Leo didn't grab the crystal. He opened his suit's sample pouch and let it float inside on its own. Then he fired his ascent thrusters and rose, not looking down, not listening to the boy in the mirror.
Ten years of drills. Seven kilometers of pure dark. Nine minutes of oxygen buffer once he hit the bottom. ten789
And the singing glass all around him—the dark, dead shards—ignited at once, not with light but with sound. A single, perfect note: the note his brother had hummed the night before the trials, the last sound Leo had heard before walking away. Leo didn't grab the crystal
"Steady," he lied. His pulse was a war drum. Ten years of drills
"Remember the objective: retrieve one intact singing glass fragment and ascend. No deviations. The pressure at depth will fog your cognitive clarity inside thirty seconds. You will feel euphoric. You will want to stay. That’s the crystal singing to your nervous system. Ignore it."
"Descension Control to Leo," crackled the comms. "Final check. Bio-signs?"