Abyssal Signal

It moved through the dark like heat bleeding under ice, a ribbon of dim embers strung along bone. Each red point trembled as if whispering wordless bargains, but the jaw—those teeth—spoke only of endings. Whoever etched the question, jagged and glowing, pressed it low enough for the current to bite at its edges: Where Vojta? Was this plea carved in hope or warning? I keep circling what little we know: the body bends in an impossible coil, its shape neither wholly fish nor phantom, yet held by lawless hunger. What frontier is this, where light masquerades as bait and names are dragged into the trenches? The trail feels heated from some hidden furnace, yet everything else reads cold, deeply so. And Vojta—if he ever touched this glow—is still unaccounted for, pulled further beneath an ocean we do not understand.