The first word that Anri mouths into the air between water and gasps is his brother's name. Ishak.

Ishak tells him that the lake is sacred and that what he is giving to him is a gift, not a curse. Death is a gift. You give away what you love the most--your life, your comfort, everything you have ever clawed and scraped at the unforgiving, cold earth for. He used to be one part of a whole and now, he feels it in his bones and in his blood, that the whole of it is shattered and laying at the bottom of the lake. Why he isn't laying there too is something he dazedly wonders as he sits up in the cold.

February is unforgiving.

He was supposed to turn twenty-two today.

But it feels oddly sobering, cold air on his knuckles and his jacket scattered in the struggle, left somewhere by the tree line. The ice is broken as he remembers it, the dark red of his brother's coat laying on the shoreline. He remembers an embrace, a tightening sensation against his neck, as if maybe beseeching some kind of too-late apology that he'd never given to him. Did you even deserve it? he asks himself, slowly drawing his knees up to his chest and debating his jacket, black and solemn on the snow.

She is soft and made of satin and brine and silk and Anri can feel her walking on dainty feet against the snow, noiseless. He clutches his shirt tighter at the arms because he feels her question through his blood, remembers that singular moment like a note in a song, fleeting and soft. Promise to help me, she says while holding his face. Her veil is worn and stained and floats, tattered into pieces. There are sunken dips in her skin where her eyes used to be and a soft protrusion that might have been her nose. Her lips are soft, pink, and she leans in and says it again. Help me and I will help you.

It is a simple soundless bargain that Anri has no air left to give to agree with. He says it anyways, behind glassy eyes and cold skin drawn tight from the chill of the lake.

He doesn't remember being pulled up from beneath the ice.

He just knows he's on the snow now and the moon feels too bright on his skin and she's close, around, inside, above and below. She's so terribly sad and angry all at once and the sensation of it is overwhelming and the syllables of his brother's name die away against the sound of a low, guttural sob. He grabs a handful of snow under his palms, the bite of the cold feeling good against his skin. The sobbing turns into a scream because he promised and he's gone and broken everything all over again.

I'm alone, Anri thinks viciously. And you promised you'd never leave me alone.

Anri will always find his way to water, no matter where he might be. Why that is, he couldn't say. Perhaps it was a calling up from the roots of his blood, his father's inheritance in a way, where he'd left him nothing else otherwise. He's been dropped off here, not without care, and once settled, left to wander on his own. Get a feel for it. He already misses home as he wanders and finds himself somewhere in the northern district, meandering towards a lake.

As if that might be the last thing he wants to see. Instead, it's welcoming.

The lake didn't do the drowning, now did it?

He moves slowly, until the soles of his boots meet the water. Crouching in a singular, liquid motion, Anri doesn't waste time rooting around. He finds a smooth, flat stone and passes it between his hands briefly, inspecting it, then proceeds to give it a sharp, smart flick, sending it bouncing over the otherwise placid water of the lake. One, two, three, four, five, six. It sinks. He looks satisfied, a grin spreading over his lips, revealing a bit of tooth. This is... nice. Keep him company?