The sea rose in the night and never went back down. By dawn the mountains were islands, and the cities everyone remembered were just rumors now. Iyla rowed to her father's old boathouse, where her brother Sefu was already waiting. They hadn't spoken in three years. But the will named them both, and it named one thing: the diving bell. It hung from the rafters, heavy brass and green with age. Folded inside it were a waxed map and a single key.

Sefu grabbed the key before Iyla could reach it. "I'm not chasing some treasure hunt," he said. "There are people starving on the high ridge. We should sell the bell, buy supplies, and help them." Iyla crossed her arms. "Dad left this to both of us. You don't get to decide alone."

They argued until they were both worn out. Finally Iyla said, "Fine. We do both. We dive, find what Dad hid, and if it can help the ridge, we give it away." Sefu blinked, surprised. "You'd really do that?" "For once, let's not fight," she said. They started lowering the bell together.

Down in the vault they found the seeds, and they kept their promise. Every jar went to the ridge, no payment asked. The families wept and planted. By the next storm season there was bread again. Iyla and Sefu had argued their whole lives, but they'd finally built something neither could have alone.