The Last Swim

In the endless blackness of the deep sea, where no sunlight had ever dared to reach, there was a glow. A small, flickering light, swaying gently in the currents, illuminating the face of an ancient being. Angela, the anglerfish, had lived here longer than any of the others. She had seen generations come and go, had witnessed the silent dance of predators and prey, and had listened to the distant echoes of things that swam far above her world. Now, she was tired.

She hung suspended in the water, her bioluminescent lure casting a faint blue glow, like a dying star in the midnight zone. Around her, the darkness was alive with movement—tiny fish darting through the void, the slow, pulsing undulations of jellyfish, and the faint shimmer of distant creatures, each carrying their own light.

“You’re quiet tonight, Angela,” said a voice from the shadows.

From the murk, a pale, translucent creature drifted closer. It was Solas, a deep-sea octopus with a body like ghostly silk, his eyes as black as the abyss itself. His tentacles curled and uncurled, catching the weak currents. “You usually have something to say.”

Angela sighed, her gills fluttering. “I was thinking about my time here. About how long I’ve been alive.”

Solas tilted his head, a movement slow and deliberate. “Feeling old again?”

“I am old.” Angela chuckled, the sound like the soft rasp of water over stone. “I might be the oldest fish left down here. And soon, I won’t be here at all.”

A rustling sound came from below, and a lanky, eel-like figure slithered up from the depths. It was Vesper, the gulper eel, his enormous mouth stretched into a permanent, eerie grin. “Bah! Don’t talk like that. You’re the best storyteller in the deep, Angela. You can’t just leave us with no one to tell the young ones about theold days.”

Angela smiled, but there was something distant in her expression. “The old days...” She swayed in place, letting the current carry her thoughts. “When I was young, I remember hearing stories. Stories of a light far, far above us.”

Solas’s eyes narrowed. “The bioluminescence of strange creatures? The flashes of predators?”

Angela shook her head. “No. A light beyond all of that. A light that never flickers, never moves. A light that has always been there.”

Vesper made a low humming noise, his body coiling slightly. “That’s just an old myth.”

Angela turned her glowing lure slightly, letting its light catch the edges of her weathered fins. “Maybe. But I want to see it.”

Solas and Vesper exchanged glances.

“You mean...” Solas hesitated, his voice unusually quiet, “you want to goup?”

Angela nodded. “Before I die, I want to see the light above. The great anglerfish of the sky.”

Vesper let out a wheezing, bubbling laugh. “You’re mad. The pressure alone will crush you before you even get halfway there.”

“Maybe,” Angela admitted, her voice calm. “But I’ve lived in this darkness for so long. I just want to know... if the stories were true.”

Silence settled between them, a silence that in this world meant more than words ever could.

Finally, Solas sighed, his tentacles curling tightly. “If you’re set on this... then we’ll help you prepare.”

Angela’s lure flickered brighter for a moment, the smallest sign of hope.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Angela drifted through the black, her thoughts heavier than the water around her. Solas and Vesper swam close, their movements slower than usual, as if the weight of her decision pressed on them too. No one spoke for a long while, and that was fine—words were never needed as much down here.

Still, Vesper was the first to break the silence. “So, let’s say you do this. Let’s say you goup.What do you think you’ll find?”

Angela considered this, her lure swaying idly, casting shifting shadows on the sea floor. “I don’t know. But I imagine it must be beautiful if so many creatures spend their entire lives chasing it.”

“Or terrifying,” Solas murmured. “You know the stories. Light is dangerous. It’s a trick. A trap.”

“Maybe.” Angela turned, her dark eyes locking onto his. “But isn’t that what they say about me, too?”

That silenced them both.

Angela had spent her entire life being the danger in the dark. She had waited in stillness, her lure a promise of something wonderful. And when creatures drew near, enchanted by the glow, she had devoured them. It was the way of things. Down here, light was always tied to hunger, to deception, to death. But up there—above the crushing black—light meant something different. It was warmth. It was life. It was the one thing her world had never known. And she wanted to see it.

Vesper exhaled, bubbles rising in slow spirals. “If you’re really going, you should at least let the others know. The young ones will want to hear it from you.”

Angela nodded. She had been old for longer than she had been young. Most of the fish in this trench had never known a time without her. And though she was leaving, she wouldn’t disappear like a ghost in the dark. Not without a farewell. She turned, moving toward the crevice where the others gathered—a place of quiet conversations and hushed currents, where the glow of a hundred tiny creatures made the walls shimmer like a broken sky.

They were waiting for her.

As Angela approached the crevice, the dim glow of the gathering place flickered with the shifting movements of the deep-sea dwellers. Lanternfish pulsed gently, their bioluminescence winking in and out like distant stars. A few brittle stars clung to the rocks, their delicate limbs curling and uncurling in the slow, unceasing rhythm of the abyss. She had spent lifetimes here. Listening. Teaching. Watching as young fish were born into the blackness, learning the ways of the deep—how to move with the current, how to find food, how to survive. And now, for the first time, she had nothing to teach them. Only something to share.

A ripple passed through the gathering as her presence was noticed. Small voices murmured in the gloom. The tiny hatchetfish hovered just above the seabed, their silver sides catching the faint glow from the surrounding creatures. A few deep-sea shrimp clicked their claws, always restless. Even the slow-moving gulper sharks, who rarely paid attention to anything outside their own hunger, turned their pale eyes toward her.

It was the ghost shark who spoke first. “Angela,” she rumbled, her voice low and distant, like shifting sand. “What brings you to the quiet place tonight?”

Angela took in the sight of them all, these creatures who had known only darkness. Who had never wondered what lay beyond it. She hesitated for a moment, her lure flickering slightly before she spoke.

“I am leaving,” she said simply.

The murmurs turned to a hush. Even the currents seemed to slow.

A young lanternfish swam closer, her small glow pulsing uncertainly. “Leaving?” she repeated, as if she had misheard. “Where would you go?”

Angela exhaled, the water shifting gently around her. “Up.”

The word sank into the gathering like a stone. It was a direction they never considered. Up was unknown. Up was the home of strange shadows, of crushing light, of the unseen.

“Why?” asked a brittle star, its limbs curling inward.

Angela’s gaze softened. “Because my time is nearly done,” she said, her voice steady. “And I want to see what is above us before I go.”

A ripple of unease passed through the gathering. The idea of swimming upward, toward the unknown, was as unnatural to them as leaving the ocean itself.

The ghost shark tilted her head. “You have lived longer than any of us, Angela. If this is truly what you wish, then we will honour it.”

A few of the younger fish still looked uneasy, their glowing bodies shifting restlessly.

“But what if you don’t come back?” the lanternfish asked, her voice small.

Angela gave a slow, gentle smile. “Then remember that I was here. And that I chose to follow a different kind of light.”

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, Solas and Vesper drifted forward, placing themselves beside her.

“She won’t go alone,” Solas said quietly.

The gathering remained silent, watching as Angela turned, her bioluminescent lure flickering once—one last farewell. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she turned away from the only home she had ever known and began to swim upward, into the unknown.

Angela had never swum upward for long before. The deep had always been her sanctuary, her world. Rising even a little had always meant danger—bright flashes of hunters, strange waters that no deep-sea fish belonged in.

But now, she did not stop.

The pressure changed first. It pressed differently against her body, pulling instead of pushing, loosening its grip. The water felt thinner, lighter. It unsettled her, this feeling of unfamiliarity, but she forced herself to continue.

Solas and Vesper swam beside her, silent for now. Solas moved gracefully, his long tentacles trailing behind him like wisps of dark smoke. Vesper twisted in slow, sinuous movements, his body coiling and uncoiling as he adjusted to the ascent.

They were leaving home behind.

Angela looked down. Below them, the deep stretched endlessly, a vast blackness swallowing everything. For the first time in her life, she was rising away from the comfort of that darkness instead of sinking further into it.

Vesper let out a sharp exhale. “This is already uncomfortable,” he muttered. “The water feels... wrong.”

“It’s warmer,” Solas observed. His translucent skin caught the faintest trace of glow from their lures. “And it will only get warmer.”

Angela kept moving. She could already feel it—the change in the current, the thinning of the darkness. The deep was reluctant to release her, but it would not stop her.

A flicker of movement ahead made her pause. It was small, darting, fast. Then another, and another.

She recognized them immediately. Lanternfish.

But these were different. They moved quickly, unlike the slow, ghostly creatures of the abyss. Their lights were brighter, flashing in erratic pulses as they weaved through the water.

One of them noticed the trio and veered toward them, slowing its pace.

“Deep-dwellers?” The lanternfish’s voice was quick and light, his body shimmering with the faintest silver. “That’s rare. What are you doing up here?”

Angela studied him. “We’re traveling upward.”

The lanternfish flickered, his light pulsing with curiosity. “Upward? What for?”

Angela hesitated before answering. “To see the great anglerfish of the sky.”

The lanternfish tilted his body in confusion. “You mean the sun?”

Angela felt something stir inside her. “That is its name?”

The lanternfish gave a quick, darting nod. “Yes. The sun is... well, it’s nothing like you. It doesn’t lure prey. It just shines. Always.”

Something about that made Angela’s fins tremble. A light that never flickered. Never hunted.

The lanternfish studied her for a moment before his light pulsed again. “You’re heading toward dangerous waters, deep-dweller. There are hunters up there, ones that don’t care about where you’ve come from.”

Angela had spent her whole life being the danger in the dark. But here, where the water was changing, she was not the hunter.

She was something else.

Still, she nodded. “I know.”

The lanternfish lingered for a moment longer, then flicked his tail. “Good luck, deep-dweller. If you keep going, you’ll see the first real hints of light soon.”

With that, he was gone, vanishing into the swirling shadows.

Angela turned to Solas and Vesper. Neither of them spoke, but she could tell they had heard everything. She turned forward again. And kept swimming up.

The water was changing. Angela could feel it, even if she didn’t fully understand how. It was growing thinner, shifting in ways that unsettled her. She had always known the ocean to be a heavy, pressing thing, wrapping around her like the darkness itself. But here, as she ascended, it felt open—like something vast and uncontained.

And then, for the first time in her long life, she saw it. A glow. It wasn’t the ghostly flicker of bioluminescent creatures or the brief flash of a predator’s lure. This was something else. It was everywhere, stretching in strange, diluted beams through the water. It wasn’t bright, not yet, but it was there. A presence more than a sight, like the deep itself was beginning to breathe. Angela slowed. Solas and Vesper flanked her, their movements cautious.

Vesper let out a low hiss. “I don’t like this.”

“It’s different,” Solas admitted, his pale body nearly transparent in the dim glow. “The water tastes... strange.”

Angela let the currents guide her for a moment, feeling the shift in her bones. She had never tasted anything like this. It was warm. Not the warmth of a body, not the pulsing heat of a predator’s core, but something else entirely. Something distant and strange.

“This is the edge of our world,” she murmured.

Vesper’s tail curled tightly. “And what if we don’t belong past it?”

Angela turned to him, her lure swaying gently. “Then I suppose we’ll find out.”

She faced forward again and continued. The water grew brighter—slowly, gently. It was not the harsh, immediate light she had expected. Instead, it seeped in like a whisper, soft and patient, wrapping itself around her without force. It was unlike anything she had ever known.

Then—movement. Fast. Unfamiliar.

A shape sliced through the water ahead, sleek and powerful. It wasn’t like them—not slow, not drifting. This creatureownedthe space it moved through. It did not belong to the deep. It belonged to the light.

Angela froze.

The shape circled once, then darted forward.

A shark.

It was unlike the sluggish, deep-sea hunters she had known. This one was streamlined, built for speed, for precision. And it had seen them. Angela felt something she had not felt in centuries.

She was prey.

The shark turned sharply, its body cutting through the water like a blade. It wasn’t attacking—not yet. But it was watching, deciding. Angela knew predators. She knew what it meant to be still, to let the currents disguise her presence. But here, in this new world, she did not know if those rules still applied. Vesper shifted beside her, his body coiling tightly. Solas remained eerily still, his dark eyes unreadable. The shark took another pass. Closer this time. Angela did not move.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the creature lost interest. It flicked its tail and vanished into the vast, endless water above them.

Only then did Vesper exhale. “Ihatethis place.”

Angela’s gills fluttered, her body still tense from the encounter. “It is not our home,” she admitted.

Solas glanced upward. “And yet, we keep going.”

Angela did not answer. She only turned toward the growing light, feeling it pull at something deep inside her.

For the first time, the darkness behind her no longer felt like an anchor. It felt like something she was meant to leave behind. The ascent had changed everything. The deep no longer pulled at Angela with its familiar weight. Instead, the ocean stretched open before her, thinner, stranger, filled with colours she had never known. The light had grown stronger—not yet blinding, but undeniable. It carved shapes into the water, bending and shifting in ways she could not fully understand.

Solas and Vesper swam beside her, but they were uneasy. Their bodies moved with hesitation, their instincts warring against the unnatural path they followed. They had spent their lives wrapped in the quiet of the abyss, and now, they were trespassers in a world that did not belong to them. Angela knew what they were feeling. The currents carried unfamiliar sounds—distant, sharp calls, movements too fast, water that was thinner than it should be. And worse than all of that, the pressure.

She could feel it unraveling inside her. The deep had pressed her together, had held her bones and muscles in place, had made her strong in its crushing grip. But here, in this open water, she was loosening. Her body did not belong in this strange, vast space. Neither did theirs. Solas slowed first. His translucent skin, once ghostly and smooth, had begun to strain, the water no longer holding him together the way it had before. His tentacles curled weakly, and he shuddered.

“I can’t,” he murmured. “This isn’t meant for us.”

Angela turned to him, her dark eyes calm. “You don’t have to follow.”

Solas pulsed his body once in understanding. Then, with one final glance at her, he let himself sink. The dark welcomed him instantly, swallowing him back into the depths without hesitation. Angela watched until he was gone.

Vesper hesitated, his long body twisting uneasily. “This is madness,” he muttered, though there was no bite to his words. “You’ll die up there.”

“Maybe,” Angela admitted.

Vesper’s black eyes studied her for a long time. Then, with a sharp exhale, he flicked his tail. “At leastIknow where I belong.”

And with that, he, too, turned back. Angela did not stop him. She watched as the abyss reclaimed him, closing around him like the jaws of an unseen predator. For the first time in her life, she was alone. She turned forward again. And swam.

The pressure grew weaker, the light grew stronger, and for the first time—Angela felt afraid. The water had changed completely.

Angela could no longer feel the weight of the deep pressing down on her. It had abandoned her, leaving her untethered, exposed. The darkness was gone. Even the shadows here were weak and uncertain, unable to stretch the way they had in the abyss. The light had won.

It was everywhere now, flooding through the water, washing over her like something alive. It wasn’t the sharp, tricking glow of bioluminescent lures or the sudden flashes of predators. It wasconstant. It was not a hunter. It did not flicker. It simplywas. Angela kept swimming. Her body protested with every slow movement. The water was thinner than she had ever known. It no longer carried the same silent, crushing presence that had held her together in the deep. Instead, it felt weak, loose—like she was floating in something fragile and temporary.

And above her, the surface shimmered. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. A barrier of shifting silver, twisting and trembling with every ripple of the current. It was not solid, yet it held its own shape. It was not dark, yet it did not glow. It was something else entirely. It was the last thing between her and the sky.

Angela had spent her life hearing stories of what lay beyond. The old ones whispered of a great anglerfish in the sky, a creature of endless fire and warmth. A light that did not hunt, did not lure, did not fade. Now, she would see it for herself.

She barely noticed the other presence in the water.

A shape—unlike any fish, unlike any predator she had ever known. It did not swim. It hovered. Slow. Deliberate. Watching.

But Angela did not care.

David Jara Boguñá held his camera steady, the weight of the ocean pressing lightly against his dive suit. He had seen many things in his years exploring the deep. He had filmed sharks in the wild, rays gliding through the water like ghosts, creatures that most of the world would never lay eyes on.

But this—this was different. The anglerfish was not where she belonged. He recorded her every movement, barely able to believe what he was seeing. An adult black seadevil, a creature of the abyss, ascending toward the light in broad daylight. It was unheard of. Impossible. And yet, here she was.

She did not look at him. Her black eyes, large and empty, were locked on something far above. She ignored his presence entirely, as though she had already left this world behind.

David followed her with the lens, adjusting for the shifting water. Every slow pulse of her fins, every gentle sway of her lure, every quiet ripple that carried her closer to the surface—it was all captured. But Angela did not care for the camera. The only thing that mattered was the world above.

She could see it now—the way the barrier trembled, the way it bent with the current but never broke. The way light shimmered and danced across its surface, flickering in endless motion.

She was close.

So close.

The abyss was far behind her now.

The darkness had let her go.

And the light was waiting.

Angela moved forward one last time—

And broke through.

The ocean released her.

For the first time in her long, quiet life, Angela was no longer beneath the water. She had known only the deep—its silence, its weight, its endless darkness—but now, she was somewhere else entirely. Here, the world was bright. Too bright.

The light did not flicker or dance the way it did in the abyss. It did not pulse like bioluminescence, did not glow in lures or flashes. It burned. It covered everything, touched everything, filled every space with color Angela had never known. She felt the warmth before she saw it.

A gentle heat on her skin, sinking into her, something the deep had never given her. It was not the warmth of a body, not the brief, passing heat of another creature. It was something greater—something that had always existed, even in a world she had never known.

And then—she saw it. The great anglerfish of the sky. It was nothing like her. It had no lure, no hungry jaws, no hidden darkness behind its glow. It was vast, endless, untouchable. It wasnota trick, not a deception, not a fleeting flash in the void. It was real. And it was beautiful.

Angela’s body trembled. She was weak, her form unraveling without the deep to hold her together. But it didn’t matter. A single tear slipped from her eye, vanishing into the water. Her voice was quiet, but steady.

“I have spent my whole life carrying a light no one could follow. So for my final day, I chose to chase one I never made. At last, I see the light before I go.”

Her lure, the small, flickering glow that had been her only companion in the abyss, dimmed. And then—Angela, the anglerfish who had defied the darkness, let herself go. The ocean cradled her gently as she drifted. Below, the deep called to her. Above, the light remained, unwavering, shining down upon her.

David was still watching through his camera. He only reached forward, moving carefully through the water.

And as the anglerfish floated between two worlds—one she had always known, and one she had only just found—he carried her with him. The great anglerfish of the sky burned on, endless and bright.

She had found the light. And at last, she had let it find her.