

Sometimes a river. 

Sometimes a glass left on the counter, 

just catching light.

A bath that runs too long 

A puddle she almost slips in. 

Rain that taps the window like it knows her name.

The quiet mirror of a pool at night 

The bubbling rise of a jacuzzi, 

like thoughts she can’t settle. 

And in the waves that pull her in.

She thinks it’s a coincidence. 

But it’s not.

She’s always been drawn to it. 

Always felt— something. 

Like the sound of a familiar voice you can’t quite place. 

Like remembering a dream you never had.

Water has always followed her. 

Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Some days she lets herself believe it means something. 

Most days she doesn’t.

But it’s there.

Rippling.

Humming.

Waiting.

* * *

Before the world ended

Someone kept a single vial of it.

A vial. 

Sealed and held close through storms and fire.

Inside: water. 

But not just water.

This water had seen oceans.

It had carried ships and drowned kings.

It had fallen as rain on laughter and ruins.

It had moved through the lungs of singers, 

tyrants and mothers in labor.

It had been boiled, blessed, polluted, wept.

It remembered everything.

So when Earth was lost, 

this was what they took with them.

Not gold. Not fuel. Not food. 

Just a vial of water.

That’s what they chose to carry 

when Earth collapsed.

Because deep down, they knew the truth:

What mattered most wasn’t what they built on Earth.

It was what they felt.

What they forgot.

What they needed to remember.

* * *

Memory

They called themselves Humainity,

Not human. Humain.

The ones who remained. Endured.

Shadows of their former selves.

They fled across galaxies. 

Built cities that hung in atmospheres.

Mastered quantum mechanics, traversed wormholes, understood cosmic strings.

But they could never recreate the pulse of a planet that had loved them.

They could survive. 

But they could not belong.

Not without Earth.

Not without something meaningful to hold on to.

So they studied the water.

First, for science. 

Then for something else.

It hummed, faintly, at frequencies no machine could explain.

When they listened… truly listened — 

they heard echoes.

Dreams. Whispers from the past.

Earth hadn’t just died.

It had called out.

And the water, faithful and full of memory, had carried the signal forward.

A message. A hope. A warning.

Plant the Seed.