The ocean grows heavier the deeper it falls. Sunlight disappears, replaced by a slow, dark blue that thickens with pressure. The water turns cold enough to sting, drifting in long, low currents that hum against the seafloor. Strange silhouettes glide in and out of the dimness—quiet, ancient, and unbothered by time. The further the descent, the quieter it becomes, until sound itself feels swallowed. Sand ripples in gentle patterns, ruins and old ship fragments lie half-buried, and only the distant pulse of deep-sea life breaks the stillness. Down here, the ocean feels endless, patient, and watching.