Work Text:
In the distant past, philosophers from Sumeru would break their heads over a question that in the present is considered irrational by most and called senseless by many.
If a tree falls down in the forest, and there is no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?
The logical answer is ‘yes’. A falling tree disrupts the air surrounding it, thus causing it to vibrate, which in turn creates an audible response - a sound. Nature is no performer who needs an audience to show off its newest tricks. The world is not a stage for it to present its miracles. It will continue to work on its own accord and obey its own laws, never once thinking about potentially breaking them, witnesses or not. Science confirmed it ages ago.
Maybe that is why such research quickly became frowned upon, project ideas declined making students eventually switch their Darshans or drop out altogether, and nowadays there is no place in the Akademiya for philosophy.
Even deep inside that eternal rainforest, if the falling tree is big enough, the sound it makes upon impact could have a chance of reaching the educated ears of those short-sighted scholars and get their attention off of their serious research topics.
But if a whale sang out mere meters underwater, even if those scholars were to be conducting their experiments on boats in the middle of the open sea, they wouldn't hear a thing.
The whale is there, of course, a silhouette as prominent as this would be difficult to go unnoticed. The disturbances its body causes to the water's surface as it swims by so close to the border between the depths and the endless sky are impossible to ignore.
However, safe for the splashing of the waves created by the relocating force, as far as the researchers on their tiny boats are aware, it is silent.
The sound of its song is created with the purpose of reaching another, but if the researchers were later asked if they had heard anything, despite the fact how close they had been to its source, they would have answered 'no'.
They were there to experience it and perceive it, to witness the callings the whale had been sending to the others of its kind, but to them, no song was ever sung, no voice ever existed.
The whale also never heard the arguments and rumblings the scholars were making just above its head, even though they were not holding back their volumes as they would have elsewhere.
To the whale, no discourse was ever created, no voices ever existed.
The water keeps its secrets within its borders and lets none in.
Freminet loves that about it.
He doesn’t dive for silence, the ocean depths are everything but, after all. He doesn’t dive for seclusion or to avoid unknown gazes landing on him. He’s hardly ever alone down there, marine creatures are sometimes almost as eager to approach him and look at him as the city folk, but they treat him more like their own than the people of Fontaine ever did.
The fish and the seals don’t ask questions and if they do, they won’t judge him for acting like he doesn’t understand. They simply examine that strange creature they had never seen before and leave it alone when they determine it doesn’t mean them harm.
They peck at his suit and gear, swim around him, and try to get a reaction out but quickly lose interest when they receive nothing as Freminet lets himself sink, deeper and deeper until he reaches the ocean bed, and lets the water wrap around him like no blanket ever could.
This is his job, he forgets at times. There is a clear goal for every descent and he almost never fails to accomplish it, but when the work is done and there is still oxygen left in his tank, he uses all the time he has left to spend in his second home. Sometimes he studies plants or life forms he comes across, others he looks for abnormalities, rare sights, or even just little trinkets the waves have brought with them from distant lands.
And sometimes he simply floats there, listening to the sounds of a much simpler life that he is separated from by a set of metal gear. He stays there for as long as he can if only to not go back on land.
Sometimes he wishes he were like his sister. Artificial lungs don’t force her to go back up for air nearly as often as his do, if ever.
Were he as she is, would he be able to stay underwater forever? Would he not need that heavy armour that is supposed to protect him from what he truly loves? Would he still feel the same love he feels for it now if his heart was pumping fuel instead of blood?
Lynette seems content doing what she does. She rarely complains about their shows, neither does Lyney. Is it that she truly enjoys them, or maybe she is indifferent and doesn’t care much for applause or her occupation as long as she gets to do it with their brother? Freminet often wonders, but never asks.
He cares a lot about his own. He probably couldn’t do anything else if he tried. To spend the rest of his life feeling the comforting pressure on his skin would be a dream come true.
A certain feeling overcomes him when people try to strike up a conversation, look at him walk back home from the shore, talk in whispers about him when they think he either can’t hear them or isn’t listening or when they ask him to show them a card trick because there is no way he doesn’t know any! he’s Lyney and Lynette’s brother!
He imagines this feeling transforming into the sensation of water currents hitting him and drifting him away.
It hurts a bit at first and can get difficult to breathe if the currents are especially rough. Sometimes algae or some other kind of stray plant that got swiped away with him wraps around his helmet and blinds him for a moment, or he gets disoriented and loses track of his own location but eventually, he always manages to get out.
The violent streams spit him out or he escapes them himself and then he is back home, back to the gentle embrace of the calm ocean, back to the sun rays sneaking in through the water's surface falling slowly on his cheeks and warming up his frozen skin. Back to listening about the new tricks his siblings are working on and how their rehearsals are going, to a bowl of soup and the quiet sound of the washing machine cleaning three peoples’ shares of clothing to prepare them for tomorrow.
If he were to never emerge back up, it would mean not going back to those cozy evenings again. It would mean leaving his two siblings behind.
They would still love him if he decided to stay in the ocean, he’s pretty sure, and he would still love them. They would accept this is how he wishes to spend the rest of his life if that makes him happy, just like they never insisted he learnt magic or perform with them when he said he didn’t want to. They have always loved and respected him and he returned the feeling, always will.
But would this love mean anything if he weren’t there to feel it?
Like a tree falling silently in the overgrowth of the evergreen forest, Freminet’s heart sinks under the waves of the deep dark sea.
There are eyes to notice, there always are, and then there are hands to grab him and pull him back up.
They bring him to the surface, and take him to the shore, for real this time, as he coughs out salty water and fills his lungs with air. The same air that Lyney and Lynette breathe as well.
If only he could refill his tank with this air.