Hi everyone~ This is a project I was working on a long time ago and finally decided to post some of it. I've got a decent amount written already, but since it was written during my weird emo phase, it's mostly unusable. So I'll be going thru everything and making redactions for my past self's assholery, which may take some time. Please bear with me. I'm really an awful person.

This is a fanfiction based loosely on the Tower of God universe. Some of the characters from the comic are here, and the general themes are the same, but the story is my own and most of the character are originals (So that's a disclaimer ig...) Honestly, this really isn't fanfiction, more of a slightly fandom-influenced work of fiction. But hey. This platform is dying and is imo a good place for me to infodump my stories for personal use. If you're enjoying them, all the better.

Also if you aren't familiar with ToG, it's this incredible fantasy manhwa on NAVER Webtoon. Absolutely everyone should read it. Please do. ( en/fantasy/tower-of-god/list?title_no=95)

I'm underwater. It's cool and its coolness chills me. I can't see further than a few feet in front of me, my vision clouded by the spiderweb colored water. I imagine my bones absorbing it, the water flowing into the space inside my eyes, my head, making its way silkily into my mouth and down my throat and from there into my stomach and into my blood. I don't know how long I stay like that, but I don't know if it's a question of how long. I feel time slipping away from me, I do not need to see or feel or breathe. I look down and am frightened by my legs, thin and white like a drowned corpse, because I had forgotten that I was human.

A silver fish comes out from the haze, its sleek handsome body undulating gracefully.

"Hello," it says, its voice lucid with intelligence.

I say back: "Hello."

Even when the fish is still, it moves in languid waves. I imagine reaching out and wrapping my hands around it, just to find out what it would be like. Smooth, probably. I remember going fishing when I was younger and holding my dying catch in my hands. Its body, the same silver color as the fish suspended in front of me now, had convulsed once, then twice, straddling (or perhaps crossing several times) the line in my head between person and animal. For just a moment of panic, I had thought that the fish's slick muscled body was that of a boy my age, who had been swimming in the land and had gotten my lure caught in his throat. He was mute, I had known viscerally, and could not have cried out even in that dire moment, but his pain was mine all the same. Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the feeling was over, and the fish was dead. I had gone home that afternoon and eaten its bitter-tasting meat.

"Who are you?" asks the fish.

"My name," I tell it, "is May."

"That's very pretty."

"Thank you."

I find that I can see my reflection in its eyes, and it entertains me to look at my own round brown eyes and small mouth, to examine the contours of my jaw tapering into my pale sinewy neck. It's a strange narcissism that I myself don't entirely understand, a dead-eyedness, almost a voyeurism, which absorbs me completely. It is not myself whom I'm looking at- It's some girl I've never met, a frail child preserved limply in the cold dark water. I examine her like an anthropologist would, coldly; and I examine her warmly, because it's myself I'm looking at. It makes me unhappy that I can't put this emotion into words, because I know that what I feel now was what I felt when I went fishing, too. There was a sleepy duality to it. It was easy to understand, but only if you didn't examine it too closely. Like something moving in your peripheral vision, only peripheral if you left it alone; like a happiness that could only exist if you didn't think about it.

The fish is quiet for a long time.

"Are you alright?" I ask finally.

"Lately I've been feeling... Tired, I guess. I've realized that many things which I once held so close to me have been forgotten, or banished away to some far corner of my mind. I knew I was losing memories slowly, but until recently I didn't recognize it for the great loss it was. I haven't been myself."

"It's alright. I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you," the fish says gracefully. "Actually- It's been coming back to me, a little bit of it. It's a strange feeling. Sometimes I'll wake up with a single word left on my tongue, nothing else. And then after a few seconds of buffer, everything else returns. But it's horrible, that few seconds and that one thing."

I turn my head.

"Sometimes it's a name. Paul."

I say: "I have a brother named Paul."

"It might be that, then."

"It might be that," I echo.

"I wonder sometimes," says the fish suddenly, "if this is what it feels like to be old."

"How old are you?"

"I don't remember," says the fish. "I... I don't feel old."

By way of apology, I say, "I'm eleven."

"That's a good age. You still have a long life ahead of you."

I nod. "I guess so."

The fish says suddenly: "I still remember a lot of things. There are a lot of things I still remember. I..." It pauses. "I can answer your questions, if you have any. I still remember so many things. I have answers still. I want to help you, May." There's a strange desperation in its voice, a bizarre contrast to its athletic body.

"Do you know my brother Paul?"

"Paul..."

"Paul Jung. He's very tall."

"Oh. I did once. A long time ago."

"Where did you know him from?"

"I didn't really know him," the fish says cryptically, "but we ran in the same friend group."

I look at the fish strangely. My brother Paul had disappeared many years ago, gone up the tower. I haven't seen him since, and I'm starting to forget what he looked like. All that's left is a vague outline of a person, dark narrow features and a tall angular build. "Who are you?"

"I am a fish."

"Where are we?"

"The ocean," it says. "But not the real ocean. In transit. You'll have to leave here soon. I have to leave soon, too. But before I go, I have a gift for you. You can choose to stay here and accept it. Or go away and accept it later."

"What kind of gift?" I ask.

"I don't really know. But you'll find out sooner or later."

"Is there any reason I would want to wait?" I ask.

"There are some people who want to see you soon. They'll be disappointed if they don't get to talk to you."

"Then I'll wait, I guess."

"OK," says the fish. "That's a good choice. It's an... adventure, you could say. I think you'll enjoy it. I think you'll enjoy them."

"Will I see you again?" I ask.

"No," it says apologetically.

"Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye, May."