Among the coral labyrinths where daylight dissolves,
the Emberfin Drifter glows with its own remembrance of the sun.
Its scales absorb the warmth of the upper waters,
storing light like embers beneath translucent skin.
By night it releases this stored fire,
illuminating reefs with dim crimson halos,
drawing plankton and the smaller feeders who follow them.
When startled, it flares with sudden brilliance
and disappears into darkness,
leaving behind a brief wake of radiant bubbles —
the abyss’s momentary constellation.
Mariners of the volcanic coast tell that schools of Emberfins
rise during seismic tremors,
guiding lost sailors homeward like wandering sparks.
“That which burns beneath the waves remembers the first dawn.”
Thus the Curious Ichthyological Order swims within the greater geometry —
not as beasts of flesh, but as metaphors of continuity.
They are thoughts that learned to drift,
intentions that grew gills.
Their spirals echo the earlier patterns:
containment, transmutation, renewal —
now alive and moving,
the architecture of awareness made fluid.
“As above, in air, the carapaces took flight;
so below, in water, the minds began to swim.”
The Maharajagar 