#its all so tome deaf
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Just saw a post on insta that was making a joke about how houses in Canada (cities) cost like 2 million and are not even good and the comments are like "just dont live in Vancouver or Toronto" "leave the cities" "move to alberta" like do you HEAR yourself????????
#also its not even true#like yeah sure vancouver as like of the MOST busted (expensive) housing markets in the world but the solution isnt just to leave???????????#like literally everywhere else is far to expensive too#i saw one comment that was like just move to america like ARE YOU STUPID?????#but literally even my small town is like wayyyyy blown up in housing prices#and there is nothing here and its geographically isolated#but even then there are so many jobs that REQUIRE you to live in the city#its all so tome deaf#like sure even if you DO accept that only the rich should live in the city......... who tf is going to serve them? 🤨🤨🤨🤨#god i got so mad at those comments#just leave SHUT THE FUCK UP
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Yeah, KatNep didn't sail canonically, but at least Homestuck's nature as a meta multiverse story that treats fan stories that don't happen in canon as valid due to its nature, with some Lord Englishes that want to destroy those alternatives and just wants his Alpha Timeline stuff to be the only thing. In the endless realm of possibilities, how would you write them starting a romantic relationship with each other? I'm pro'ly tone-deaf and too serious in asking a blog that posts funny-but-somehow-oddly-warm drawings something like this. Or maybe there's fanfic of this ship you'd recommend?
It's very easy for me, a fan, to do a "how it should have ended" style thing. Homestuck is just that series where whenever a discussion is brought up, even with idealistic passion, it will always turn into a rant about how it should have gone.
But ignoring all of that, here's how Katnep could work.
(this is very rambly because im a very rambly person heads up)
The two main things is that they both need to get over themselves. Karkat works on himself a lot throughout the series, letting people in his life, learning to enjoy the company around him without screaming profanity at them, and realizing what he takes for granted. Nepeta is never given that opportunity since she has like 7 whole conversations and then dies.
If she were to survive (which would have to rewrite Murderstuck) then she would have to either get over her silly crush and see Karkat as, y'know, just a person OR she would have to decide to be confident and decide to talk to him, trying to become his friend & then romantic partner.
Karkat brings up in a conversation with Eridan that he does see her as a person, and not the "kitty cat shipper cave girl" but he avoids her because he's 13 and doesn't know how to let her down easily.
If Murderstuck were to still happen, Karkat could console her through the loss of a friend, trying to make amends for how he treated her through her pain. He would have to decide to stop avoiding her and have to help her out, like a responsible leader.
Since Eridan is dead, Karkat also would not have anyone to gossip about relationship stuff with (which was a thing he and Eridan had) so Nepeta could easily replace that conversational hole that Karkat has.
I feel like end-game Katnep would be-
Nepeta no longer holds Karkat on a pedestal, not an infatuation but a friend (romance can happen later but right now she would need to see him as a person and not a cool endgame red romance)
Karkat grows up and stops excluding Nepeta just because he's afraid of the awkward eventual conversation between her and him.
Karkat would start roleplaying with Nepeta and Nepeta would read Karkat's tomes of romantic literature, they could even get into petty arguments about which character deserves which character.
There would be cool motifs between the Blood Aspect and the Heart Aspect. Like could you imagine?
Cool Sufferer Disciple art while Karkat and Nepeta fall for each other, as if they are fated to be together (even if Karkat doesn't care for the ancestor shit.)
and yeah idk
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Tale XIV: The Merchant’s Daughter and the Misled Merman (Kotori and Shark)
It’s here! It’s finally here! Illustrations for this chapter here
I'll be releasing a happy ending, multi-chaptered version on its own sometime in the future. Stay tuned, sharkbait fans!
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 24K (Good luck :’)
Characters: Ryoga, Durbe, Rio, Yuma, Kotori, Vector
Relationships: One-sided Tomoshipping (Durbe/Ryoga), Skyshipping (Yuma/Kotori), Sharkbaitshipping (Yuma/Ryoga)
Warnings: Murder, gore, angst, Hans Christen Anderson version of The Little Mermaid despite me listening to the Little Mermaid musical soundtrack while writing this
Summary: In exchange for his eternal life and voice, a merman gains human legs. Up above, he finds that the human world is filled with deception and gentle lies.
Once upon a time, there was a young merman who lived beneath the ocean. The merfolk were long-lived people, their lives carefree and rich. Pearls adorned their tails and they danced beneath the stars every night. They sang and frolicked beneath the waves, ignorant of the lives of the humans above. Each one possessed their own unique melody, creating a chorus said to raise moons and sink ships.
As I strum my harp, my eyes glance at the distant shores, glimmering with seafoam. Every night I come to this lagoon in search of my love. For a human prince, he traded away his eternal life beneath the waves. What folly, what foolishness, to have fallen in love with a human. Yet I had loved him so and recited the forbidden spell to help him.
I have lived for millenia, collecting tomes upon tomes of my people’s history and magics. There have been none to resurrect seafoam back into flesh. Yet I continue to seek that elusive spell, traveling to the blackest of trenches and the hottest of underwater vents.
The sea has been so quiet without him.
The corals have been bleached in the places that we swam together. The sunken ships have been eaten away. Medaka, in all her beautiful talent, has quietly shut herself away in her cave. She only sings on stormy nights now, leading sailors to their watery graves. It feels as if we ageless merfolk have aged without him. He had always been there, tucked away in the back of our gatherings like a reassuring shadow.
Now all we have left are fruitless wishes.
If only, if only, if only…
The shadows, waves and seagrass seem to endlessly whisper this phrase.
🎵
Hansel runs despite the pain in his stomach. He runs past the candy house and through the woods, the shadowy man always a few paces behind him. The trees and shrubs mean nothing to him when his body is already on fire from the bulletwound. When the trees begin to thin out, he gulps. The sound of the ocean fills his ears. Bursting out of the trees, he is met by the edge of the world, dropping off into a blue abyss.
Above him is the cold wintry sky, deaf to his pleas. Seagulls flutter about, cawing and screeching. Below is the frigid ocean, waves mercilessly beating against the rocks. Behind him, he can hear the man with the rifle coming. Looking around, his blood turns to ice when he sees that there is nowhere else to run.
“There we are…!” calls Vector. “Now come here so I can—”
He’ll see Gretel again someday. Hansel clutches his shirt and closes his eyes. Without another moment wasted, he leaps off the cliff. For a moment, it feels as if he’s flying, weightless and free. Just like a bird, he could flap his arms and fly away. And then he’s falling. Falling, falling, falling into the water, a lone drop in an endless pool. When he hits the water, pain blooms across every single part of his body. His world turns white as his bones break into thousands of pieces, his body scattering across the ocean like bits of seafoam. But then he opens his eyes. He’s still in one piece.
It feels as if he hit a cold brick wall. He lets out a choked cry, pain the only sensation in his body. His vision blurs as the frigid waters wrap around his neck. And then it swallows him into its depths, the coldness like thousands of needles piercing his skin. Darkness creeps into his vision. The last thing he sees is the shadowy figure from above walking away.
Amidst the pain, it feels as if something warm is erupting from his chest. He envisions himself in a golden hallway, standing in a long line of pale and wan individuals. The figures keep to themselves, their eyes focused on the floor. Hansel winces as he tries to wrap his hands around his arms, his skin cold to the touch.
“You, there! Next!” cries a cherub at the side of the room.
Hansel pauses. A cherub? He hadn’t gone to church often but…he knew for a fact that cherubs weren’t real. He tries to peek behind the child in hopes of seeing that the wings were glued on, but there were too many people in the way for him to clearly see.
A man reluctantly plods to the front of the line. Hansel tries to peek above the others’ heads but cannot see anything beyond the man’s bun. When the time comes for him to speak to the man at the front of the line, he freezes upon seeing the man’s gentle face yet fiery eyes. A pair of white wings sprout from his back and he clutches a quill matching the feathers from his wings. An angel!? Hansel’s heart leaps to his chest.
On the angel’s desk, a thick book lays open. The angel gives Hansel a smile and then crosses something off of his book.
He was dead? No, it couldn’t be…Just a few moments ago he had discovered the cannibal wizard’s stash with his sister Gretel…They were going to build a palace by the sea together and live happily ever after…
“Hansel from the tale of Hansel and Gretel ,” declares the angel. He looks down at the book again and frowns. “Dispatched by Lord Diêm Vương’s order due to an undeserved happy ending. Sentenced to another attempt.”
“What…?” asks Hansel, looking around.
His head begins to hurt. The angel shakes his head, the frown remaining on his perfect lips.
“It’s been happening more recently with you fairytale characters. None of the afterlife networks are particularly happy about this, but the karmic departments raised the alarm so we must heed their call…,” murmurs the angel.
“Fairytale? Me? Karma? What?” sputters Hansel.
Like the fantastical characters in books? But everything in their world had been perfectly normal. He and Gretel had grown up surrounded by rumors of wizards and witches. Running into the cannibal wizard had been something they had been warned about countless times. No one was trying to climb a monstrous beanstalk or turn fish bones into clothes.
The angel briefly shakes his head.
“It’s not something my department is particularly well-versed in, but I think it has something to do with the balance of good and bad…,” says the angel, tapping on the great ledger’s pages. “If you were assigned to an Eastern fairytale in the next life, you’d probably be able to talk to them.”
“I don’t understand! I’m not a fairytale character! My sister and I…we were real!” protests Hansel.
The harsh winter. The pebbles. Their father murdering their mother…That couldn’t have been just been events written on a piece of paper…
“You are real…just…in another way,” says the angel slowly. “Everything is predetermined for you and, at the end of that path, you’re supposed to remain there…eternally.”
“Then why am I here?” utters Hansel, looking around at the golden hall and the light-filled windows.
Had he been less bewildered and scared, the angel shrugging would have made Hansel laugh.
“It has something to do with karmic balance. Apparently, there’s a finite amount of happiness in this universe and remaining eternally blissful without meeting the proper requirements was disrupting this balance. So now, the karmic branches are sending out agents to resolve this issue.”
The shadowy man? Was that someone who was working for the so-called karmic branches? Hansel stares at his hands, this newly gained knowledge feeling like a hundred boulders.
“I’m sorry, but it’s time,” says the angel, checking a large clock. “Good luck in your next life.”
“I still don’t understand, I—”
Hansel opens his eyes to find himself back in the frigid water, his limbs a mangled mess. A strangled cry erupts from his throat, white bubbles escaping from his mouth. Pain shoots up his limbs. His body begins to twist in on itself, broken limbs reforming into different shapes. He lets out a strangled scream as a burning sensation fills him from the inside. Scales erupt from his arms and webbed skin connects his fingers together. Flashes of white and black fill his vision as his body bends in on itself, his spine snapping and reforming.
An invisible thread pulls together his broken legs, attaching them together. The bones within elongate and Hansel screams as the skin on his legs erupts with iridescent scales. Slowly, the water around him brightens, clearing up to reveal a seabed full of brightly-colored grasses. The water he has breathed in has stopped choking his pained throat, instead escaping through the vents on the side of his neck. Bubbles surround him like a veil, the result of his limbs flailing about.
Screwing his eyes shut, he tries to recall the happier times at the cottage with Gretel, yet can find nothing. When he tries to recall his sister’s face, he’s met by a similar blankness. Running through his life, he’s horrified to find that he can’t remember anything, not even his name. A horrified shriek escapes from his throat, ringing in his ears with its unfamiliarity.
A distant voice fills his mind, gentle yet commanding.
“The pain you have suffered has served as your repentance for your previous life. Now live on in this reincarnation without the burdens of the past.”
Not knowing anything, not even his own name, he flails through the ocean. He only knows that he has a tail with freshly grown and painful scales. And somewhere, someone he loves is singing.
🎵
“We’re going to be late,” mutters Shark, knocking on Dusky’s wall.
His friend sighs and rests something heavy down. Shark crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. They were given eternity to live and this was how he spent it? Shuffling noises follow. Then the door opens with a thud . Always slightly disheveled, Dusky greets him with a tired smile.
Shark brushes a piece of gray hair away from Dusky’s bangs.
“Put that down,” he says, eyeing the book beneath Dusky’s arm.
“I can’t find a place for it,” he says.
Shark rolls his eyes and peers into his friend’s home. Towers upon towers of books line the walls, almost toppling over each other.
“Just put it anywhere that doesn’t have a complete stack,” he grumbles.
“You don’t understand! There’s a system!” protests Dusky, swimming into his labyrinth of books. He motions to each pile, his tail swishing in irritation. “There’s the legends, myths from the northern sea—”
“Forget about it!” groans Shark.
He swims into his friend’s house, snatches the book away and places it on the floor. Dusky stares at the book and then lets out a sigh.
“There’s going to be countless more full moons to witness. What makes this one so special?” he asks.
“Medaka has a solo and she’ll kill me if I don’t come!” urges Shark. “Let’s go!”
Dusky chuckles at the mention of Shark’s sister.
“She’ll have to kill me too, then,” says Dusky. “What is this, her hundredth performance?”
Without gracing his friend with a response, Shark grabs Dusky’s arm and yanks him out of his home. Together, they entwine their hands as they swim past beds of coral and schools of fish. Above them, the setting sun shines like a distant lighthouse. Beneath the waves, the world was dyed in hues of pink and orange. Shark softly smiles to himself as he looks at his world. This was one of Medaka’s favorite times of the day. She had specifically chosen matching accessories for this sunset performance, her solo beginning the merfolk’s full moon gathering. As one of the most sought-after singers in the kingdom, her performance was bound to be crowded.
Shark runs his fingers through the kelp, the fronds tickling his skin. When they were guppies, he and Medaka had hidden from their lessons in these fronds. Dusky always had to go and find them, the devoted student he was. Shark looks up at the sky, where the clouds are beginning to look clearer. He exchanges a smile with Dusky as they near the surface, dozens of merfolk joining their ascent.
“Looks like we’re right on time!” exclaims Dusky as he surfaces.
“Thank Poseidon,” mutters Shark, clearing bits of seaweed from his hair.
They swim into the lagoon surrounded by iridescent rocks and fragrant plants. Already, there is a buzz of excitement in the air. With pearls and shells strewn throughout her long blue hair, Medaka basks in the center of the lagoon. Every morning his sister had carefully brushed out her hair, which she loved just as much as her voice. Upon seeing him, Medaka beams and waves, her fingers tipped with long conical shells.
“You came!” she says.
“Of course!” interjects Dusky before Shark could make a rude comment.
Merfolk cluster around the edges of the lagoon, all attention focused on Medaka as she prepared. Hundreds of their kind were eagerly awaiting the full moon ceremony, opened by their beloved songstress. Medaka’s friends Catfish and Swordfish were behind her, tuning their instruments. Dusky waves to his sister Catfish and she waves back. Swordfish, meanwhile, was arguing with the drummer, Tarwhine. Pretty much everyone but they knew that the two were in love.
“I’ll stick you with my sword the moment you say another thing!” snaps Swordfish, her cheeks aflame.
“To summarize, you wouldn’t have a drummer after that,” mutters Tarwhine.
Dusky and Shark exchange tired glances. For such a pretty mermaid, Swordfish wasn’t particularly bright. She was always reaching for her sword, one way or another. Unlike the rest of the mermaids, Swordfish had recently cut her red hair short, much to everyone’s horror. To be honest though, Shark thought that it suited her.
Dusky looks behind to see that the sun was midway into the ocean. A hush falls over the lagoon as the stones begin to shimmer. Even Tarwhine and Swordfish silence their arguments, all attention drawn to Medaka. With each move the mermaid makes, her seashell bracelets jingle in time. She smiles as she meets the audience’s gaze, turning all around the lagoon.
“And so, let our songs and dances for tonight strengthen our bonds with one another. Let us perform our gifts for Poseidon, lengthening our many years in his realm and strengthening our power,” declares Medaka, her voice echoing across the lagoon.
She flicks her iridescent blue tail. The audience holds its breath. Shark crosses his arms and sighs.
Medaka begins with a high, crooning note. She is soon joined by Catfish’s shaking shells. Then Swordfish’s harp. Below Medaka, lights in jewel tones begin to glow, illuminating the lagoon with their rich colors. When Medaka’s note melts into a full-fledged song in the ancient Mermish language, fireflies fill the air with their golden lights. Gasps fill the air as the bugs flit about, their lights competing with that of the sunset’s.
Shark has heard his sister sing this song hundreds of times in their shared home. It was a ballad detailing the myth of Poseidon and the creation of the merfolk. When they were guppies, it was a song that they had all been taught at school. Full moon ceremonies always began with this song, the merfolk’s way of giving thanks to their god. Over the centuries, Medaka had perfected this song with her haunting voice, luring unwary sailors to death on moonless nights.
Really, it was getting old, no matter how many lights or special effects Medaka used. Scanning the crowd, Shark finds that he is in the minority. As always, the audience is enraptured with his sister’s performance.
Sensing his boredom, Dusky tugs at Shark’s arm.
“There’s rumors that a human prince is sailing in our waters tonight,” his friend whispers.
Shark smirks at his friend.
“You should have told me sooner,” he replies.
At the height of the ballad, detailing Poseidon’s fierce battle against his brother, the two dive into the waters and swim off. The sun was almost completely swallowed by the sea at this point, the waters now a twilight purple. Once out of the lagoon, they resurface, looking around for the ship.
Every once in a while, Shark and Dusky would swim near human ships to tease the sailors. They never fully revealed themselves, cackling whenever a bewildered sailor was called insane for claiming to have seen merfolk. Well, it was mostly Shark who cackled. Dusky usually snorted. The sailors they had seen were grizzled, gruff men, always barking orders and often too drunk to fully trust their own eyes. Whenever Shark was in a foul mood, he’d sing some overboard.
Dusky raises his nose into the air and frowns.
“It seems like there’ll be a storm tonight,” he murmurs.
Shark looks up at the cloudy sky.
“They chose the wrong night to sail,” he agrees.
Compared to merfolk, humans were so delicate. Their skin couldn’t withstand the cold of the sea nor could they swim for long. Whenever Shark sang someone overboard, he would watch in morbid interest as the human struggled and flailed against the crashing waves. Sometimes they would be saved by their fellow sailors. Sometimes they would drown, their dying cries heard only by the fish and Shark. It was terribly fascinating, watching the light fade from their eyes. He doesn’t do it as often anymore, what with his sister’s record of drownings. If they drowned too many sailors, the humans would get suspicious.
The two friends swim along the surface, looking for the telltale sails and dark silhouette of the ship. In the distance, the waves crashed against the shores of a human settlement. The humans’ buildings were dull and closely built, nothing like the merfolk’s spacious homes. In the night, they gave off a glow similar to fireflies.
“There!” calls Dusky.
On the horizon, they see the outline of a massive galleon with billowing white sails. Upon coming closer, they can see human emblems imprinted on the sails. With a head covered in a helmet of gold and white with glowing red eyes, Shark couldn’t help but think of a pirates’ skull and crossbones. Perhaps this was what the skull had looked like when it was alive.
They swim towards the galleon, Shark’s heart beating wildly in his chest. It seems as if nothing this exciting has happened in the last few moons. Sure, the dances and full moon ceremonies were grand spectacles but…eventually, one was bound to grow bored.
“I’ll race you!” calls Shark as he dives into the water.
He feels Dusky swim after him, his kicks fast and strong. Despite all the time he spent cooped up reading books, Dusky remained a formidable swimmer. Shark smirks. Luckily, he was no guppy either. Picking up the pace, he swims towards the rapidly approaching shadow of the galleon. When he sees the barnacle-covered wood of the galleon’s hull, he reaches out towards it.
“I win!” he declares, his hand pressed firmly against the wood.
Dusky crosses his arms and smirks.
“Only because you had a head start.”
Shark lets out a hmph .
“You’re only saying that because you hate losing,” he teases, surfacing.
“My prince!” yells a human voice.
“Not now!” replies a youthful voice, punctuated with a laugh.
Shark slightly tilts his head. True, he has heard many humans laugh before. Yet the prince’s laugh…There was something about it. Something that the other humans didn’t possess. Shark frowns and then peers up at the deck. Immediately, he meets the red eyes of a young human man. The young man’s eyes widen and his mouth opens. In a panic, Shark dives into the water, dragging Dusky below with him.
“He saw me!” gasps Shark.
From above, the young man runs across the deck, wildly pointing down at the ocean. Shark watches as various men surround the young men, peering hopelessly into the dark waters. Doubt fills the men’s faces as time passes. The young man receives a few laughs. In response, the young man shakes his head in frustration.
“I saw him!” he shouts.
An elderly man puts a hand on the prince’s shoulder, shaking his head. Once again, the prince is left alone. With a frown, the prince leans over the deck and places his head in his hands.
“I know you’re out there!” he shouts.
Shark and Dusky exchange glances. Taking Dusky’s hand, Shark leads his friend to the other side of the ship. Lights fill the deck of the galleon. From above, human music begins to fill the air. It’s nothing like the merfolk’s ballads and operas. This music is lively, the instruments loud and powerful. Once again, Shark surfaces, his eyes enamored by the sight of the myriad of bright lights. Unlike Medaka’s, these lights were bright, almost to the point of blindness. How could the humans dance in this light?
He can see their silhouettes lurch and totter about in their festivities. A small chuckle escapes from Dusky. Shark turns to him.
“Look at them,” says his friend. “They live only a few rotations so they must celebrate everything.”
“Not much of a grand celebration either,” adds Shark.
Compared to the merfolk’s festivities, this was a mere picnic. Shark turns to the horizon and sees the darkening clouds in the distance, the moon’s silvery light obscured. He exchanges a worried glance with Dusky. This was to be a bad omen for the merfolk. He frowns, thinking of Medaka and the performers after her. If the storm broke during the ceremony, he would return home to a distraught sister. To begin a ceremony that was interrupted by a fierce storm would be terrible indeed.
Once again, the human prince reappears, leaning over the deck and peering through the lights. From a distance, Shark sees the prince’s red bangs and black hair, sticking out at irregular angles. His skin is tanned, evident that he was a seasoned explorer. Unlike most of the other sailors he had seen, the prince’s eyes were still filled with hope.
“You have a shell?” asks Shark.
“Why?” asks Dusky, following his friend’s gaze.
“Just asking.”
Dusky reaches into his hair and pulls out a small clamshell.
“This okay?”
Shark takes the shell and gazes down at it.
“Sure,” he says.
Before his hesitation can get the best of him, he aims the shell right at the prince’s forehead. Plunk. He dives down just as the shell hits its intended target. A cackle escapes from Shark, followed by a snort from Dusky. The young prince cries out, clutching his forehead in pain. When the prince pulls away, a drop of scarlet falls into the water.
Immediately, Shark stiffens at the smell of human blood. Dusky’s smile fades.
“You plan on drowning a human prince?” he asks.
A chill runs down Shark.
“No,” he utters. “Just a little warning to keep his eyes on shore and away from the ocean.”
He looks up at the human prince, who is now surrounded by worried men looking out at the sea. Dusky grabs Shark’s hand and starts to pull him into the depths of the ocean.
“Wait,” calls Shark. “Look.”
He points to the sky that was now darkening.
“So?” asks Dusky. “Let the storm do its work.”
“I…”
Medaka’s delighted smile fills Shark’s mind. It was a peculiar kind of smile, the one that was filled with her sharp teeth, slitted pupils and painted red lips. His sister only smiled like that after she had a successful drowning, her lips and nails painted red by the human’s blood. Did Shark look like that whenever he drowned someone? The coldness in his sister’s voice, the jewels she had collected from the men she drowned…
In his youth, the struggles of the drowning humans had helped kill time. But after witnessing his sister tearing into a sailor’s innards and painting her lips with his blood, something had changed in Shark. He supposes it was seeing the human’s heart, so small and pink in Medaka’s hands. It languidly beat outside of the human until it slowly stopped.
Within that insignificant human life was a heart that beat just like his. If humans possessed hearts, what else did they have that merfolk did as well? The thought haunted him for moons.
He breaks away from Dusky’s grip and swims after the galleon.
“You go,” he forces out. “I’ll tell you what I witnessed.”
Ships sinking were always major events for the merfolk. Due to the general debris, chaos and struggling involved with a sinking ship, it was rare for merfolk to involve themselves. It was only after everything had reached the ocean floor did the merfolk begin to pick through the humans and their belongings.
“Stay safe!” calls Dusky as he swims off.
“Don’t worry!” calls back Shark.
He swims close by the ship, listening to the sound of rain falling from the sky. A distant rumbling fills the air. Up above, the humans begin to rush along the deck, preparing the sails for a storm. Thunk thunk thunk. The humans’ shoes thump against the wood. Their shouts falling to the ocean in distorted blurbs. Light flashes from behind Shark, followed by a resounding boom .
He quickens his swimming as the ship is tossed by the wind. He surfaces, trying to find the red-haired prince. Nowhere. Shark swallows a lump in his throat, continuing to swim against the surface. The rain falls from the sky like bullets, the waves roaring in Shark’s ears. Truly, the storm had arrived.
The sailors’ shouts fill Shark’s ears along with the booming thunder. A wave crashes against the other side of the deck, the white froth of the wave seen from Shark’s side. He’s never been in the middle of a storm before, always strongly advised against the unnecessary risk. It would be like staring straight into Poseidon’s wrath.
Now, in the midst of the chaos, Shark understood why. In the past, as storms raged on, he had always found other things to do. The churning waves of the surface had nothing to do with him, after all. Then the wind howls in his ear, a keening, painful cry akin to a whale’s dirge. A flash of red fills the edge of his vision. The young prince and his hopeful eyes fill Shark’s mind. He was like a bright spark, filled with joy and curiosity. Already short-lived, Shark couldn’t allow the prince’s life to be taken by the ocean this soon.
For a moment, the entire world turns to white as a lightning bolt strikes the ship’s tallest mast. Shark’s insides shake with the following rumble. He forces himself to look back up at the mast. A creak fills the air. Just as a massive wave crashes onto the deck, the mast falls. Shark dives underneath as he hears the sickening crack, bits of debris hitting the surface of the ocean.
Fighting against the waves, he wishes Dusky was here. Tossed from wave to wave, Shark gasps as he spots the young prince’s bright red hair. A wave crashes against the prince. For a moment, he disappears. Then he reappears, gripping onto a long rope. His shouting is lost in the howling of the winds, indistinct shouts answering back.
“WATCH OUT!” shouts Shark as a dark, surging wave crashes onto the deck.
For a moment, it feels as if the world has slowed. The prince is swallowed into the dark waters. Then he resurfaces, his body bobbing in the dark water like seafoam. And then the ocean once again pulls him into its depths. Shark’s cry is lost in a white light and loud crack. He briefly turns to the ship to find that a lightning bolt has hit the center.
Just as a monstrous wave raises itself over the ship, Shark dives into the water. He frantically searches for the prince, looking for his red hair in the darkness of the water. The wave crashes down just as he sees a hint of red among the debris. For a moment, Shark loses all sensation in his limbs as he feels himself being carried away. Then, he shakes his head and swims towards the prince, hair swaying like fronds of kelp.
Hooking his arms beneath the prince’s, Shark pulls him to the surface. The prince takes a pained gasp of air. In the flames of the dying ship, his skin looks pale and lifeless. Shark panickedly looks around for the closest shore. In the distance, he sees the dim lights of the human settlement.
With his limbs burning in effort, he swims towards the lights, the fierce currents fighting against him.
“Please…!” gasps Shark. “Spare this one and take the rest!”
He raises his head to the cloudy skies, begging for Poseidon to hear him amidst his wrath.
A wave splashes into his face.
Shark continues to swim, despite feeling as if his arms were about to be torn off from the weight of the prince.
“Take the rest but spare him, please!” cries Shark hoarsely. “Let him live out his life, as brief as it is!”
The prince’s laugh feels like a distant memory now, youthful and full of life. He looks down at the prince, with his closed eyes. A wave splashes against them. Shark weakly raises the prince back to the surface. Above them, the wind howls.
Don’t look back, thinks Shark as he continues to swim towards the shore.
If he looks back and sees how little he has swum, it may just make his aching limbs drop the prince. Beneath him, the prince groans. The sound fills Shark with a mixture of disgust and tenderness. The noises humans made at times could be so distasteful. Yet, in spite of everything, they continued to fight on for their existence. As the lightning and thunder grows further and further, hope fills Shark’s chest. The shore’s lights shine brighter.
Taking a deep breath, he quickens his pace.
“Hang on,” he says.
The prince lets out another groan. Shark’s muscles scream out in protest as he swims through another crashing wave.
“Please,” prays Shark. “Let this one live.”
The wind lets out a howl.
“PLEASE! I won’t ever drown a human again!” vows Shark.
A large wave draws towards Shark and he braces himself.
“I vow on my eternal life!” cries Shark.
Just as the wave was about to crash over them, it dissipates a few paces before him, its spray splashing Shark’s skin. Shark stares at the still waters before him, his heart beating in his throat. The wind subsides and a distant rumble fills the air, as if Poseidon had conceded. A wave pushes Shark closer to the shore, running a chill down his spine. His decision surely must have been sealed in stone.
“Just a little further,” murmurs Shark as he holds the prince closer.
Like a firm hand, the waves continue to push Shark’s exhausted body towards the shore. The wind has turned warm. Distantly, he can hear the singing of crickets. Looking behind him, the galleon is no more, swallowed entirely by the sea. Shark gulps. When he reaches the sand, he collapses onto it with the prince.
He looks down at the young man, clearing away bits of hair from his face.
“Wake up,” urges Shark. “Wake up...”
He pats the prince’s cheek, surprised at its warmth. Surely, Poseidon had to keep his vow. A merman vowing on his eternal life was nothing to be made in jest. Shark grits his teeth. His hands travel down to the prince’s chest. Through the wet fabric, he can feel the distant thump thumping of the prince’s heart. Shark breathes a sigh of relief.
His hands travel to the center of the prince’s chest. If he could correctly recall some of the interesting human tidbits from Dusty’s studies…this was how water could be removed from a human’s lungs. He had laughed at his friend’s reenactment then. Now he wishes he had paid more attention. Pursing his lips, Shark begins to press against the prince’s chest. Up and down he moves until the prince coughs, a thin trail of water trickling from his mouth. Another cough follows. He continues until the prince’s breathing has evened out.
Falling onto the sand in exhaustion, Shark looks down at the prince’s peacefully resting features. Blunt nose. Lips that always seemed to be curved into a small smile. Shark closes his eyes, listening to the sound of the waves against the shore. The atmosphere has changed, from the muggy humidity of a storm to that of a warm summer night. Beside him, he can hear the prince’s steady breathing.
“Thank you,” murmurs Shark. “Thank you.”
Perhaps it would be worth it, trading in the prince’s life for the future lives he could have drowned. Besides, he was already quite close to abandoning the practice anyways. Shark rolls onto his back and looks up at the sky. The clouds have covered the moon, allowing only a very thin sliver of moonlight to illuminate the dark shore.
“Mmm,” sputters the prince. He lets out a weak cough.
“Sshh,” says Shark.
“Who’re you?” whispers the prince.
He coughs a bit more and then opens his eyes. In the dark, he blindly reaches out for Shark. Awkwardly, Shark offers his face.
“Wow, you’re cold,” says the prince, chuckling weakly.
“I am?” asks Shark.
“Yeah. You want my coat? I know it’s wet but…It’s the least I can do.”
Shark eyes the sodden material and shakes his head. The prince’s hands fall away from his face. A part of Shark misses the warmth and life in those fingers.
“It’s alright. I’m always like this,” he replies.
The prince looks around, frowning.
“It’s so dark,” he grumbles. “How did you save me?”
“In the dying lights of the ship I saw you,” lies Shark.
“Is everyone else alright?”
A pit forms at the bottom of Shark’s stomach. He purses his lips.
“I…I could only save you,” he forces out.
The prince’s lips curve into a slight frown. The chasm in Shark’s stomach deepens.
“Sorry,” mumbles Shark.
“We were so far from shore. How did you do it?”
Shark gazes down at the prince’s scarlet eyes, gazing blindly into the darkness of the night. He wonders what the prince could see of him. Briefly, his eyes travel to his tail, partially submerged in the ebb and flow of the waves.
“I prayed and I swam,” replies Shark after a few minutes.
“Who did you pray to?” asks the prince.
“Poseidon. Who else?”
“You worship the god of the sea?”
“My people always have,” says Shark.
“I see…Thanks for saving me. What’s your name?” asks the prince.
“It’s not important,” says Shark quickly.
The young prince chuckles, revealing flashes of white teeth.
“Is it an embarrassing name?”
“N-no!”
Frankly, Shark didn’t know what an embarrassing human name would be. All merfolk were blessed with beautiful names reflecting the vibrant world they dwelled in. But there was no point in letting a human know his name.
“Where are you from? What do you do?” asks the prince.
His curiosity tickles the pit of Shark’s stomach for unknown reasons. He feels a small smile fill his lips. The young prince was just like a little guppy, always questioning everything that passed by his large eyes.
“I’m from…a land beyond the sea,” begins Shark. “My sister and I…we sing.”
“You have a sister? I do too!” exclaims the prince. “She’s really bossy.”
A chuckle escapes from Shark before he can stop himself. He scratches his head in embarrassment.
“Mine too.”
He’s certain to receive an earful the moment he comes back home.
“I guess no matter where you go, sisters never change,” chuckles the prince.
“I guess not.”
In the silence that followed, Shark lies down beside the prince and looks up at the cloudy sky. Beside him, the young man lets out a tired sigh and then a yawn.
“What a way to end a birthday! First I see a face from beneath the ocean, then someone throws a rock at me and then my ship sinks!”
At the mention of the rock, Shark purses his lips and surreptitiously glances at the prince.
“Mmm, what a way indeed,” he agrees. “You think there actually was someone down there?”
The prince vigorously nods, heat filling his cheeks.
“I’m not crazy!” he protests. “It was a beautiful boy with blue eyes, long, purple hair and blue bangs!”
Shark’s tail splashes at the waves during the prince’s description. His heart skips a beat. He rests a hand on his head and turns around, facing the prince.
“What would a face like that be doing in the water?” he asks, his voice wavering at the end.
The prince lets out another frustrated sigh and rests his head behind his folded arms.
“Don’t laugh,” he begins.
“I might,” says Shark with a smirk.
The prince pouts. Then he raises his nose to the sky. He beats his chest with conviction.
“I’m pretty sure that was a young merman, curious about my party!”
Shark’s smirk widens.
“Merfolk aren’t real,” he teases. “Besides, merfolk have far better spectacles than anything a human could ever do.”
In a huff, the prince crosses his arms and looks away at Shark.
“My granny saw one,” he mutters.
“Granny?” muses Shark, the unfamiliar word odd in his mouth.
“Yeah! The dowager! That’s my granny!”
“Er…I see,” replies Shark.
The prince lets out another yawn and then closes his eyes.
“She tells the most fun stories…,” he mumbles.
“Don’t you have to go back to…wherever you came from?” asks Shark.
He’s answered by a head shake. In the warm heat, the prince’s clothes and hair have already dried. With each motion he makes, his red bangs wildly fly about.
“I sometimes sleep under the stars. You can bring me back in the morning,” mumbles the prince.
Shark gazes at the young man, watching in fascination as his breathing slowed. For a human that was so short-lived, he sure was easygoing. Hesitantly, he rolls onto his back and imitates the prince’s pose. He closes his eyes and soon drifts off to sleep.
🎵
“..ma…Yu…ma! Yuma!”
A distant voice stirs Shark from his sleep. Dim morning light washes over him and the prince, who was still sound asleep. In the distance, Shark sees a human girl running down the steps of the beach. Her dress billows in the wind, an attendant hurrying after her. His heart leaps in his throat. Amidst the low tide, the ocean is a few paces away.
“Yuma!” cries the young girl, her voice carried away by the wind.
Shark looks down at the prince. Yuma? Was that his name? He doesn’t know what to make of it. Looking out at the ocean, he quickly edges himself towards the water. If the humans caught him, surely they would kill him. He’s heard far too many stories about colorful fish being scooped into nets and put into small bowls of water. His hands push him towards the water, his tail uselessly sliding against the sand.
As if sensing his desire to return, a wave rushes towards Shark. Desperately, Shark pushes himself towards it, relishing in the familiar feel of the salty water. Like welcoming hands, the wave takes him and pulls him back into the water. He swims towards a nearby rock, watching as the girl arrives by the prince’s side.
“Yuma! Wake up!” calls the girl.
Yuma snorts, rubs his eyes and then wakes up. He sits up in confusion, looking around at the shore. Then he turns to the girl, a huge smile on his face.
“Kotori!” he calls.
The young woman falls to her knees and pulls Yuma close, much to the dismay of her attendant,
“I heard the ship sank!” she gasps. “We were so worried…! I searched all night for you with father’s soldiers!”
Dismay fills Yuma’s face.
“Right…,” he murmurs.
Looking around, Yuma frowns in confusion.
“Where is he…?” he mumbles.
Kotori raises an eyebrow.
“Where’s who?” she asks. “There was only you on the shore.”
Surreptitiously, her eyes turn towards the rock where Shark was hiding. A small smile fills her lips.
“There was a young man!” protests Yuma. “He was the one who saved me! Please, didn’t you see him?”
He turns to the attendant, an elderly woman with thick spectacles. Slowly, the woman shakes her head.
“My grandmother is half-blind and even she saw that you were alone!” scoffs Kotori. She stands up, trying to pull Yuma up with her. “Come on! Everyone is worried sick about you!”
Yuma lets out a groan until Kotori pinches his ear.
“Alright, alright! I’m up!” yelps Yuma. “But we need to find the young man that saved me!”
Kotori turns back to the rock where Shark was hiding. Shark’s heart skips a beat. The young woman smiles and mouths a thank you , before turning away. A chill runs down Shark’s spine and he dives back into the waters, hurrying home.
The waters are calm after the storm. Soon, he approaches schools of fish and the occasional merperson. It seems as if nothing had happened beneath the sea, the waters as peaceful as ever. On the seafloor, the seagrass peacefully sways. From below, the skies seemed as blue and distant as they have always been.
It’s only when he approaches his home that the mood becomes tense. The merfolk he passes by speak in hushed tones, their eyes warily aimed at his and Medaka’s home. Shark hurries towards the cavern of marble and shells.
“Medaka?” he calls.
A pale hand reaches out from the darkness, still tipped with red shells and a matching bracelet. Shark reaches for the hand, only to be roughly pulled in. He lets out a yelp as he sees Medaka’s swollen eyes and deep frown.
“Where were you?!” his sister gasps. “I thought the storm took you!”
“I…”
Medaka shakes her head, the shells from last night jingling angrily in her hair.
“Never mind that…Do you hear what they’re saying about me?! It’s all my fault that there was a storm! I don’t understand why…It was a performance just like the other times…I…”
His sister buries her face into his chest, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. Pearls bead in her eyes and languidly float to the floor of their cave. Shark watches with detached interest. It had been centuries since he had seen Medaka cry. Slowly, he moves to pat her back.
“It’s all my fault…it’s all my fault…,” repeats Medaka.
Shark holds her closer, looking out at the blue waters of their homeland.
“No it’s not…,” he murmurs. “You were doing all you could…”
“But it wasn’t enough!” protests his sister. “I’ve displeased Poseidon…”
Shark purses his lips. Pearls continue to drip onto the floor, leaving behind small puffs of sand in their wake. His sister…always the one with the brightest voice and the most beautiful hair. Always the one to be surrounded by admirers, her laugh carrying across the waters like chimes. When something goes wrong, his sister always takes it to heart.
Surrounded by the white walls of their cavern, with bits of sunlight filtering in from the surface, his sister was still incredibly beautiful. The pearls in her eyes are the color of the sky, azure with a silvery sheen. There were suitors who would fight for his sister’s pearls, claiming her tears as a priceless treasure. A sigh escapes from Shark as he brushes back his sister’s hair.
“There was nothing wrong with your performance. Dusky and I could sense the approaching storm even before your performance,” reassures Shark.
Medaka sniffles.
“Really?” she asks.
“Really,” confirms Shark.
Come to think of it, there truly was something in the wind, even before Dusky had pointed it out, hadn’t there? A slight abundance of humidity in the air…a wetter breeze…
Medaka shakes her head and then pulls away from Shark. She wraps her hands around her arms, staring down at the small pile of pearls that had amassed at her tail.
“What did you see in that storm? What took you so long to come back?” his sister asks.
Memories of Yuma’s laughter and his bright smile fills Shark’s mind. He briefly shakes his head, bubbles floating about.
“A shipwreck,” he said. “A human prince’s shipwreck.”
Medaka’s eyes fill with light, a small smile filling her sallow features.
“Show me! Maybe we can get there before everyone else does! Maybe there’s a crown for me!” she exclaims.
His sister giggles, taking his arm and swimming away. As she pulls him out of the cavern, she wipes her eyes. A small laugh escapes from her throat, wavering at the end.
“Do I look okay? I do, right?” she asks, a hint of desperation in her voice.
With a tired smile, Shark nods.
“I’ll show you to the general area but I won’t go with you,” says Shark.
Medaka tilts her head in curiosity.
“Why not? I thought you loved treasure hunting. I’m surprised you didn’t spend all night picking through the shipwreck!” exclaims his sister.
“I…”
The screams of the lost sailors. The fires, the chaos, the merciless way Poseidon had pulled the ship into its depths, never to be seen by human eyes ever again. His vow, burning through his throat. Shark pulls his hand away from Medaka and forces a smile.
“Nah, I got enough things,” he says. “You go have your fun.”
He swims on, weaving through fields of seagrass and anemone beds. Often, he stops due to Medaka stopping for a conversation with a friend or two. Their conversation is light, yet he can hear the strain in his sister’s voice and the fragility of her smile.
“It must have been Dolphin’s opera,” says Swordfish.
“It must have been Orca’s harp. It was out of tune,” says another.
Medaka takes all of these suggestions with a mere nod and tight lips. From the tightness of her shoulders, Shark knew that his sister had believed none of their reassurances.
“It’s coming up,” says Shark as he swims past a rock.
In the distance, he can see the dark outlines of the grand ship. His heart leaps to his chest. He points to the ship with one hand and then turns to his sister. Medaka follows his finger and beams.
“There,” he says, stopping.
“You sure you’re not coming?” she asks.
Shark shakes his head, swallowing the screams of the sailors. All of those hearts, lungs and warm skins…rendered to cold bits and pieces by the sea. He could smell hints of blood, even from here.
“Yeah. I have to talk to Dusky. He doesn’t know I’m back yet,” he says.
Medaka holds his gaze for a few moments. In the aqua water, her pink and turquoise tail shimmers with an otherworldly glow. She clears a bit of stray hair from her face. Her smile is genuine this time as she swims away.
“Thanks,” she says. “For looking out for me.”
“It’s nothing,” mumbles Shark.
He crosses his arms. As long as he can remember, he’s been by Medaka’s side. They had been hatched from the same egg, viewed as a fascinating oddity by their mentors. It was said that they were born clutching each other’s hands. Since then, they haven’t left each other’s side for long. Even as Medaka found a circle of devoted friends, even as she captivated the hearts of the merfolk, Shark still remained by her side like a shadow.
Shark watches his sister swim away and then lets out a sigh of relief. Quickly, he makes his way towards Dusky’s house. The structure is seemingly a simple thing, made of tightly packed rocks and seaweed. Only those who have wandered inside it know of the deep caverns that tunneled beneath it. Shark’s only been in the anteroom, but he hears that within those caverns were stacks upon stacks of books from millenia ago, written in ancient mermish and even languages before that. Shark never knew where his friend obtained such heavy tomes, but the knowledge Dusky possessed was always useful in one situation or another.
“Dusky!” calls Shark when he arrives at Dusky’s home.
He knocks on a rock.
“Dusky!”
“Just a moment!” calls a distant voice moments later.
His friend must have been deep within the confines of a cavern. Shark lets himself into Dusky’s house and sits himself on a stack of books. Spare pages and books litter the floor, leading deep into the caverns. Shark sighs. How did Dusky get anything done in this mess? It never failed to amaze him to see Dusky actually LIVE in this mess. Shark clutches his arms in discomfort. He can’t even stand being here for even a few minutes.
Soon after, his friend swims up from the caverns and greets him with a relieved sigh.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“At the wreck,” answers Shark laconically.
On the shore with the prince, his warm breath on his scales. Spending a night side by side on the shore, the waves rocking them to sleep.
Dusky sniffs. Then he grabs Shark’s arm and breathes in. His eyes narrow, pupils shrinking into slits.
“You smell like dry sand.”
Shark stiffens and pulls his hand away from his friend.
“What did you do?” presses Dusky.
The conversations they had about sisters and mermaids. The quiet laughter Yuma had. How he had thought that Shark was human, just like he was.
“I saved the prince,” breathes Shark.
Dusky’s mouth opens, revealing rows of sharp teeth.
“You stole from Poseidon?” he utters.
“No! I…I vowed that I would never harm a human again,” says Shark. “I vowed on my eternal life.”
His friend’s mouth opens even wider.
“But that is a right bestowed to all our people,” he begins.
Shark looks out the cracks of Dusky’s home. The water outside is calm and the sunlight is bright. Dusky balls his hand into a fist.
“It’s no longer mine,” he murmurs. “Besides, I don’t really like doing that anymore either.”
Dusky’s tail irritatedly flicks at the floor, sending a pile of silt into the waters.
“What do you mean?!” he asks.
Shark runs his sharp teeth through the edges of his lips. He looks down at his hands, webbed with thin flaps of skin. Rarely does Dusky raise his voice.
“They have hearts. Just like us. They have sisters. They can feel pain, sorrow, joy…”
Shark trails off when he sees Dusky’s dark glare.
“You traded your innate right for a single human,” snaps Dusky. “Who will only live to see a few rotations and then perish.”
“He deserved to live, just like us,” snarls Shark.
Dusky’s eyes narrow. He grabs a stray tendril of Shark’s hair and pulls him closer, golden eyes blazing with fury.
“We don’t live, we’re eternal,” hisses Dusky, teeth bared.
Shark pushes Dusky away, baring his teeth in turn.
“You and the others might not care about them, but I do,” snaps Shark.
“Have worms eaten your brains?!” exclaims Dusky. “What, are you going to join them? Live among them like a shark among anchovies?!”
“And if I did?!” shouts Shark.
His voice seems to bounce against the stone walls, an endless echo traveling deep into the caverns. Dusky’s eyes widen and his mouth shuts. Shark stiffens. After a few moments, his friend’s shoulders loosens and he slumps.
“Do you even know what you’re saying?” utters Dusky.
Shark holds his friend’s gaze. A lump has formed in his throat. He clenches and unclenches his hands. When was the last time they had shouted at each other like this? He runs his eyes down Dusky’s furrowed brows and pressed lips.
“…forget it,” he mutters, swimming out of the house.
As he swims away, he can feel Dusky’s gaze burn into his back. A pang fills his chest.
“Shark!” calls Dusky.
Shark ignores him, forcing himself to keep on swimming in the direction of his cavern.
“Shark!” repeats Dusky.
For some reason, the guilt in Shark’s chest wasn’t as deep as he had expected it to be after confessing how he had truly felt.
🎵
“Shark?”
“Shaaarkkk? Ocean to Shark!” calls Medaka, waving her tail in front of Shark’s face.
Shark startles, his tail kicking up clouds of sand.
“What?!” he snaps.
Medaka shrugs.
“You’ve been out of it for suns now. You sure you don’t have any worms in your brains?”
Shark gives a small shake of his head.
“Of course not,” he grumbles. “I’ve just been…tired.”
Medaka frowns and grabs Shark’s tail, running her eyes down the iridescent scales.
“It’s not fin rot, is it?” she muses. “It’s infectious, you know. I can’t have that for my next performance.”
Much to Medaka’s joy and Shark’s relief, she had been chosen to perform for the merfolk’s next moon ceremony. Although it was the closing ceremony and thus more understated, Medaka still came to Shark with a bright smile and a delighted embrace.
His sister puts her hand on her hips, staring at Shark. He looks at Medaka with a glare.
“Don’t tell me…” muses Medaka. “Suns and suns of bumping into rocks…tripping over piles of sand…getting tangled up in seagrass…Not listening to most of my rants—well, you usually don’t listen much in the first place but now you’ve just made it very obvious…”
Medaka pauses, putting a hand on her cheek. Shark swallows a lump in his throat. No, it couldn’t be…He only thought of the prince every…
Oh, sweet Triton’s conch…
“You’re in love!” gasps his sister, beaming.
She grabs his wrists, spinning him around in their cavern. Bubbles swirl around them, Medaka’s rich laughter bouncing against the marble walls. Already, Shark can see curious merfolk peeking in through the cave’s opening.
“Wh-what?! No!” he snaps, trying to free himself from Medaka’s grip. “D-don’t make up assumptions like that!”
Medaka grins and pulls her face closer to Shark’s, their noses touching.
“Who is it?” she whispers.
“N-no one!” protests Shark.
“My brother’s in LOVE!” shouts Medaka, her final word turning into a trill.
A few merfolk swooned at the perfect note while others began to focus their attention on Shark. Stiffening at the attention, Shark allows Medaka to pull him to the cave’s entrance. He was always used to adoring stares being focused on his sister while he could simply sink to the back of the crowd and slip away unnoticed. To have this many eyes on him at this moment made him feel as if he were a shrimp in the sights of a particularly hungry eel.
“I…I’m not in love!” protests Shark as he is pulled through the crowd of curious onlookers. “You’re just being ridiculous!”
“He’s been so absentminded! And, he’s been talking in his sleep! Have I mentioned the humming?” gushes Medaka.
“I haven’t been humming!” snaps Shark.
He frees his grip from Medaka and shoves his way through the merfolk, hissing at their giggles.
“Maybe you’re the one that has worms in her brains!” he shouts as he hurriedly swims off.
What Medaka had said was true though, as much as he hates to admit it. He’s been tripping over insignificant things and can’t really find himself to even pretend to listen to her at times. It feels like every waking moment since that stormy night has been filled with memories of Yuma. Fronds of red sea grass bring to mind the prince’s red hair. Tiny shells remind him of the wound that he had inflicted on the prince’s forehead. Even a youthful merman’s laugh had reminded him of Yuma, leaving him to swim away in a hurry after he had been caught staring at the merman.
He swallows a lump in his throat, swimming and swimming until he reaches Dusky’s house. After a few moments of hesitation, he knocks on the stone walls.
“Dusky!” whispers Shark.
As always, silence greets him.
“Dusky!” whisper-shouts Shark.
Catfish’s eye peeks out from a hole in the stones. Shark startles.
“Gah!”
“Shark?” asks Catfish.
“Where’s your brother?” asks Shark.
“Out.”
“Where?”
“Looking for books.”
Shark rolls his eyes.
“Doesn’t he have enough of them?”
Catfish laughs. A sharp finger of hers pokes through a hole, nearly jabbing Shark in the eye.
“He does that whenever he’s sad or mad.”
Their argument from a few suns ago fills Shark’s mind. He glares at Catfish’s fingers.
“You don’t mean…”
Catfish’s eyes narrow, a smile surely on her lips.
“I do. You made him sad.”
Shark crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.
“Just let me in,” he grumbles. “Everyone thinks I’m in love with some merperson.”
Catfish giggles. Had she and Medaka been talking about this?
“He should be coming home soon,” she says, moving to open the door.
“Shark?” calls a familiar voice.
Shark looks around to find Dusky swimming towards him, a stack of tattered tomes tucked under his arm.
“What are you doing here?” asks Dusky.
“I…I think we should talk,” admits Shark.
His friend’s expression sobers. Beckoning him inside, Dusky swims into his home and places his books on top of the nearest stack. Shark stares at the crowded room and sighs. Catfish giggles and swims out.
“I’ll leave you two alone!” she calls.
After a few moments, Shark closes the door. He looks around the room, finding new piles of books. The rock that he had sat on from a few suns ago was now obscured by three different piles of books.
“You’re going to be buried in these things one day…,” he mutters.
Dusky follows Shark’s gaze and shrugs.
“There’s a system,” he replies laconically. “Now, what do you want?”
“I…”
His friend crosses his arms.
Shark pauses, looking around at the small holes in the walls.
“Can we go somewhere private?” he asks, looking around.
Dusky nods and beckons Shark deeper into his home. After a moment of hesitation, Shark follows. The room narrows and sinks into the ground, leading into a cave lit by purple crystals. Shark slowly follows his friend, navigating his way through caverns upon caverns of books. They stop inside a relatively empty cavern. Dusky pushes a large boulder in the entrance, sealing them in darkness. In the darkness, Shark can make out a bed and a shelf filled with a sparse collection of books.
“I’ve never seen your room before, come to think of it,” he muses.
Dusky shrugs.
“Now you have.”
He sits on the bed, a collection of kelp and seaweed blankets. From across the room, he looks at Shark with a solemn expression. Shark’s heart begins to beat faster, his mouth growing dry and his nails digging into his palms. Shark remains where he is, back to the cold boulder, staring at Dusky’s emotionless eyes and unmoving mouth.
“Do you know how to turn a merperson into a human?” asks Shark after a few moments of silence.
Dusky remains unperturbed. He clasps his hands together. His voice is quiet as he speaks, eyes never moving from Shark.
“Perhaps I do. But why?”
“Because…I…”
“Don’t tell me you’re still thinking of that prince.”
Shark swallows the lump in his throat. He forces himself to look at his best friend, who has followed him through adventure after adventure.
“I want to see him again,” breathes Shark. “That's all I can think about these past few suns.”
He had felt alive in Yuma’s presence, a sensation he hasn’t felt in eons. The young man’s hope and boundless laughter felt like a warmth he had never experienced before.
“Think of what you’d be giving up,” says Dusky, rising to meet Shark. “Eternity for the life of a shrimp.”
“I could come back, couldn’t I?” utters Shark.
Dusky’s eyes narrow. He bares a hint of his teeth.
“Not after you have forsaken Poseidon’s gift,” he growls.
It was a possibility Shark had recognized after all the time he had spent thinking about it. Yet to hear it voiced by his friend fills Shark’s stomach with a hefty weight. The cavern is filled with silence as Shark contemplates his choice. There could be no going back now, this dark desire now revealed to his best friend.
“Think about it,” says Dusky, taking on a more desperate tone. “You’ll never be able to swim in the ocean again or speak our people’s language.”
“I have ,” murmurs Shark. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
His friend shakes his head and swims to Shark’s side. He places a hand on Shark’s shoulder. Their eyes meet and they gaze at each other in silence. Dusky softens his expression, letting out a small sigh.
“Just what is so special about this human?” he asks.
“He makes me feel alive,” replies Shark. “I haven’t felt like that in centuries.”
A flicker of hurt passes by Dusky’s expression. He pulls his hand away from Shark’s shoulder. Shark holds his breath. It felt as if time had stopped in this silent and dark cavern.
After a few moments, Dusky lets out a small sigh.
“I’ll give you until the next full moon to make your decision…,” he breathes. “Remember—there won’t be any going back after this. Not only will you have to trade in your eternal life, you’ll also have to give up your voice. Every step in a world that isn’t yours will be like stepping on glass.”
Shark rests his hand on Dusky’s, holding his solemn gaze.
“I’ll think long and hard,” he promises.
Although, deep down, he already knows his answer.
🎵
“You won’t be coming to see the opening?” asks Medaka as she slides a new golden comb into her hair.
She had found it in the prince’s shipwreck, eliciting envious stares from all of the mermaids that she had passed. Shark gazes at his sister’s reflection in the mirror, smiling at her relaxed posture and blemish-free face. All was back to normal now, the memory of the stormy ceremony a distant moon away. He gently shakes his head, his tail languidly flapping back and forth.
“Nah. I’ll be there for your performance though,” he says.
Medaka quirks a smile.
“You better be.”
Shark returns his sister’s grin, albeit halfheartedly.
“I know,” he says.
“Medaka!” calls Swordfish through the opening of the cave.
Medaka meets her friend’s gaze and smiles. She waves her hand and then slides a pearl bracelet around her wrist.
“Coming!”
Swimming past Shark, Shark quickly grabs her wrist. Medaka startles, looking at her brother with widened eyes.
“Tear a fin,” says Shark.
His sister breaks into a radiant smile. She pulls away from Shark, giving his shark tooth necklace a final tug.
“I don’t need it,” she says.
He watches her go with Swordfish, Catfish and Tarwhine, the group laughing and singing songs together. As always, Medaka had the brightest voice. Shark’s fingers trail to his necklace, wondering when would be the next time he could see Medaka again. Looking out at the waters, the world was dyed a bright orange as the sun began to set. After waiting a few more moments, Shark swims off towards Dusky’s home.
As he makes his way through the familiar routes, he drinks in the sights of the anemones, seagrass and corals that he passed. He wonders if the human world had anything as bright or as beautiful. Above him, a school of fish swim past, hundreds of voices filling the waters as the fish chirped, groaned and burbled in their indecipherable language. Distantly, he sees the outline of a great ray languidly flapping across the waters.
Shaking his head, he hurries on.
In the light of the setting sun, the sand on the seabed glimmered like small jewels. Crabs and lobsters scuttled about, paying Shark little attention. It was almost always like that, wasn’t it? He, the ignored sibling compared to Medaka’s radiance. For the first few days after Medaka’s announcement, he had been endlessly pestered by curious merfolk. Even Medaka’s most persistent admirer, Stonefish, had asked who the lucky merperson was. Shark had pushed them all away with his usual bluster, meanwhile trying to swallow the memories of the prince.
For a merperson to fall in love with a human…It would have been funny if it hadn’t been so blasphemous.
He arrives at Dusky’s house far too soon. Slowly, he raises his fist to the stone walls. Looking up at the distant sky, he takes a deep breath.
Knock knock.
Unlike the eternity that it took for Dusky to usually respond, his friend immediately opens the door. With one look at him, Dusky’s shoulders slump.
“So?” he asks.
“I’m ready,” says Shark.
For a moment, his friend’s brows furrow.
“Just a moment,” he says, swimming back into the house.
Shark once again turns to the skies, watching as the sun sets. Soon, he would be in a world where the sun’s rays would be all-encompassing. A strange land with solid earth and only small reserves of water.
“Alright. Let’s go to the rocks near the lagoon,” says Dusky, reappearing with a tattered tome and a dagger.
Warily, Shark eyes the dagger. Its handle is obsidian black, drinking in all of the light around it. The blade itself is curved like the movements of an eel. As Dusky swims, white flakes flutter from the old tome. Its cover is littered with holes and the pages beneath it are bleached white.
“We’ll do it when the moon is at its highest,” says Dusky. “It’s when Poseidon’s realm is drawn closest to Artemis’ emblem and his power is at its weakest.”
“You’ve done this before?” he asks.
Dusky doesn’t look back at him as he replies.
“Here and there. Small spells and whatnot. A love potion a few moons ago.”
Shark thinks back to Swordfish’s shorn locks. He raises a brow.
“Was that why Swordfish…”
“Oh, no, that was to ensure her sword dealt a killing blow to anything that it touched,” replies Dusky nonchalantly.
“Are you kidding me?! Giving a loose piranha a weapon like that?!”
It’s then that he sees the small smile on Dusky’s lips. Shark lets out a sigh of relief.
“So it was the love potion.”
“Mmmhm. Either she hasn’t used it yet or she didn’t fully read the instructions.”
The two exchange a small laugh. Shark briefly looks down at the colorful world that he was leaving. Quietly, he reaches out for Dusky’s free hand. Tightly, Dusky grasps it, pulling his lips into a thin line.
“I’m only doing this for you because you’re my best friend,” breathes Dusky.
“I know,” utters Shark.
Dusky forces a smile, turning his face up towards the sky.
“It’s been nice knowing you, old friend.”
Shark squeezes his friend’s hand.
“Likewise.”
They reach the surface, Shark breathing in the warm, salty air with a mixture of excitement and pain. Dusky leads him towards an outcrop of rocks. Distantly, they could hear the opening ballad to the merfolk’s ceremony. Together they sit on the rocks, waiting for the sun to set and night to fall. Their hands overlap one another’s.
“Will you take me to the shore where I stayed with him?” asks Shark. “After…”
Dusky nods.
“Where?”
“By the shore with the red sun rocks,” he replies. “By the human village.”
“Alright.”
In silence, they look out at the final glimmers of the sun, swallowed into the ocean’s abyss. Behind them, the moon has started to ascend, its silvery light unblemished by any clouds.
“There’s the Ray,” says Dusky, pointing out a cluster of stars.
“I can see bits of the Kraken,” says Shark.
For a brief moment, their heads touch, their breaths syncopating. A lone seagull flies by, letting out a shrill caw. Shark closes his eyes, listening to the distant songs of the full moon ceremony.
“Will you listen to Medaka’s closing performance in my stead?” asks Shark.
“Of course, old friend,” says Dusky.
Shark can imagine the hint of disappointment that would fill his sister’s face once she can’t find him among the crowd. A pang fills his chest. Surely, Medaka would be fine without him. She would have her friends to support her. Those silly, loving friends of hers…More silence fills the air.
Together, Dusky and Shark used to be able to talk for ages about everything and nothing at the same time. He doesn’t remember any of those conversations, truth be told. But this one, with all of its silence and scarcity, where only the most important things are uttered…this will stay in his heart for eternity.
“Do you…want to sing?” he asks Dusky after a few moments.
Dusky looks at Shark with a small smile.
“I’d love to.”
“Which song?” asks Shark.
Dusky motions with his hand.
“Any one you’d like.”
Distantly, he can hear the familiar notes of a battle hymn. Shark rests his head on his elbows.
“What about the one about the red shell?” he asks.
Dusky raises an eyebrow.
“Are you certain? That one is…”
He trails off, a smile filling his face.
“Alright.”
Shark grasps Dusky’s hand. They look up at the canopy of stars soaring over then, blessed by the light of the moon. Once again, their eyes meet and the song wells up in their chest.
I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you
A story that is deep and true
One of the brave warrior Astakos and his beloved bride Zargana
Separated by a dispute of the gods, Astakos vowed his red shell to protect Zargana
For in those times, our people had truly been one with our namesakes
“Do not worry, my sweet, for this shell is only for you to take,” promised Astakos as he set off to war.
Off he went, clashing against the beasts of the land with their sharp fangs and hard hooves
The nights were long, the sun too bright and the waters far too distant
Moons upon moons rose and set, Astakos dancing about the fiery waters
Whilst Zargana, poor maid, had thought herself a widow.
She set off to the distant battlefields, arriving at a field of red shells
She littered the red field with her pink pearls, so endless was her sorrow
“Oh, what good does war do when it only births widows and empty red shells?” lamented the mermaiden.
Above, the raging gods continued to clash in their wars, deaf to her pleas.
Determined to find Astakos’ shell, Zargana swam off into the distant waters of the cold North, a land where no god of hers paid audience to
Once the war subsided, weary Astakos returned to a home without Zargana’s laughter and love
Betrayed by Zargana’s desertion, the warrior withdrew into his shell
How silent the fates were, how unseeing the gods were to the lovers’ plight that to this day Zargana swims alone in the icy waters of the north whilst Astakos slumbers in his red shell
A grin fills Shark’s lips as their melody is carried off by the waves.
“If I’m blaspheming tonight, then I’m going to commit it as much as possible,” he says.
Dusky exchanges a matching grin. Above them, the moon shines full and brought. Shark follows his gaze and lifts his tail from the surface, iridescent scales sending droplets filled with rainbows into the sea.
“It’s time,” murmurs Dusky, clutching the dagger in his hand. “Are you certain?”
Shark gazes into Dusky’s earnest eyes. His chest tightens as he nods.
“I am.”
With a sigh, Dusky slides into the water, positioning the dagger above Shark’s tail. Shark takes a deep breath, staring at the dagger’s dark blade and Dusky’s grim expression.
“Open to the 73rd page,” instructs Dusky. “It’ll be the page with the large inkspill behind it.”
Shark takes the tome into his shaking hands, wondering if it would disintegrate at his touch. Gingerly, he grabs a pile of the delicate pages and flips past them. The ancient mermish swims before his eyes, yet his memories from school slowly bubble up. He immediately knows when he has arrived at the correct page, the ink stain behind it nearly swallowing up the words on this page. Through the ink, he can make out the title Ondine’s Doomed Desire.
Dusky follows Shark’s gaze and nods. Then he looks up at the sky.
“Hurry. We don’t have much time. Read the incantation.”
“Hold on…It’s been a while since I’ve read ancient mermish…” mutters Shark.
He takes a deep breath.
“ L…llm…”
Shark swallows, his throat growing dry.
“Llm oor et ee ays et poris,” he reads after a few moments. “ Pase, aber rye meor sx oo ss mg cae ee ae.”
Beneath the moon I weep. Father, turn away from this sinful plea.
Shark takes a deep breath, forcing himself to continue.
“Py. Oe at. Ec alae eye ee i Se SO Gah Prater. re TS tye.”
May this undeserving blood wash away this body of mine.
With his lips pursed into a thin line, Dusky plunges the dagger in Shark’s tail and pulls it down. Shark lets out a scream, a hand shooting out to grasp Dusky’s hair. Pearls beads in his eyes as he continues to read the spell. Dusky grits his teeth in effort as he pulls the blade down, slowly splitting Shark’s tail in half.
“Fo - aa Cw ea BOER aie aa. Sean ro wT SEP te Te o ora Mise nS ge…! Vo wane wre Tag ek ate rasa a Se oe ROBE ee, Cte all!” screams Shark.
Fins to skin. Tail to feet. Flippers to hands. Scales to hairs. Pearls to water.
Shark can feel pearls tumbling down his cheek as the webbing recedes from his hands. He digs his nails into the pages of the worn tome. His blood is bright red as it pools into the ocean. Dusky’s hands are completely covered in blood as well. Yet he remains determined, his grip on the blade unwavering.
“Give me that!” shouts Dusky as he reaches out for the book. “Now, together!”
Awkwardly, the two run their eyes over the last few sentences.
“ A Mees soy ey ky Me pe ER elt A rn Soe ea Seg ee a, a cre or RTS. i, a EN RRR LS Ne ee, ORS ZONES, BO RPS SEY og CE ER ge Td SRST !” they cry together, Dusky’s blade exiting Shark’s tail.
Upon the final word being uttered, Shark can feel his throat seizing up. His hands fly to his throat as he lets out a choked scream. Only a small mewl escapes from his throat, soon turning into a sharp exhale. Then, silence. He looks down at his split tail, its color lightening and the halves stiffening. Fear fills Shark’s chest as Dusky takes him into his arms, hurriedly swimming towards the red sunning stones.
As the songs from the full moon gathering fades away, Shark’s human heart begins to beat louder in his chest. He clutches Dusky’s shoulder, flecks of ocean water touching his grayish toes. Carefully, Dusky places Shark onto the shore. Beneath the moonlight, Shark looks at his pale skin. Now, his toes are a rosy pink, flecked by small nails. He looks at them in wonderment, pulling them to his hands. When he opens his clenched fist, a handful of blue pearls tumble out.
Looking up at Dusky, he smiles.
Thank you, he mouths.
Dusky rests his forehead against Shark’s.
“I hope you’ll find happiness,” he says, his voice wavering at the end.
Shark clutches Dusky’s face in his hands, marveling at the warmth his fingers radiated. He presses their foreheads closer. Dusky pulls Shark into a tight embrace. His friend’s voice is a bare whisper, almost carried away by the wind.
“Every step will feel like stepping on shards of glass. You will have no voice. And…,” Dusky’s voice trails off, something hard bouncing off of Shark’s shoulder. “By sunrise, if your feet touch ocean water again, you’ll turn into seafoam.”
Shark’s shoulder slackens at the final warning. A chill runs down his spine. He closes his eyes, knowing that this would be a final farewell. Dusky pulls him closer once more. Something hard tumbles to the sand.
“May the waves be with you,” he utters.
Voiceless, Shark can only raise his hand and watch as his dearest friend swims away. Giving Shark one last look, Dusky waves, his eyes filled with pearls. Before they can fall from his eyes, he dives deep into the ocean, praying that the pearls would be carried towards the shore.
🎵
“Woah! Are you okay?!” shouts a distant voice.
Shark jumps awake, turning towards the voice. A green-haired girl runs towards him, clutching her skirts in her hands. Behind her, an elderly woman calls for her in an exasperated voice.
“Kotori! Don’t just approach ruffians on the beach like that! For decency’s sake, he’s unclothed!”
Shark stares at the approaching girl. She turns back to the woman and sticks her tongue out.
“You act as if I’ve never seen a naked man before! Yuma and I practically grew up bathing together!”
At the mention of Yuma, Shark sits up straighter. He tries to recall the name of the familiar girl. It was something that began with ‘Ko,’ like coconuts.
“Are you okay?” asks “Koconut.”
They hold each other’s gaze for a few moments. Then, “Koconut’s” eyes widen and her hands fly to her mouth as recognition fills her face. Quickly, she peels off her dark blue coat and wraps it around Shark’s shoulders.
“You must be freezing! Have you been like this the entire night?” asks “Koconut,” her voice now a high-pitched whisper.
Slowly, Shark nods.
“I can bring you inside and the servants can help you get dressed. Are you looking for Yuma?”
Another nod.
“Koconut” beams and takes Shark’s hand. The warmth sends a prickle down Shark’s spine. He frowns as he slowly stands up. When he takes a step forward, pain shoots up his legs. He collapses back into the sand, where he lands on a clutch of pearls. Surreptitiously, he gathers them into his fist.
“Are you okay?!” asks “Koconut.”
“Kotori!” calls Grandmother Yone. “You can’t take him home! What would your mother and father say?”
“Just look at him! He’s hurt!” protests “Koconut.”
Shark quickly shakes his head and forces himself to stand again, the pain once more stabbing his legs. He bites his lip and forces a smile at “Koconut.” Motioning towards the stairs from where “Koconut” and her grandmother came, he begins to walk towards the stairs.
“He’s walking just fine! Don’t you think he’s planning something?” asks Grandmother Yone as “Koconut” walks Shark across the beach.
“We’ve met before! Kind of,” says “Koconut” with a nervous smile.
She exchanges a nervous smile with Shark.
“I’m Kotori, by the way. What’s your name?”
Oh. Kotori. Right. Shark looks down at the sand and then the ocean. Awkwardly, he places a hand on his throat and then shakes his head. His companion frowns, putting her free hand on her chin.
“Do you know how to write?”
Shark shakes his head.
“I’ll teach you!” pipes up Kotori excitedly. “You know, on Sundays, I help out at the school in the village! I teach little children who can’t afford to pay for classes how to read! It’ll be super fun!”
How easily the words flowed from the girl’s mouth. How easily she could tell her stories and infuse it with her joyous emotions. Shark had taken this ability for granted, communicating with grunts and muttering when he couldn’t be fully bothered to communicate. Now, even grunting has been taken away from him. A pang fills his chest.
“How did you even make it here? I’m glad I found you, though! I always go to the beach in the mornings. It does wonders for my skin!” continues Kotori. “Was the journey dangerous? Did you use magic? You know magic, right?!”
Shark frowns at her and motions to his throat. Kotori gasps and places her hand on her mouth.
“Right! Sorry.”
They approach the stone steps leading up to a large mansion. Kotori slowly walks up the steps, her grip firm on Shark’s. He looks at the young woman whose cheeks were flushed with red and whose eyes were sparkling with life.
“You chose the right time to come. Yuma’s visiting today,” says Kotori. “He does that in his free time.”
At the mention of the young prince’s name, a strange heat fills Shark’s cheeks. He looks down at the stone steps, slowly ascending them. Pain continues to fill every step he takes. But, if his legs could bring him to his prince, then everything would be worth it. Beside him, Kotori chuckles.
“Before I forget, thank you. For saving his life,” she breathes. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Warmth—a different kind than the one he felt around Yuma—fills Shark’s chest. It felt familiar, almost. As if he were with Medaka or Dusky. Maybe things on land weren’t so different after all.
🎵
“Hey, Kotori!” calls Yuma’s voice from the window.
Shark perks up and watches as Kotori runs to the window. She opens it and waves to her friend.
“Come on in!” she shouts. “I have a guest who wants to see you!”
She turns back to Shark with a grin, hooking her arm around his. Together, they descend the winding staircase. Kotori’s parents had welcomed Shark with raised brows. However, with enough explanation (they had found Yuma’s body together and then agreed to become pen pals), her parents relented and allowed Shark to stay in their home. From the way her parents sighed, Shark knew that they were used to appeasing their daughter.
When the butler opens the door to the young prince, Shark’s heart stops. He stiffens as Kotori runs up to Yuma and pulls her friend towards him. Yuma greets Shark with a boyish grin.
“Hey there! What’s your name?” he asks.
Shark opens his mouth, only for nothing to come out. Dismay fills his features. Now how would Yuma recognize him? In the darkness, he had only heard Shark’s voice.
“I’m sorry. He’s mute. But, he came a long way to see you,” explains Kotori.
Shark can only nod, each breath more painful than the last. He grasps Yuma’s outstretched hand, begging, begging for him to recognize the feel of his fingers in his. Yuma’s expression remains unchanging, the bright yet empty smile still on his face.
“I see!” says Yuma. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”
We’ve already met. Shark’s smile wavers. He lets go of Yuma’s hand and then points to the sea. Through the glass, it feels so distant and small, framed between trees and rocks. Then he points back to himself and mimes out a swimming motion with his hands. Confusion fills Yuma’s expression.
“Oh, wow. That’s a long way, isn’t it? You swam across the sea just for me?”
Shark vigorously nods. He swam, he bled and cried for him. From his pocket, he fishes out one of the pearls he had kept from the shore. He mimes it falling from his eyes and then presents it to Yuma.
Yuma stares at the bluish gray pearl with an open mouth.
“Oh, no…I possibly can’t. My family has a ton of…”
Kotori elbows Yuma, eliciting a squawk of pain from the prince.
“That’s a mermaid tear, isn’t it? Don’t you know how precious that is?!”
She briefly glances up at Shark, her brows furrowed.
“Are you sure?” she asks him.
Shark replies with a fervent nod. He had more where that came from.
Awkwardly, Yuma takes the pearl and holds it up to the sunlight. Then he sticks it in his mouth, much to Shark and Kotori’s dismay.
“Oh, thanks,” he says, spitting out the pearl after Kotori kicks his foot.
“They’re not edible!” she snaps.
“I know! I was just testing to see if it was real!”
“You do that with gold, not with pearls!”
Shark smiles. With a grin, Kotori leads the both of them to the couch. Yuma pockets the pearl and plops himself onto the soft cushions. Placing his arms behind his head, he turns to Shark with an inquisitive look.
“What makes a foreigner like you interested in meeting me? I know I’m a prince, but you have your own princes, right?”
No. Beneath the sea, all merfolk were seen as equal. True, there were some that were more popular than others, but they were seen more as idols than true leaders. Shark stares at his feet, placing a hand on his chin, imitating Kotori. He shakes his head.
“A land without a prince, huh…?” muses Yuma. “You have a king or a queen?”
Another headshake.
Yuma’s brows jump up.
“You must be from Venusia! Is it true that everyone there has a voice in how the government functions?!”
Kotori stifles a smile at Shark’s bewildered expression. Yes, every merperson had a voice beneath the sea, but regarding the sea creatures…Long before Shark’s hatching, his people had been able to communicate with the fish. Only when a mermaid, full of hubris and pride, had challenged the Sea-Mother Aphritite to a singing contest had they lost their connection to the sea creatures. When he was young, he had attempted to speak to the fish. They merely stared at him in wide-eyed confusion, just like how he looked now when Yuma asked him about Venusia.
Once, again, he shakes his head, heat filling his cheeks. He wishes he knew how to make the prince understand. His nails dig into the unfamiliar “pants” that he wears. It had seemed so easy in his fantasies. Once he made it on shore, Yuma would take him to his palace and together, they would travel the lands above. Shark would always feel warm and alive, the sun always shining on his skin.
“Well then…where are you from?” asks Yuma.
Shark points to a picture of the ocean hanging above the fireplace. Yuma follows his stare.
“A lighthouse?” he muses.
Another headshake. Shark emphasizes his pointing, focusing on the blue tones of the ocean.
“The sky?”
Shark gives Kotori an exasperated stare. The young woman gives him a helpless shrug. Sighing, Shark points out the window towards the sea. Then, he makes a motion of waves with his hands. Yuma laughs.
“You can’t be from the ocean! Humans can’t breathe in water! You’re so funny!”
Without warning, Shark jabs his finger onto the fading wound on Yuma’s head and then points to himself, miming a throwing motion.
“Ah…!” exclaims Yuma, pulling away from Shark’s touch.
Shark immediately stops, a pit forming in his stomach. Kotori gasps.
It was me who did that, can’t you see? thinks Shark desperately, holding Yuma’s wounded gaze. Slowly, he points to himself again and then motions throwing.
“Oh, yeah. That happened on my birthday. You guessed right. Someone threw something at me,” mumbles Yuma.
Were all humans this oblivious? Shark bites his lip in frustration and balls his hands into fists. He motions to Kotori to grab something for him to draw on. Nodding, Kotori hurries off. In the silence that follows, Shark moves closer to Yuma. In response, Yuma slightly pulls away. A pang fills Shark’s chest. Hesitantly, he reaches out towards Yuma’s forehead. Slowly, Yuma meets his hand. His skin is warm and soft, nothing like the rough scales of the merfolk.
Shark lowers his head, cheeks burning with shame.
“ Sorry, ” he mouths.
“It’s okay. It wasn’t you who did it,” murmurs Yuma.
With a sigh, Shark shakes his head and then points to himself. Yuma grins and pulls away from Shark.
“You’re funny, whatever your name is.”
He doesn’t even know his name. Shark looks down at his feet, inches away from the floor. Now what?
“Here you are,” says Kotori placing a piece of paper and charcoal before Shark.
Nodding, Shark takes the charcoal and begins to draw himself beneath the sea with a tail. Above, he draws a ship with Yuma and the approaching storm. Perhaps it was foolish, revealing to a human that he had once been a merman, but there was no turning back after his decision.
“Oh, wow…,” begins Yuma. “How did you know?”
Scoffing, Shark circles himself, the charcoal snapping in half in his frustration. Yuma purses his lips.
“No, it can’t be,” he says, forcing a chuckle. “Merfolk aren’t real.”
Glaring at Yuma, Shark tosses half off the charcoal at Yuma’s forehead.
“Hey!” shouts Kotori.
“Ow! Why did you have to do it right…”
Yuma pauses, watching Shark’s sketch on the other side of the paper. On a sandy shore was the bedraggled prince. Beside him was Shark. Above them was a dark and cloudy sky. Yuma’s hand slowly falls from his forehead.
“No, the person who saved me could talk,” mumbles Yuma, turning away from Shark. “You can’t be him.”
“Yuma!” whisper-shouts Kotori.
In the remaining space of the paper, Shark draws himself with a dagger, slicing his tail in half to form legs. He had already broken the rule of revealing himself to a human. He shouldn’t drag in Dusky as well. Pointing to the image, he then points to his throat and motions it flying away. He stares at Yuma, pleading for him to understand. How else could he have known of these events, unless Yuma had told everyone he knew?
An awkward smile fills Yuma’s lips.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “All I knew about him was his voice. If you can’t speak, then…well, it’s a bit of a serious topic, finding the man that saved a prince’s life. I have to be really certain.”
Dismay fills Shark’s chest, deeper than the trenches of The Sea Mother’s Grief. He watches as Yuma turns to the clock and then stands.
“That’s about all the time I have for today. I have a lot of meetings to attend and Akari’ll bite my head off if I come to them late. I’ll see you later!” says Yuma.
“Oh! Bye!” says Kotori.
She reaches into her pocket and presents Yuma with something wrapped in a handkerchief. Immediately, Yuma’s face lights up, similar to the time he was on the ship. Shark’s heart twists with envy as Kotori beams in return.
“I was about to ask if you had any treats waiting for me!” he says. “Tell Chef I said thanks!”
Before Shark could beg for him to wait, Yuma runs off. Shark watches him in silence, his skin cold just like when he was beneath the waves.
🎵
“S-H-A-R-K,” spells out Kotori. “Shark. That’s your name?” she asks.
Shark nods, admiring his handiwork. The quill pen had taken ages to grow accustomed to. It was nothing like the flexible squid ink quills. Kotori smiles and then puts a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re a fast learner, Shark.”
Shark scoffs. He’d been alive for centuries. Of course he was a fast learner. Even if the feather quill had taken a while to grow used to.
“Lady Kotori! His royal majesty is here!” calls Grandmother Yone.
Kotori perks up along with Shark. Despite their awkward initial meeting, the memories on the shore continued to fill his mind. Together, they run down the stairs, the pain erased with the thought of seeing Yuma again.
“Yuma!” calls Kotori as she enters the receiving room.
Yuma stands upon seeing her, crumbs lining the tray of treats he was busily eating from.
“Hey!” he says, his mouth stuffed with cookies.
When he sees Shark, his smile slightly fades. Shark’s heart skips a beat.
“I was thinking we could go for a carriage ride today! It’s lovely weather,” says Yuma.
“Yes! I think Shark would like it too!” says Kotori, pulling Shark close.
Color fills Shark’s cheeks as Yuma’s attention turns to him, his eyebrows quirked.
“Shark…?” muses Yuma.
“Yeah! I’ve been teaching him how to read and write and today, he wrote his name!”
“Shark, like the fish?”
Not a fish, but, close enough. Shark nods.
“That’s a really cool name!” says Yuma. “You know, I went across the desert and met a scholar named Leo! That means lion in his language!”
Shark nods, unsure exactly what a lion was. For the umpteenth time, he wishes Dusky was by his side. Surely, Dusky would know all of these strange terms. Meanwhile, he had just familiarized himself with what was a fork, plate, spoon and napkin. Now he had to learn about what a ‘lion’ was?
“Let’s go to the market. I’ve been craving some of Miss Okudaira’s caramel apples!” says Yuma.
Kotori nods in agreement. She turns to Shark.
“You do want to go, right? I don’t want you to go somewhere you don’t…”
Quickly, Shark nods. He dashes over to the door and begins putting on his boots. Kotori laughs and hurries over.
“Alright! All three of us, embarking on an adventure!”
Slipping on her shoes, Kotori opens the door.
“Grannie, I’m going!” she calls.
“She’ll be in good hands!” yells Yuma afterwards.
Hooking arms, the two exchange smiles and walk out the door. For a moment, Shark is transfixed, caught in between their youthful smiles. A brief flicker of pain fills his chest. He walks out the door and closes the door behind him. Ahead of him, Kotori whispers something in Yuma’s ear and he laughs. The pain intensifies. Once, he also had someone to whisper in his ear. Medaka and Dusky’s faces fill his mind, their faces slowly losing their sharpness by the week.
Over Kotori and Yuma’s laughter, Shark wonders when he’ll be unable to recall their faces.
He sits at the end of the carriage, hands folded in his lap. Yuma sits in between, the reins of the horses in his hands. Shark eyes the large creatures with wariness, the strange devices on their eyes serving no apparent purpose. With a flick of his wrist, the horses jump to life. Shark startles, his hand falling on Yuma’s lap. The young prince briefly stares down at Shark’s hand.
“Did you have horses from where you came from?” he asks.
Shark shakes his head.
“No horses?!” exclaims Yuma. “How did you get around?”
Shark creates a swimming motion with his hands.
“You crawled?” asks Yuma incredulously.
His eyes nearly pop out of his head. Shark stifles a derisive snort. For a prince, he sure was thick. Maybe the seashell Shark tossed at him did some damage. Humans were very delicate, after all. If so, Shark was wholly responsible for the prince’s sand-filled head and was determined to take care of him his entire life.
Shark shakes his head and waves his hand. Nevermind. Yuma frowns.
“You should take me to your country sometime. It sounds like you could use some improvements,” notes Yuma.
The derisive snort escapes from Shark. As if these short-lived humans could teach his people something. With a shrug, Yuma flicks the reins of the horses and lets out a cry. Shark jumps as the large animals leap into motion. He wraps his hands around Yuma, blushing as Yuma looked down at him in confusion. Immediately, Shark pulls away, his skin hotter than a deep sea vent.
Fins are a perfectly good way to travel.
The land before them is an array of colors, similar to that of a coral reef. A cold breeze stirs through the air, swirling orange and yellow leaves around. Unlike the verdant trees of summer, these trees are in shades of sunset. Medaka would have loved this. Yuma whistles a gaily tune, Kotori joining in with her singing. Shark looks at the couple in envy, his hand clutched around his throat. If Dusky had read more books, would there have been a way for him to keep his voice and have legs at the same time? It would have solved so many problems…
He pictures him and Yuma singing together, the full moon shining down on them. If he could still talk, he would have taught Yuma all the mermish hymns he knew. Maybe they would like the same songs.
The clouds pass by them like flocks of sheep, white and fluffy. Shark raises his nose to the air and smells the familiar earthy smell of rain in the distance.
Trees soon begin to thin out, giving way to small human settlements. Atop of Kotori and Yuma’s laughter, the sounds of other humans fill the air. Laughter, whinnying, shouting…It’s almost like a concert. Shark perks up, looking at the colorful stalls and vast array of people. At the top of the village is a large structure with high towers and white marble walls.
Perhaps the humans weren’t as depraved or barbaric as his people had thought.
“Woah!” calls Yuma, pulling on his horses’ reins. He turns to Shark and gives him a smile. “We’re here! What do you think?”
Following Shark’s wide-eyed gaze towards the castle, Yuma’s smile turns into a grin.
“Yup! That’s where I live! Isn’t it gorgeous? My great, great grandfather built it with his bare hands! But let’s go! Mrs. Okudaira’s caramel apples never last long!”
He hops off the carriage, helping Shark and Kotori down. Linking arms, the three begin to walk into the village square.
“Your majesty! Lady Kotori!” call passerby, bowing to the prince.
Yuma greets his subjects with his lively smile, waving at children and merchants. Kotori accepts the greetings with a slight bow of her head.
“And who’s the purple-haired lad?” calls a man.
“This is our friend, Shark!” replies Kotori.
Shark turns towards the sound of the voice and waves to the man. The elderly man looks at him and puts a hand on his chin.
“Looks a bit thin! Have you been treating him well?”
Kotori laughs, her laughter akin to the ringing of bells.
“Of course! He came a long way to meet me!”
Tightening her grasp around Yuma’s arm, Kotori drags him and Shark towards a stall laden with treats. The vast array of color dazzles Shark’s eyes. A woman whose hair was tied back by a cloth greets the three with a smile.
“I knew you’d be here! I saved some apples just for you,” she says, handing Kotori a basket of caramel apples.
“Thank you!” says Kotori, handing Mrs. Okudaira a pouch of coins.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly…!” laughs the woman, turning her gaze to Yuma. “You’ve already done so much for my son.”
Yuma blushes and scratches the back of his head.
“Aw, it was just a little letter of recommendation…,” he chuckles.
“Nonsense. It meant the world to Fuuya to be able to study in Venusia,” she says, her gaze turning to Shark. “Have you made yourself a new friend?”
The prince turns to Shark and gives him a lopsided grin. Enraptured by the colorful treats, Shark startles upon hearing Yuma’s voice.
“Any friend of Kotori’s is mine,” he replies.
A hint of color fills Shark’s cheeks. He gazes at the shopkeep, wishing he could ask her what all of her strange wares were.
“What’s your name?” asks Mrs. Okudaira.
Once again, a pang fills Shark’s chest. How he had taken his voice for granted…Now he can’t even tell anyone his name.
“His name’s Shark. He’s a mute,” explains Kotori.
The woman’s eyes widen.
“Oh, my apologies…”
Shark points to a colorful array of seashells, gazing at their light colors with curiosity.
“This?” asks Mrs. Okudaira to Shark’s nod. She smiles. “These are my powdered seashells. Would you like to try one?”
Shark nods. As the soft shell is placed into his hand, he’s surprised to find that it’s made of a sand-like texture. Slowly, he places it in his hair to peals of laughter.
“You’re supposed to eat it, silly!” says Yuma.
“He’s from overseas. He’s still getting used to a few things,” explains Kotori to a giggling Mrs. Okudaira.
With his face aflame, Shark removes the shell and places it into his mouth. The cold, chalky texture makes him wince. It was like eating a mouthful of sand! What were these humans putting in their bodies?!
“Oh, dear…not to your liking?” asks Mrs. Okudaira.
Shark vehemently shakes his head. The shopkeep chuckles.
“It’s a bit of an acquired taste, I know…”
She takes a small pearl from a bowl and offers it to Shark.
“Here’s something that always sells. It’s a candied cherry.”
The red pearl glistens in the bright sunlight. Hesitantly, Shark reaches out for it. He looks to Kotori and Yuma. Both of them motion to their mouths. Placing it on his tongue, he’s surprised to find it sweet and pliant. Slowly, he chews.
“Better?” asks Mrs. Okudaira.
Shark nods.
“That’s good to hear,” she says, turning to Kotori. “Where is your friend from?”
“He’s the son of Drahalenese sailors,” says Kotori. “He’s been on water more than land!”
“My, how interesting!”
Shark’s attention wanders off as Kotori and Yuma begin to talk about people and things he doesn’t know. He’s drawn to the distant sound of human music, with its high pitched tones and looping melodies. Unlinking his arm from Yuma, he wanders through the market square until he finds the source. A bevy of maidens and young men have gathered to dance, their heads bedecked by autumnal wreaths. By the wall, a small band plays, their instruments unfamiliar to Shark. He gazes down at the long bow and strings of one instrument. Then he turns to see a stick with holes drilled into it, emitting high pitched squeaks. Slowly, he feels himself drawn closer and closer to the dancers and the band.
Although the music was unfamiliar, everything else reminded him of the merfolks’ celebrations. Medaka, like the maidens here, would dress herself in finery. Then she would arrive to the celebration, immediately surrounded by hopeful partners. Shark and Dusky would remain in the back, watching as their friends and neighbors danced. Celebrations would last for hours, filled with singing and dancing. Often, Shark and Dusky would sneak out once everyone had their fill of kelp wine. As the merfolk celebrated, the two friends would go to the surface to stargaze.
In the cool night air, they would talk about their dreams and softly sing together. Sometimes, they would just hold hands and gaze into the vast expanse of the heavens.
“Shark!” calls Yuma, jolting Shark from his memories. “There you are!”
Shark turns to see Yuma, his mouth stuffed with caramel apple. He holds one out to Shark.
“There’s one for you too!”
Slowly, Shark takes the apple from Yuma. He looks up at Yuma’s hopeful eyes. Hesitantly, he takes a bite, surprised at the stickiness. The sweetness of the sugar and the tartness of the apple makes him stare into the distance. Then he swallows and takes another bite. It was almost like biting into a glazed pufferfish.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” exclaims Yuma.
Shark nods despite not being sure what to make of it. Yuma’s gaze moves past him and towards the dancers.
“Have you danced before?” he asks abruptly.
Shark swallows a particularly large chunk of apple and then shakes his head. Yuma’s mouth opens into a small “o.”
“I can teach you! Right! You’re invited to the ball next week! I almost forgot!”
Ball? Kotori never told him about that. Shark takes another large bite of the apple, the sweetness now overpowering the apple.
“After you finish the apple, we can dance!”
Already, a curious crowd is gathering around them. Shark can feel his skin begin to heat up at all the attention he was receiving. He opens his mouth wide and tears the apple off of its stick. Yuma claps his hands in delight, eyes filled with admiration.
“That’s so cool! You should teach me how to do that! I can only fit a few pancakes in my mouth but it looks like you can fit in a whole dish!” gushes Yuma.
Maybe he was just a particularly dumb human, thinks Shark as he tosses the stick aside. Immediately, Yuma grabs his hands and pulls him into the crowd. The warmth of his skin never fails to surprise Shark.
“See, here’s how we dance in my kingdom…,” begins Yuma. “No matter what ball you’re going to, there will always be the Utopos Quadrille.”
With smiles on their faces, the dancers around them begin to get into position. The array of color, smells and steps meld into one, increasing Shark’s heart rate and the heat on his cheeks. Yuma’s hold is firm as he teaches Shark to dance, his instructions delivered with enthusiasm. It’s similar to our circles, thinks Shark as the music starts up. I haven’t been in a circle for moons.
His steps are stumbling at first, the strange music out of sync with his steps. Yuma corrects him with a gentle smile. Heat flares up in Shark’s chest as he steps on Yuma’s shoe.
“It’s alright,” says Yuma. “I did that all the time with my poor sister.”
He punctuates his statement with a grin.
“Now I know how it feels.”
The heat in Shark’s chest intensifies. He looks down at his feet for the next few moments, begging this strange body of his to obey. With each step he takes, pain shoots up his legs. Despite this, he forces himself to continue on, his fingers laced through Yuma’s like seaweed. He can’t bring himself to let go, not when he feels this alive.
“Wow, you’re a fast learner!” exclaims Yuma.
Now that Shark thinks of it, the quadrille was a circle but with legs. He turns, gazing at Yuma’s radiant expression. The other dancers part ways, leaving them in the circle.
“It’s our turn to be in the center! Let’s go!”
One step. Two step. Three step. Four. For a moment, Shark feels as if he’s floating in water again, light and airy. He ignores everyone’s curious eyes on him, focused only on his prince. They’re in sync, step for step, twirl for twirl. A hint of sweat has beaded Yuma’s brow. His vibrant smile remains as he and Shark dance. Briefly, it feels as if time has stopped and Shark’s legs are no longer in pain. Then they twirl back into the crowd, allowing another couple into the circle.
A droplet falls at Shark’s feet, darkening the ground at his feet. Shark looks down and then looks up. Another droplet splashes on his nose.
“It’s just a sprinkle,” reassures Yuma. “I’ve seen a lot more rain sailing.”
Shark nods in agreement. They watch as the couples take their turns in the center, the rain increasing its intensity. Slowly, the square empties, yet the two remain with the musicians shielded by an overhand. Yuma looks down at Shark, a shyer smile on his lips.
“Before we go back, can I teach you my favorite dance?”
Of course. Anything to keep this feeling alive, thinks Shark as he nods. He hasn’t felt this…warm…since…he can’t even remember. Grasping Yuma’s hands, they turn towards the musicians. Yuma exchanges a wink with them.
“This one is simple. It’s called ‘the sea.’”
Indeed, the steps are simple. Two steps forward, one backward. Swaying in each other’s arms like ocean waves. They twirl and part, like two ships in a storm. Despite the pouring rain, it feels as if Shark’s pain has been replaced by a warmth he can’t describe. After a few practiced steps, the music swells and Yuma’s grip around Shark tightens. Once again, it feels as if Shark is floating in the water again, surrounded by the comforts of home.
Yuma pulls him closer, his head resting on Shark’s shoulder.
“I showed my grandmother your pearl,” murmurs Yuma. “She says it’s a real mermaid tear. How did you get that?”
Shark stiffens. Then he looks at Yuma. For once, the prince’s expression is serious. Shark’s heart skips a beat. He takes a deep breath and raises his index finger to the bottom of his eye and pulls it down, miming a tear. Yuma hardens his jaw, brows furrowing.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a few moments. “For not believing you at first.”
Shark’s world stops. He holds Yuma’s gaze. In response, Yuma squeezes his hand.
“It really was you, wasn’t it? It was too dark to see the color of your hair or your eyes, but…”
A smile fills Shark’s lips. Yuma avoids his hopeful gaze.
“It must have hurt, coming to shore.”
Shark vigorously nods, the pain returning to his legs as if on cue. But it’s alright now, because you’re here. If only he could speak…if only he could tell Yuma how amazing it felt to be by his side and finally feel alive…
“Sorry for causing you all that trouble,” continues Yuma.
Shark shakes his head. He mouths out a ‘ thank you.’ Yuma looks at him in confusion.
“What for?” he asks.
Looking down at his hands and then his surroundings, Shark then decides to motion at the village square. He opens his arms wide and then turns around, the smile remaining on his lips. Yuma chuckles.
“Then I guess you’re welcome. Do you think you could take me down to the sea sometime?”
Shark pauses, remembering Dusky’s warning. With furrowed brows and a frown, he shakes his head. Then he mimes opening up a book and then shrugs.
“Not much of a scholar, huh?” says Yuma.
Reluctantly, Shark nods. He’s surprised to find Yuma’s hand on his shoulder afterwards, a grin on his face.
“Me neither.”
“Yuma! Shark!” calls Kotori. “Goodness, you’re both drenched!”
Neither of them seem bothered by the rain. As if in response, a raindrop drips from the feather in Yuma’s hat. Quickly, Shark grabs the hat and puts it over his head. Yuma turns to him and laughs.
“It suits you!”
In spite of himself, Shark lets out a silent laugh. He never thought that red could be his color.
🎵
“That looks gorgeous on you!” exclaims Kotori.
Shark smiles, looking down at his purple coat and the gossamer scarf he wore. It was almost as if he had his scales again. He twirls, earning a giggle from Kotori. She grabs his arm and pulls him downstairs. Grandmother Yone looks at the two with a smile, clasping her granddaughter’s hands in hers.
“Make us proud,” she says.
Kotori kisses her grandmother’s head and moves onto her parents. They pull her into an embrace. Shark looks at the scene, still unaccustomed to the concept. When he and Medaka were born, they had taken care of each other. Older merfolk had taught them how to hunt and speak their people’s language, but they never had anyone to hold them like that. It stirs…something within him, seeing Kotori with her parents.
Shark makes his way outside towards the family carriage. Along the way, Kotori gaily talks to her parents about her and Shark’s day. It seems like her parents have also accepted Shark into the household, although it’s mostly because they don’t know what else to do with him. Kotori’s father was usually cooped up in his study or out surveying his shops. Kotori’s mother was often away at parties. Maybe they saw Shark as Kotori’s guardian, similar to how he saw himself with Medaka.
Closing the carriage door behind him, Shark looks out at the sea. There was a full moon tonight. Somewhere, his sister must have been singing. He can almost imagine her voice, so haunting and clear in the chilly air. For once, he wishes he could hear her again.
The carriage lurches into motion. Shark keeps his eyes focused on his home until it melds with the shadows of the night. Above him, the constellations shine brightly. Yet to Shark, Yuma’s smile shines brighter than all of the stars in the sky.
“Uhm, Shark?” asks Kotori.
Shark looks up at her. In her gown of emerald green, Kotori’s amber eyes shimmer underneath the lamp. No wonder she could always make Yuma laugh. Rubies adorn her throat and a feather playfully waves in her hair. She is so young and inexperienced, yet so much of her reminds Shark of the mermaids beneath the sea.
“I look okay, right?” she asks.
Shark nods. Kotori breathes a sigh of relief.
“I just don’t want to embarrass Yuma…,” she mumbles.
“Nonsense, darling!” says her mother.
“My goodness, you’re the jewel of the village! How could you think of such a thing?” exclaims her father, a heavyset man.
Her parents voiced Shark’s thoughts exactly. No one could be kinder or more generous than Kotori. She had taught him to read with infinite patience. Her touch was gentle as she held his hand and helped him trace letters in the human language. In the village, she always made sure to greet everyone she knew and paid the merchants a fair price.
It’s as if she was Shark’s opposite. Beneath the sea, he was moody and kept to himself. Medaka had always done the talking for him.
Come to think of it, Medaka would have loved Kotori.
The carriage’s wheels clatter on cobblestone paths, drowning out the Mizukis’ conversations. Shark looks out the window at the well-lit homes and burbling fountains. From the sea, they had seemed so small and desolate. Now he knows better. Like beneath the sea, there was a vibrant community of people who wanted to make the best of their lives. He tries to peer into the houses, wondering who resided in them. Was there also a family like the Mizukis’ in there? Were there only two siblings who took care of each other? A pang fills his chest. He misses the cave that he and Medaka resided in, its nooks and crannies filled with their secrets.
It had been his place to hide away from the world, where he felt safe and comforted. After a long day, he would always be able to return to that place and sleep in his own bed. Now he realizes that it was a luxury to have one’s own space.
He looks ahead. On top of the hill is the palace, Yuma waiting within.
🎵
“Presenting Countess Hương from the land of the Decandra Monarch!” announces the crier.
Before the Mizukis, a young woman with a retinue of attendants descends the stairs. Her dark hair is gathered into a tall bun, a circlet lined in fabric adorning her head. Even inside, she is shielded by a red umbrella with tassels. Layers upon layers of brocade sparkles beneath the chandeliers. Her steps are soundless, elegant silk slippers peeking from underneath her robes.
Another woman dressed in lavish robes greets her with a bow. Together, they disappear into the crowd, their elegant clothes adding to the wide array of fashions within the room.
“Her country’s monarch came from a little yellow fruit,” whispers Kotori.
Shark raises a brow, trying to search for the mysterious woman in the crowd. His search is interrupted by Yuma, rising from his throne.
“Presenting the Great Merchant Jun Mizuki, his wife, Lady Suzume Mizuki and their daughter, Lady Kotori Mizuki!” announces the crier.
Kotori gathers up her skirts and whispers in the crier’s ears. The crier turns to Shark.
“Apologies, milady,” he says, clearing his throat. “And, last but not least, her friend, Shark!”
Kotori glides into the ballroom, immediately surrounded by her friends. She greets each person with a smile, laughing at their jokes and offering her own witty remarks. As if he was undersea again, Shark finds himself drawn to the walls, a glass of champagne in his hand. Once again, he wishes for Dusky to be by his side. How he would love pointing out each country the guests were from. His eyes would sparkle at the women’s elaborate hairstyles and the men’s mustaches.
“Hey!” whispers a voice from below. “Shark!”
Shark looks down at the table to find Yuma’s face peeking from underneath. He nearly drops his champagne in surprise. Yuma chuckles and holds a finger to his lips.
“Shh…! My sister wants me to dance with Viscountess Sei but she’s got bad breath and talks too loud!” whispers Yuma.
Shark drains his champagne and then dives underneath the table with Yuma. The prince looks at his outfit and then reaches out to Shark’s scarf.
“That’s pretty,” he notes. “Did Kotori pick that out for you?”
A nod. Yuma’s smile softens.
“She has great taste.”
They spend what feels like an eternity gazing into each other’s eyes. The sound of the Utopic Quadrille snaps Shark back into reality. A smile fills his lips. He grabs Yuma’s feathery hat and places it on his head. Taking Yuma’s hand, he pulls Yuma out from beneath the table and into the middle of the dance floor.
“W-woah! What are you…”
Yuma looks around in surprise as Shark begins to effortlessly step into the dance.
“You practiced!” he exclaims.
Shark grins and hooks his arm with Yuma’s. The music speeds up, the rhythm growing fervent.
“Yuma!” calls Kotori with a wave.
Yuma grins.
“Kotori!” he calls.
Briefly, they switch partners, Yuma hooking his arms with Kotori’s. Longing fills Shark’s chest as he twirls about with a stranger, longingly staring at the happy couple. Once Yuma is back to his side, Shark lets out a sigh of relief.
“Did they have dances like this beneath the sea?” asks Yuma.
Memories of his sister surrounded by her friends fills Shark’s mind. Really, he never felt as if he could join her circles. Perhaps a part of him had longed to, many years ago. It was too late now though. Shark nods, grabbing Yuma’s hand and pulling him into the center.
He should live in the present. There was no point in regretting decisions made in a place that he can no longer return to. For once, feeling everyone’s gazes on him didn’t feel terrible. In the center of the dance floor, he and Yuma were like two beautiful butterflyfish. Sometimes, Shark was jealous of them. The fish were always seen in pairs, whistling their incomprehensible love songs to each other. Although they lived short lives, it felt like every moment was joyous.
Surrounded by the people’s cheers, Shark feels alight. When it’s time for another couple to take their place, the moment feels too soon. Shark turns his attention to Yuma. The young prince’s cheeks are flushed with color and his breathing sends his chest rising and falling. Perhaps humans were like butterfly fish.
“Want refreshments?” asks Yuma.
Shark nods.
The night passes by in a flurry of dancing and listening to Yuma. He listens to Yuma’s seafaring adventures, laughing when he recalls seeing merfolk. When Yuma introduces him to his family members, Shark greets each person with a smile.
“He saved my life!” explains Yuma to each person that asked who he was.
Pride fills Shark’s chest as he walks around with his prince. He marvels at the array of costumes the humans wore and the various languages that they spoke. Yuma is able to speak enough for the both of them, delighting his guests and Shark. Throughout the entire time, Shark wishes he could have a piece of paper to communicate to his prince. During moments where Yuma has run out of things to say, Shark pulls him onto the dancefloor. Their dancing lifts his heart and fills him with warmth. Although he isn’t the best at anything besides the sea and the quadrille, being with Yuma is all that matters to him.
When the clock chimes midnight, Yuma sets down his drink and pulls away from Shark. His brows have shot up and he looks nervous. Perhaps he hadn’t intended to spend so much time with Shark. Shark frowns as Yuma looks worriedly up at the thrones.
“My sister’s gonna have my head now!” he exclaims, running towards the dais.
He tears through the crowd in his coat of blue, plowing through skirts and sliding between legs. A woman with long magenta hair glares at Yuma and then cuffs him on the head. His parents look on with lopsided smiles. Beside them is an old woman, shaking her head in exasperation. Shark winces as he watches the woman lecture Yuma. With his usual ease, Yuma laughs it off.
Ting ting. A bell chimes throughout the ballroom. The conversations soon die down as all attention turns to the royal family. Yuma’s father stands, a muscular man with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Thank you for attending my son’s party tonight,” he declares, his voice ringing across the room. “Although a bit late, here is my son’s promised announcement.”
A ripple of excitement spreads through the audience. Shark looks on in confusion. Yuma steps up to his father’s side. Nervously, he tugs at his cravat.
“Thank you! I almost didn’t make it to this ball because of that awful storm. Thanks to my friend, Shark, I was saved from drowning that night,” declares Yuma.
All attention turns to Shark. A round of applause fills the room. He wishes he could be by Yuma’s side. Alone, underneath all this applause, he feels lost.
“Because of his deed, I wish to make him my best man at the wedding,” continues Yuma.
Shark stiffens as the attention returns to Yuma. Wedding?
“Since we were children, Kotori and I have been promised to each other on our eighteenth birthdays. I intend to honor this promise and wed her by the end of the month,” says Yuma. “She has been a steadfast friend and a devoted subject, bettering the lives of the people around her. Although she comes from a family of commoners, I believe she possesses blood as noble as any queen’s.”
The applause is deafening. Shark’s vision swims. He looks at Kotori, whose cheeks are flushed with joy. Her friends grasp her shoulders and laugh. Beneath the chandeliers, she shines like a jewel. Blood roars through Shark’s ears. The pain returns to his legs. His limbs shake. For a moment, it feels as if he was going to turn into a jellyfish.
What did all of that dancing and talking mean to Yuma, then? A lump forms in Shark’s throat. It feels as if he’s been washed ashore.
So he runs. Runs from the humans and their glittering fabrics. Runs from the humans with their white teeth and beautiful lies. Runs from their sharp laughter and cruel eyes. They had known. Everyone had known except for him, a mere fish washed up on shore.
What was he thinking, trying to claim someone that had already been claimed? The way Yuma and Kotori had laughed by each other’s sides. The various childhood stories Kotori had shared with Shark. Yuma had been the first boy who had kissed her, his lips smeared with Grandmother Yone’s blackberry jam. They had been born for each other, like the coral polyp and its little companion.
Shark’s eyes burn. Liquid begins to drip from his cheeks. Beneath the sea, his eyes never burned when he cried pearls. A tear hits his tongue and its salty tang fills his mouth. It tasted like home, a place that refused to welcome him back.
Beneath him, the moon is high and bright, washing everything in its white light. Who was going to have the honor of singing beneath the full moon tonight? The thought tears a sob from Shark’s throat. He’ll never hear the song of his people again, replaced by the humans’ strange shrieking and moaning.
Pain fills every bit of Shark’s body, from his breathing to his running. Yet he forces himself to run until he can hear the gentle lull of the waves again. The cobblestoned path soon turns to dirt then to sand. His legs scream at him to stop. Before him, the ocean ripples and undulates like a black mass. Every breath feels as if glass were piercing his lungs now. Slowly, Shark trudges towards the sand and collapses into it.
The familiar salty smells surround him. A distant gull calls. Shark glances up at the shore, only a few paces away. Blood roars through his ears. His throat feels as if a hand is crushing it.
He could disappear again. The humans would forget him eventually. But what would Yuma think? After Shark saved him, did Yuma spend sleepless nights wondering who he was? Was he a mysterious figure in the back of Yuma’s mind, haunting his every moment? How did he feel when Shark finally revealed himself? Did he think nothing of it? Shark’s lip trembles.
The ocean waves beckon. He closes his eyes and tries to hear the distant mermaid songs.
Perhaps this was his punishment for throwing away Poseidon’s gift.
He closes his eyes and waits for the tides to reclaim him.
“Shark!” calls Kotori. “Shark!”
Jolting awake, Shark is shocked to find Kotori running after him, her skirts billowing in the night wind. Worry furrows her brows.
“Are you alright?! What happened?!” she exclaims.
When she sees his swollen eyes, her expression falls and she pulls Shark into an embrace. She at once feels like Medaka and Dusky. A fresh wave of tears fills Shark’s eyes. The tides had drawn closer to them. He wishes he could have disappeared before Kotori found him. How could he tell her of the pain he felt, watching her and Yuma dance together? How could he tell of the painful process he had undergone to become human? No matter where he goes, he’ll always be an outsider.
I love him, I love him… and yet…
Kotori pulls him closer.
“I’m sorry. It can’t be. You must know how it is with us humans…”
Shark shakes his head.
“We make promises for those that come after us…because our lives are so short, our children are used to further our goals…,” explains Kotori. “I love Yuma very much, but not many women are as lucky…”
Pulling away from Kotori, Shark buries his face into his hands. He shouldn’t be crying in front of this girl who had done nothing but help him. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he pulls Kotori into a hug. Kotori quickly returns the embrace.
“I think Yuma loves me as well. We’ll be very happy together,” she adds. “Please don’t worry about him. I promise I’ll take care of him.”
Pain, a different pain from the kinds he’s felt before, stabs Shark. Yuma’s laughter by Kotori’s side fills his mind. His eyes had always lit up at the sight of the treats Kotori had baked for him. The jokes they shared that could only be understood by them earned the loudest laughs from both. Even when all three of them were together, the looks Yuma and Kotori gave each had held so much meaning.
Kotori was telling the truth.
A fresh wave of tears fills Shark’s eyes. He rapidly blinks them away. He forces himself to smile and then pulls away from his friend. It was never meant to be, a human with a merman. The gods had decreed so since the beginning of time. This was his fate. Wiping away his tears, he then holds Kotori’s hands.
He’ll be happy for her. And for Yuma.
🎵
The wedding is beautiful, in human terms. Kotori is dressed in white, her skirts billowing in the breeze like seafoam. On the ship, she moves on the deck with ease in comparison to the other seasick maidens. Grudgingly, Shark is impressed. Proudly calling herself the daughter of a merchant, she greets each of her guests with a bouquet of citrus flowers and a pair of folded paper cranes for each couple. Shark had helped her fold each one, the two often found sleeping side by side in the morning.
From across the deck, Yuma watches Shark with a hint of a sad smile. At all costs, Shark avoids him. He’d hate to cry during the young couple’s happiest day.
When the time comes for the rings to be presented, Shark blinks away his budding tears and slowly walks down the aisle. The sunset dyes the skies a rich orange. His sister would have loved this. Everything looks as if it has been preserved in amber. In silence, he watches as the couple exchanges their vows. It feels as if he is just a shadow, locked out of Yuma and Kotori’s special world. Perhaps it was better for two humans to be together instead of a merman-turned-human to be with a particularly thick-headed human.
“Thank you,” whispers Kotori as she takes the ring from Shark’s pillow.
Yuma avoids Shark’s eyes as he takes his ring.
“Thank you, Shark,” he breathes, his voice barely audible above the sea breeze.
Shark’s heart twists, threatening to break in two.
Once the rings are exchanged, the newlywed couple pulls into a chaste kiss.
“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU DO IT!” yells Akari, the princess. “HOLD HER AND DO IT AGAIN, YUMA!”
In spite of everything, Shark laughs along with everyone else. Tears fill his eyes.
“Alright, alright! Stop embarrassing me!” snaps Yuma.
After a few moments of breathing in and out, Yuma pulls Kotori into a longer kiss. Applause ripples across the ship, punctured by Akari’s loud whistling.
“She’s only like that because she’s a spinster. She’s really excited to welcome you into the family,” whispers Yuma afterwards.
“I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING ABOUT ME!”
More laughter fills the air. Shark looks out at the waves below, wondering if anyone he knew was looking up.
While everyone else gathers beneath the deck for more festivities, Shark stays above, drinking in the fresh sea air and listening to the seagulls above. He watches as the sun sets, his eyes growing misty as he remembers the quiet moments he and Dusky had shared beneath the waves. Perhaps he and Dusky could have shared the rest of their lives together. Although merfolk were not known for their fidelity (due to their eternal lives), it would have been…lovely to have had someone by his side for a few centuries or so.
He doesn’t know if he could stand all the books and Dusky’s seemingly disorganized lifestyle, but an understanding could probably be reached. Then, once they wished to part ways, they could return to being friends.
A fresh wave of tears fills Shark’s eyes. They fall into the waves below, returning to their origins. He should have been kinder to Dusky. He should have noticed the pain in Dusky’s eyes whenever he spoke about Shark’s desire to become human. Beneath his friend’s anger was fear and sadness. His friend must have spent moons searching for the least painful spell for him.
Shark’s tears fall until the stars have filled the sky and the waxing moon appears. The amber ocean waves have once again turned into a roiling, foreboding mass. Shark wonders why Yuma was drawn to such a place on his birthday. Below deck, the sound of music and cheering continues on.
“Shark!” calls a voice from his dreams. “Shark!”
Shaking his head, Shark looks down at the waves.
“Over here!” calls Medaka’s melodious voice.
Shark rubs his eyes and follows his sister’s voice. Surely, he must be dreaming. When his sister and Dusky’s pale faces surface from the black depths, Shark jumps. His mouth is wide open in shock as they gaze up at him.
“Dusky told me everything. He even cast a spell on a flock of seagulls to keep an eye on you!” hisses Medaka. “You idiot!”
The memory of Akari reprimanding Yuma fills Shark’s mind. A small smile fills his lips.
“This isn’t funny!” snaps his sister. “Look!”
Something shiny rises from above the waves. Shark stiffens as he sees the dagger and Medaka’s shorn locks.
“I traded away my hair and Dusky traded away his voice for you to be able to return to us.”
Horror fills Shark’s expression as he looks down at his best friend. Dusky looks up at him with haunted eyes. Regret must have been eating away at him throughout the entire time Shark had spent on shore. And Medaka…his sister, who had always prided herself in her appearance…Since mermaid hair never grew back, cutting it was considered a sign of mourning or vengeance.
“Don’t look at us like that! You got us into this!” continues his sister. “If you kill the prince and his wife, all you need to do is stab your legs and leap back into the ocean! Then you’ll have your voice back and everything else!”
Taking the blade from Medaka, Dusky reaches out towards Shark.
Please, he mouths. We miss you.
Tears fill Shark’s eyes. He reaches out for the blade and then his other hand reaches out for Dusky’s hand. Briefly, they hold each other’s hands, Dusky’s scales cutting into Shark’s skin.
I’m sorry, mouths Shark.
For what could have been.
“You can be back to us by dawn!” promises Medaka. “Then we can sing together again!”
Shark’s tears fall onto Dusky’s cheeks. Dismay fills Dusky’s expression. Pearls bead in his eyes. Slowly, he slips away from Shark’s hand. Desperation fills Medaka’s eyes, pearls also filling her eyes.
“Please…,” she breathes. “We miss you so much…”
Shark’s lips tremble. He takes the blade and slips it into his pocket. With a brief nod, he pulls away from the railing. Moments later, a handful of pearls are tossed at his feet.
“We’ll be waiting!” calls Medaka, her voice choked by tears.
Plish. Shark waits for the familiar sound of flippers slapping the water’s surface to subside. He cradles the pearls in his hands. Medaka’s are a light blue, just like his. Dusky’s are a greenish-gray. He places them in his breast pocket, where they roll against his heart. Then he walks below deck to join in the human festivities.
🎵
When he’s certain that everyone has fallen asleep, Shark slips out of his bed and clutches the blade to his chest. Beside him is Yuma and Kotori’s room. In the darkness, the ship creaks out a lullaby. Slipping into the couple’s room, Shark follow’s Yuma’s loud snores and stops before the canopied bed. Gently, he parts the white curtains. At the end of the room, a porthole is opened, the cool sea breeze drifting in.
The breeze tickles Yuma’s bangs and the prince snorts. In his arms is Kotori, a small smile on her lips. They look so small, dressed in their white clothes. They were almost like two sea pups who were still unaware of the harsh world around them, slumbering in their mother’s womb. Shark takes a deep breath and raises the blade.
Yuma stirs in his sleep.
“Gee, grandma…that sure looks good…,” mumbles the prince.
Shark’s grip on the blade wavers.
When was the last time he had actually enjoyed a meal?
The caramel apple, right? Seasoned with Yuma’s bright smile and his words of encouragement.
When was the last time he had actually felt alive?
In Yuma’s arms, dressed in something akin to his opalescent scales, dancing on feet that finally obeyed him.
The blade continues to shake in Shark’s hands. His gaze travels to Kotori. Beneath the waning moonlight, she looks so young and small. She had nothing but kindness to offer to Shark, gently tutoring him over the human language.
Why did these two need to die so that he could continue to live?
He could plunge his blade into them, spilling their bright red blood across the pristine sheets. But the sight of their blood would always remind him of his sins. Merfolk and humans bled the same color and laughed at the same things. They loved, cried and hated similar subjects. What right did Shark have, denying this happy couple these emotions?
Shark places the dagger back in his pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper. He pulls the curtains closed and places the paper by Yuma’s bedside. In the morning, they would understand.
Stepping back on deck, he watches as the first rays of dawn color the sky. It is silent, save for the waves brushing against the ship. He takes a deep breath. The breeze stirs his curls about. On bare feet, he walks across the deck, noticing the debris from yesterday’s activities. A crumpled flower. Scraps of fabric. A puddle of spilled champagne. Humans…so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Yet the emotions they felt in turn were so raw and full.
He puts his leg over the railing, boosting himself over. Beneath him, the water is still a swirling, dark mass. Looking up at the sky, the moon is slowly setting.
“No happy ending, sweetie? That sure bites, doesn’t it?” calls an unfamiliar voice.
It sends a chill up Shark’s spine regardless. There was something so…cold and slimy to it, like holding onto a panicked lamprey. Slowly, Shark turns around to see a shadow peeling itself from the walls.
“We’ve met before but you probably don’t remember,” drawls the shadow, amethyst eyes glittering in the dark.
With a wave of his hands, it feels as if a weight has been lifted from Shark’s throat.
“You can speak now. We’re between the pages.”
“Who are you?” asks Shark, surprised to find his voice again.
The man steps out of the shadows. Unlike anyone else he’s seen before, this man is colored in shades of gray. Shark lets out a small gasp.
“Just…a little helper…You see, many years ago, I also experienced a similar problem as you.”
He reaches behind him and pulls out a large book, similar to Dusky’s tomes. He places the book on the railing with a thunk . Flipping to the middle of the book, the man’s sharp finger lands on an illustration of Shark and Yuma. In the amber light of the sunset, they gaze into each other’s eyes, rings encircled around both of their fingers.
“You see, you were supposed to end up with princey-poo here but because of karmic imbalances, the ball was passed to a lucky village girl!” explains Vector.
Shark gazes at the illustration in pain, the urge to slash at it with his blade overwhelming. He reaches into his pocket only to find that the blade has vanished.
“Looking for this?” asks Vector as he waggles the blade in front of Shark.
“G-give that back!” exclaims Shark as he reaches for the dagger.
Vector tosses it into his hat, which opens up its mouth.
“Oh, no, it’s served its purpose. You were never going to kill him, were you?” drawls Vector over the sounds of the hat munching on the dagger.
“I…”
“It’s not your fault. I promise. It’s the fault of undeserving heroines like that village girl, sucking up all the happiness in the world without balancing their karmic deeds out first,” snarls Vector. “So people like you and me have to suffer.”
“Suffer! Suffer!” hisses Vector’s hat.
Reaching his coat pocket, Vector places a card into Shark’s hand.
“Before you leap into the ocean and reincarnate again, I want you to stay and listen for a bit,” says Vector as he walks down the steps.
A distant snap sends the waves crashing against the ship and the heaviness growing back into Shark’s throat. Vector’s footsteps echo below deck. The sound of a door opening follows. Shark closes his eyes and keeps his ears open.
Vector enters Yuma’s bedroom on silent steps. He pulls the curtains open.
“Wakey wakey…,” he sings.
Kotori stirs awake. When she sees Vector’s gray face, she jumps.
“Who are you?!” she shrieks.
Yuma jolts awake and looks at Vector with widened eyes. Giving the royal couple a mock bow, Vector flashes his trademark grin.
“ You have been a very, very naughty missus,” says Vector.
His hat coughs up his list of targets and he runs his finger down the list.
“Lady Kotori Mizuki, 18 years old, a wealthy merchant’s daughter. Incurred a karmic imbalance by attempting a happy ending,” reads Vector.
“What are you talking about?!” demands Kotori.
“You knew that Shark loved Yuma and did nothing to help him!” snarls Vector.
“What could I have done?!” protests Kotori. “Mermen can’t love humans!”
“Did you really understand him then?” sneers Vector. He looks at Yuma’s fearful expression. “Did you?”
“I…”
Grabbing Shark’s letter from the table, Vector shoves it into Kotori’s hands. His hat coughs up a candle and a box of matches. Vector lights the candle and glares at the couple with bulging eyes and bared teeth.
“READ IT!” he screeches. “BOTH OF YOU!”
With shaking hands, Kotori forces herself to read the note aloud. The handwriting is clumsy and the spelling isn’t perfect. Immediately, she knows that Shark had written this.
“D-dear Kotori and Prince Yuma…,” begins Kotori. “My time on land is drawing to a close. I wish you the best in your lives. You have taught me much about human lives, all your joys, pains and loves. To become human, I relied on my dearest friend’s help. I’ve known him for centuries and he knows everything there is to know about me. He traded his heart and voice away to see me walk on land. Even now, he is silent, hoping for my return in vain. He loves me just like you love each other. I wish I could have seen that sooner.
Wishing. That’s all I can do now as the sun rises on the first day of your married life. If you had been free to choose, who would you have chosen? I would have still chosen Yuma. There were so many things I wish I could have told you two. If only there was more time. Beneath the waves, I had all the time in the world and wasted it. Now, as a human, I want nothing but time.
To become human, my tail was sliced in half, my blood dyeing the ocean red. Every step I took was filled with pain, as if I was stepping on glass. But I wanted to be with you, Yuma. You, who had awakened from my slumber of a thousand years. In your hands, I felt alive again. If only I could speak and tell you everything on that beach. There were so many things that I left unsaid. My dreams, my secrets, my love of the human world…I would have told you everything.
Every smile of mine hid so much pain.
Is this what it means to be human? Wishing, wanting, yet never achieving all of your dreams? You will always be wanting something, that want driving you on.
It’s a sad, yet beautiful existence.
As I return to the sea, I will keep you in my thoughts. Whenever you see bits of seafoam on the shore, think of me.
Shark.”
The couple looks up at Vector with tear-filled faces. Vector readies his rifle.
“Well?” he breathes. “Any last words?”
“I’m sorry,” chokes Kotori.
“Shark…,” utters Yuma. “Oh, Shark…You should have taken me with you that night.”
Vector sneers.
Yuma’s words bring tears to Shark’s eyes. Two bangs makes Shark jump. Vector’s footsteps once again fill the hallway below. The sun is beginning to rise. Looking around, Shark notices how dawn and sunset appeared quite similar. It was beautiful. He wonders how he had never noticed before.
“You’re free to go,” says Vector, splotches of blood spattering his otherwise gray ensemble.
Shark looks at him warily. Then he glances down at the card.
Vector
Happy☆Heroine☆Sniper
Associate of Lord Diêm Vương, Karmic Balance Department
“You wanna start over or try to get a happy ending in this world?” asks Vector.
Shark tries not to think about the familiar screams that preceded the bangs. The thing strapped behind Vector’s back lets out a thin trail of smoke. Beneath him, the ocean waves roil, licking at his toes.
Without another word, Shark leaps into the waves. For a moment, he is overcome by a burning pain. Then, he feels his skin bubble and fizz, as if he was being kissed by a million tiny plankton. Before his eyes, his limbs scatter into seafoam. He would have panicked, if not for the hazy calm that clouded his thoughts. The last thing he sees is Vector’s oddly tender smile.
“Good boy,” drawls Vector.
Shark’s soul flies into the peachy sky, his world turning gray and distant.
🎵
“Alright…let’s see who’s next…,” says Vector, slurping on some egg noodles.
“Next, next!” chirps his hat.
“You got it,” says Vector, feeding his hat a few noodles.
He flips to the newest fairytale and then lets out a low whistle. He was going to be traveling pretty far for the next one. Unfamiliar lands…unfamiliar names…the thought at once puts a pit in his stomach and excites him. Checking the clock, he shrugs. There was still lots of time before his next trip. Leaning back in his chair, he rests his legs on his desk and looks up at you.
“How about we get to know each other a little bit more?” he asks.
#zexal#H☆H☆S#writing from iris#Ryoga Kamishiro#vector#durbe#tomoshipping#yuma tsukumo#kotori mizuki#skyshipping#sharkbaitshipping
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💀 actually almost normal at this point
Stjephan had done an awfully good job at spreading dissension amongst Alexander’s kingdom. Slowly but surely mutiny had began to blossom against the king and his loyal servants and given how much stress he had undergone within the past month, the draconian was at his wit’s end.
He was not expecting Hieron to pay him a visit, at least anytime soon, so they would unfortunately be catching the dragon lord in the middle of a public execution. At least three to four offenders, local to Xandora, stood amongst a crowd as Cromwell read their charges, Alexander looming behind ominously. His face was sinister, but not in the maliciously giddy way he was so often known for.
“Your acts of malicious crime against the crown are punishable by death and his majesty will see to each and every one your punishments personally, as he sees fit.” Cromwell concluded, rolling up a large tome from which he read off the various charges.
Send 💀 to walk in on my muse killing someone.
All four prisoners were not human, but animal people. A fox, a badger, a bear, and a wolf person, each locked up in wooden pillory and muzzled.
“His majesty is a fool for allowing humans to come and go here, now he courts one and seeks to make her queen! He’s taken two of them even and allows a third to take refuge in the forest! I heard it from the vampire prince and word has been spreading, I’ve seen them myself!” spat the badger, causing an eruption of chatter and whispers amongst the crowd.
Alexander swallowed the snarl that was surely building in his throat as he brushed passed a guard, and stopped Cromwell from silencing the accused himself. Without a word or warning, scarlet stained talons scythed across the badger’s head, completely detaching it from its body. Whoever amongst the crowd stood the closest would be sprayed with blood, and a cold silence would fall upon the sea of towns folk immediately. No one could run, and there was hardly a scream, but no one could even make an exit as the royal guard had loomed behind the commotion and moved in to prevent any exit.
“As you know, I am your king. And my word is law, this ‘human’ you all whisper and gossip about is to be my bride and your QUEEN.” Alexander hisses, kicking the decapitated head away, causing a few bystanders to yelp and slither away from it. “I am to take in whom ever I shall very well please and any who take issue with my choices can die here and now. I’ve had enough.”
By now, the remaining accused were cowering, pleading and begging for mercy, making promises of changed behavior, to repent for their crimes against the crown and for spreading discord. Such promises whether true or not would fall on deaf ears, as Alexander grabs one of the captive’s jaw and tears it off completely, tossing it away like trash. The remaining two would suffer similar gruesome blows to their heads, just providing a fresh coat of scarlet for his forever stained talons.
“ You all will do best to unhear the words of a foolish and mad prince in the near future. Lest you rather become fuel to restore my vitality. If I find out that any mistreatment have befallen my guests here again, there will be a culling.”
#Infernal Inquires ♦️#|🥩IC🥩|#gin n chthonic#🌹Most Excellent Queue🌹#blood tw#death tw#decapitation tw#gore tw#--long post
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the freak. headcanon.
Eddie Munson is not the most coordinated kid. He can bounce a ball and run real fast, fast enough to be roped into track, but none of that holds his interest. Track practice is long, its boring, and he’s liable to get so lost in thought he fails to finish the race. Much to the vocal disappointment of his father. The father who loudly denounced the idea that his son would be any kind of lazy booksmart dipshit like his manager at the store. Just like his manager at the last store. The father who keeps him out of school when the mood strikes him, teaching him to hotwire cars and crack safes.
He’s too young to know that this isn’t what fathers should be teaching their sons. Far too young to understand that it’s not normal to be ignored, words falling upon deaf ears, when he fails to interest them.
Life lessons internalized by a young mind, seeking attention and approval he can’t find at home.
He can make his classmates laugh until they cry, he can charm the librarian into allowing him one extra book out, and he can empathize with even those who hurt him. From an early age, Eddie has bounced between silent observer and class clown. Careening wildly between the two, eager for acknowledgement of any kind to satiate the need to be seen. Except now, here, when being seen is a liability. His eyes are locked upon the worlds held between the pages of a book. Curled in on himself like a pillbug, trying to ignore the sounds of his parents fighting just outside the door of the nice house they absolutely can’t afford.
Image is everything in Hawkins, straining yourself to meet the same standards that the people around you struggle to aspire to. It’s all a matter of who can hide the cracks better.
And that day, judging by the way his mother shrieks at his father when Hawkins PD busts down the door, the Munson's failed to hide the crack.
The prosecuting lawyer says as much in court. The scandal rocks the small town, thinking that a nice couple like the Munson's could ever do something like that... though then they eye the boy, the one that used to be funny and charming and apply the same stain.
He’s branded a troublemaker overnight.
Children are products of their environments. Over time, the judgement seeps in. Those laughing with him becomes peers laughing at him. Eddie can’t quite parse where the change happened. When playing pretend suddenly became the mark of immaturity, not the sign of a brilliant mind. Yet all the same he finds himself on the outside looking in, all the same traits that had once brought people flocking to his games now has them steering clear lest they be marred by the same social stigma.
His birthday has no guests, no parent will allow their child to associate with the spawn of criminals. Eddie sits on the steps of the pizzaria alone, alone, alone and lies when his uncle arrives to pick him up. Lies easily seen through, for a child can’t provide a convincing argument as to why they’re left abandoned.
A book is pressed into shaking hands, and Wayne says this one’s a little advanced for you with a smile that says he understands Eddie will take to the challenge.
He calls himself a fantasy freak to a lab partner one day, clapping a hand against the well worn copy of The Hobbit for proof. They regard him with mild interest and is all it takes for him to try to explain, desperate for connection, the plot and lore of this tome. Eddie is lonely and Eddie is jealous of the ease at which people like Steve Harrington can float through life. Doesn’t understand the disconnect no matter how hard he tries.
The next day, the same lab partner is sitting at the jock table when one of his teammates stands up and shouts FREAK as Eddie approaches. It’s the first time the word has been used - though there have been others. The usual suspect. Some crueler, some more pointed, some directly touching upon secrets he never wears in the open. There’s something like guilt in the boy’s eyes when their gazes meet, but Eddie turns away before he can determine whether or not he’s imagining it.
The lazy, booksmart dipshit begins to tire of a world that extolls the virtues of freedom and individuality while demanding conformity. Whatever threads he was holding onto of the life his parents tried to weave for themselves are ripped from his hands the moment he hears the wailing note of an electric guitar, accompanied the guttural scream of a man desperate to be heard.
It resonates.
The sound consumes him. A siren’s call. A blessing from on high to deliver him from this isolation. Eddie wraps himself in it, embraces what it is to be a freak rather than continue to fight against it. To love wholeheartedly. To be all aspects of himself at once.
The path is dark. The path is winding.
The path leads him to being an outcast. An inspiration. A shepherd. A wolf devouring the innocent. Eddie Munson is a kaleidoscope, changing at every angle you view him at. Only truly seen upclose and in the right light and by oh so very few eyes.
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A loud noise can be heard on the main entrance of Leblanc's home, like a door being opened forcefully, by someone strong enough to snap it out of it's hinges. Evelynn walks in in her human form, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as she looks around frantically, clawed hands shaking. "Emilia?!? EMILIA!" The demon's voice was laced with worry and a feeling Emilia had never heard in her tone, fear.
"Are you home?" She walked around despite being in her human form, her lashers wiggled nervously behind her as she made her way around the house, opening every door, searching every room. When her yellow eyes finally found the other's form, she moved in inhuman speed before wrapping her arms around her, her whole form shaking as she buried her face into Emilia's neck. "We have to go, we have to leave, he's almost here, he's coming!"
The Matron was in her study room, slender fingers flipping through the pages of a newly acquired book. It was old, a personal journal of a mage who was most certainly dead for centuries now. After so long, it was hard to find something that would catch her attention like that journal. The man's personal notes and studies were rather interesting. She was reading the words 'Black sand' when she heard her door being burst open by a force that could not be that of a human. No mere mortal could overcome all her magical wards that kept her residence safe from intruders.
The voice was also very familiar, which explained how the doors offered such little resistance against the 'intruder'. "Yes, Eve, I'm home, and I'm not deaf yet." She closed the tome and placed it over her desk before making her way to where her friend was, meeting her in the hallway as Evelynn was still storming in. "What is happening?" She arched a brow at seeing the way the demoness was in. Never in her entire life had she seen Evelynn in such a state of nerves, and that meant a lot considering all sorts of things they had faced together in the past millennia!
The hug was the last drop to actually send the Pale Sorceress into a spiral of panic, and she returned out of automatic response. If anything could get Evelynn to be that scared, what could LeBlanc even do to stand against such a foe?! "Eve, dear, who is 'he' you're talking about?! What's happening?!" She asked once more for explanations, realizing a bit too late that she was allowing Evelynn's panicked state to contaminate her as well, and if she wanted to help her friend, she couldn't be panicked herself! 'Calm yourself down, Emilia! Do NOT dare to act out of fear!' She schooled herself, forcing her own heart to go back to its normal pace. "Calm down. If it's urgent and we must leave, then we do. We can use a portal to another one of my hous---" Her voice broke when she sensed something changing. A different presence that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on its tips.
Whoever she was running away from was there already. "I think your 'friend' is here…" The other demon, the primordial Fear, was affecting the Matron already, making any and all attempt on controlling her own emotions futile. Her body started trembling as a green leaf in a windy day, cold sweat starting to break through her skin. "W-who is that thing…!?" Golden eyes were fixed on a thing limping behind Evelynn. It had the form of a badly put-together scarecrow. It dragged a scythe behind itself, and from a cage in its chest, a black blob of darkness moved. That should be the thing controlling the scarecrow.
LeBlanc's breathing became shallow, pupils dilated as she was frozen by the sheer fear Fiddlesticks presence imposed on her.
"EMiIiA?!? EmILia!" His broken voice mimicked Evelynn's cry. "hE's cOMinG!" Despite that being what the demoness of agony said half a minute ago, the pale sorceress' mind played a different image, of a different supernatural being other than Fiddlesticks. One she feared the most and was doing all she could possibly do to prevent him from returning. A single tear fell from her eye as she felt Mordekaiser standing behind herself, his laugh rumbling through the empty iron armor his soul needed to be bound to while in the physical realm.
@drinkthepain
#“would i lie?” (answered)#drinkthepain#V: “I am everywhere. I am everyone!” (Default verse)#love u bb#have fun!
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Echo Knight is a Fighter subclass which deserves several thousand more words from me in the future, and indeed surely tens of thousands of words on its perculiarities have already been committed to the internet. Today, however, I will focus on one specific exploit.
When you first get it at level 3, it lets you summon an 'echo' of yourself.
The echo has a few uses:
It will tank one attack if hit.
You can move it around, in any direction, as a BA.
You can attack from its position rather than your own
And you can switch places with it as a BA, teleporting at the cost of 15ft.
Think of it as a portal which you can move one end of, the other end staying right next to you at all times. You can stab someone through it, or you can walk through it. Simple enough.
It's worth noting that when I say 'any direction', I mean *any* direction. They did not bar it from moving upwards. They did not bar it from hovering unsupported, mid-air. They didn't even explicitly bar it from moving through solid objects. It's very possible that you could summon it and send it straight down underground. Hell if I know what happens if you try to teleport to it while it's stuck in something.
This ability alone is worth a tome's worth of analysis; the echo has only 1hp, but you can summon it perpetually and teleport through it infinitely. Unlimited bonus action teleportation. It boggles the mind. You can tell it wasn't originally designed by WOTC. (Wildemount and its consequences have been a disaster for 5e balance.)
One of the only limits is that if it is more than 30ft away from you at the end of your turn, it pops and you must resummon it.
And now we come to Echo Knight's level *7* feature. This lets you willingly go blind and deaf in order to see and hear from its position instead; and while you're doing this, you can send it up to 1000ft from you before it pops.
But. Crucially. They completely forgot to make it so that you can't attack through it while you're doing this.
I have no idea what they were thinking.
Taking the ability literally, the game is letting you fly a fully disposable suicide drone a quarter-mile away, through which you can unleash your full offensive power as a Fighter. There is absolutely zero risk to you. And if they pop the echo? You can just summon another one and send it right back to continue where you left off!
Why even leave the house? Why even go adventuring yourself? Just send your fucking Bayraktar TB2 out to rain machine-gun fire on nearby criminals from above while you sip a cup of tea back in your supervillain lair. It's not even traceable! You could send it down into the ground, then make it pop up somewhere else and just start slashing, like the violent ghost of D&D 5e balance come back to exact revenge!
And now for part 2.
They didn't restrict the teleportation either!
What is a safe? What is a vault? You can just fly your busted class feature into it, teleport in, grab as much gold as you care for and then leave next turn. Again, *completely* untraceably, so long as you wear a mask or something.
Now, obviously, this is meant for scouting. The vast majority of people, on first reading this ability, will think 'oh neat, an ability that helps you scout; surely this isn't meant to just let you play from home.' But here we do not deal with mere 'meant'. Here we are hidden from the eyes of God, free to unearth his worst mistakes.
Anyway, for any DMs, this obviously shouldn't be allowed and is patchable with trivial ease. Still, it's baffling that they didn't errata the living daylights out of this.
(back to index)
#d&d 5e#dnd 5e#dungeons and dragons#bad RAW#fun facts#yet another reason echo knight is a busted subclass
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tldr deaf sofdti/[gamecrazed too?] au
thought of big bro zet teasin her
#tome#terrain of magical expertise#link's art#honestly thought about it and like#my guess would be they simply didn't program her audial capabilities correctly and she couldnt hear at all for her early existenec#so zet tried to help teach her communication even though she has stubs for hands#[..which they probably brought to attention is pretty shitty for them to give her a body like that if she was canonically deaf but ykno]#so zet tries to communicate w her via v basic asl#also i hope my signs are correct! im learning myself and if its incorrect i take the l
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5e Otherworldly Patron: The Mother of Filth
scratching squirming skitter gnawing
swarming stalking slither clawing
wasting breeding dripping screaming
rotting feeding sickness dreaming
Something is wrong with you. There’s this itch, this... foulness you cannot alleviate. You picked it up from somewhere, something, someone, and it hasn’t lessened in the time you’ve had it. A persistent cough, a rash you cannot get rid of, some sour taste at the back of your throat, some crawling within your ears, or nose, or behind your eye. It’s something, it’s there, it won’t go away. An illness, you’ve told yourself. A simple disease. It will pass, you’ve said, it will pass in time.
it has been years.
Years of this. These symptoms, these rashes and sores and blisters, this coughing and sneezing and aching and fever. It’s made you pitiful. No one will look at you anymore, not directly. They’ll talk to you, yes, but only if you talk to them first. Sometimes, though, they’ll act like they can’t hear you. Many of them don’t even seem to notice as you move towards them, silently standing aside to let you pass without interrupting whatever they were doing. Sometimes it seems like they don’t even know they’re ignoring you.
Maybe you’ve started taking advantage of that, maybe you cannot stand it, but once you realized it was happening, something in you changed. Your sickness became worse, the symptoms more pronounced. Nothing could alleviate them. And then, a... thing formed inside you. A lump or a weight in your belly, or your chest, or your head. Now that it’s here, it feels... strange. It’s not comforting, but you feel it’s natural. Like this was supposed to happen, some logical progression of whatever foulness has seeped into you. In a way, you feel like you expected it. Maybe you were even waiting for it.
Now, in your fevered dreams, you swear there’s something else in them with you. Something trying to communicate with you. There are no words you understand, merely feelings. Ideas. Sensations. Some sort of... directions or instructions. In your addled mind, you’ve found yourself wondering: just what would happen if you followed them?
EXPANDED SPELL LIST
The following spells are added to the Warlock spell list for you:
1st: Grease, Ray of Sickness
2nd: Web, Blindness/Deafness
3rd: Stinking Cloud, Feign Death
4th: Greater Invisibility, Giant Insect
5th: Cloudkill, Insect Plague
-Miserable Pity
By 1st level, you’ve already lived with this illness for years. It’s made you an unapproachable creature, a leper, something that mortal minds view with a mix of pity and fear; others will interact with you if you interact with them, but most of them will unconsciously avoid looking at you, listening to you, and especially avoid touching you.
This does have its benefits: Once per short or long rest as a reaction to being targeted with an attack or a spell attack, you may force the attack roll or spell attack roll to be made with disadvantage by momentarily revealing your pitiful nature. In addition, this pity largely prevents you from suffering penalties when interacting with other living creatures, as they subconsciously refuse to notice how much the sickness has taken from you. In their minds, while you don’t appear healthy, you at least resemble a functioning member of society. Undead, constructs, and most animals can see through this aura; aside from verminous creatures or well-trained mounts, animals will often refuse to approach you, shrinking away unless pressed into the interaction, which could have consequences. Certain other creatures, such as Fiends or Celestials, may also see past this aura of pity as well at the DMs discretion.
-Averted Eyes
This subconscious ignorance of your presence has an additional benefit: At 1st level, you gain proficiency with Stealth. If you are already proficient, your proficiency bonus for this skill is doubled.
-Scratching Squirming Skitter Gnawing
inside
you feel them inside
chewing
eating everything else that would hurt you. they’re your allies, not your enemies. Certainly, it may have hurt at first, it may have been repulsive at first, but they’re here to help. They’re here to provide for you, protect you.
At 6th level, your body plays host to grotesque parasites that conditions you to things far worse. You’re bolstered against foul elements, if only because there’s less of you to affect. You become resistant to Poison damage, have advantage on saving throws to avoid becoming Poisoned, and you are unharmed by any disease you contract, though you still bear their symptoms and contagious diseases you contract remain contagious. Diseases you contract never heal on their own.
-Swarming Stalking Slither Clawing
Some days in the past you’ll wake up to find a rodent or roach perched on your chest. Now, though, there’s significantly more. Vermin crawl within your clothes, skittering across your skin, nesting in your hair. They mean you no harm, nor will they cause any. In time, you may grow used to them. You may love them as they love you.
At level 10, each time you complete a short or long rest, vermin will gather onto your person, attracted by the call of your illness. They move to shield your body from attacks, granting you temporary HP equal to your Warlock level. While you have any temporary HP from this ability you have resistance to Necrotic damage. In addition, verminous creatures (such as rats and mice, centipedes, flies, spiders, etc) will never willingly attack you unless you cause them harm first.
Your Miserable Pity ability keeps others from noticing your vermin coating just as easily as it kept them from noticing your pox.
-A Mother’s Love
New life. That’s all that it is. New and beautiful. Others call it Filth, call it garbage, or waste, or even worse: A plague, an infection, a cancer. They can’t understand; this isn’t a plague, it’s a blessing.
At 14th level, the Mother gives you a grand gift. A piece of her manifests within you, a tumorous growth that partially emerges from an unobtrusive location on your body, such as your stomach or back. This bloated thing alerts you to incoming danger and can even take hold of your spells for you should your attention falter. You gain Blindsense out to 10ft, able to sense hidden or invisible creatures within that radius. In addition, if your concentration on a spell is broken, you may use your reaction to re-establish a hold on the magic, as though your concentration was never lost. Once you do this, you must complete a long rest before doing it again.
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INVOCATIONS
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Hacking Cough
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron
As an action, you can share your misery, retching and coughing upon a creature within 10ft of you. That creature must succeed a Constitution save versus your Warlock spell DC or become poisoned for 1 minute. A creature poisoned in this way may make a Constitution save at the end of their turn to end the condition, but they take 1d4 Poison damage on a failure. Once you’ve used this ability a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus, you must complete a long rest before doing so again.
Scrounger
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron
Desperate times call for desperate measures, and you have been desperate for a very, very long time. You gain proficiency in Constitution saving throws, and can consume rotted or diseased food and drink without suffering any consequences.
Record of Roaches
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Tome
Your Book of Shadows is replaced with an unnerving, chitin-covered tome. While in possession of this tome, you may conjure a swarm of ravenous roaches in a 10ft cube within 30ft of you as an action. This space is difficult terrain, and creatures entering it or beginning their turn in it take 1d6 magical slashing and 1d6 Poison damage. This corrupted space lingers for 1 minute, or until you use this ability again. You may use this feature three times, and regain all uses after a long rest.
Dripping Blade
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Blade
Your pact weapon becomes coated in a layer of toxic grime. A creature damaged by your pact weapon takes an additional 1d6 Poison damage. If you critically strike an enemy with your pact weapon or strike a creature who is not aware of you, that creature becomes infected with Sewer Plague, which incubates and progresses as normal.
Fecund Familiar
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Pact of the Chain
When summoning a new familiar, instead of choosing an empowered familiar from the Pact of the Chain, you may instead summon two of the following in any combination: a spider, a rat, a bat, or a cockroach (use the statistics of a crab). Both of these creatures are your familiars and share a mind split between multiple bodies. At level 10, you may maintain three familiars at the same time. At level 16, you may have four.
Filthy Friends
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 5
Sometimes they were all you had. As an action, you may command vermin from your surroundings to a single point within 60ft of you that you can see, summoning either a Swarm of Insects or a Swarm of Rats in that space. These swarms will obey your mental commands until brought to 0 HP or until 1 minute passes, at which point they disperse. Once you use this ability, you must complete a short or long rest to do so again.
Tatterdemalion
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 6
Over the course of a long rest, you can construct a piecemeal armor for yourself from rags, scavenged leather, and broken metal bits. Wearing this makes your AC equal 10 + your Constitution modifier + your Charisma modifier. Only you or another Warlock of the Mother of Filth can benefit from this armor, and it may be enchanted as normal armor can be, if you desire.
Pernicious Poison
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 7
Poison damage you inflict with your Warlock spells and abilities does full damage to creatures with resistance to Poison, and upon reaching level 12, your poisons deal half damage to creatures immune to Poison. In addition, once per long rest, you may use your bonus action to select a single creature within 100ft that you can see, infesting them with insidious Filth. That creature loses any immunity to the poisoned condition it has and gains vulnerability to Poison damage. At the start of that creature’s turn, it may make a Constitution save against your Warlock spell save DC to end this effect.
Don’t Ignore Me
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 8
If they won’t look at you, you’ll take advantage of it. Once per turn, you can deal an extra 2d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack if you have advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon. You don't need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn't incapacitated, and you don't have disadvantage on the attack roll. At level 12, this damage increases to 3d6, and it increases to 4d6 at level 16.
Vermin Lord
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10
You can cast Dominate Beast at will as a 5th level spell without expending a spell slot, but only to control verminous creatures (an insect, arachnid, or rodent Beast with an Int of 2 or less). This control lasts for 10 minutes and requires no concentration from you, but you may only maintain control of up to 5 creatures at a time (a swarm counts as 1 creature). Controlling a new one ends the oldest instance of the effect. You cannot target the same creature with this effect again until you complete a long rest.
Retching Wretch
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10, Hacking Cough
Your Hacking Cough’s range becomes 30ft. Whenever you successfully poison a creature with Hacking Cough, choose one of the following options:
Clawing, Gnawing: The creature is wracked with muscle aches. As long as it is poisoned, it takes a -2 penalty to Strength and Dexterity-based attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws.
Dreaming, Screaming: The creature is afflicted with a terrible delirium and fever. As long as it is poisoned, it takes a -2 penalty to Intelligence and Wisdom-based attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws.
Plaguebringer
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 10
You add Infestation and Contagion to your list of spells known. These are Warlock spells for you, and do not count towards your total spells known. You may cast Infestation as a bonus action so long as you still have temporary HP from Swarming Stalking Slither Crawling.
Contaminate
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 12
As an action, you can will the Filth to well up from the world around you, choking the ground and air. The Filth coats a 30ft radius around you with noxious gas, slick muck, and crawling things, transforming it into difficult terrain for everyone but you. Any creature besides you moving into or within the area takes 1d8 Poison damage per 5ft it travels. This supernatural muck lasts for 24 hours before fading away. You may use this ability once, regaining its use after a long rest.
Wasting Breeding Dripping Screaming
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, level 15
The lump or weight within sups upon your flesh and blood in amounts so minute you likely won’t even notice, but it’s always hungry for a more substantial meal. If you take slashing or piercing damage from an enemy adjacent to you, you can attempt to feed it by using your reaction; a Swarm of Rot Grubs erupts from the wound into the space of your attacker, and the swarm immediately uses its reaction to attack them with advantage.
This Swarm of Rot Grubs is friendly to you and any creature you designate as an ally, and will follow you telepathic commands. If left without orders, it will crawl towards the closest living enemy it can perceive to attack them, or to the closest pile of carrion within 30ft. After 1 minute passes, the swarm is too consumed by hunger and turns on itself, dying messily. Once you spawn a swarm in this way, you must complete a long rest before it can be done again.
Sire of Stagnation
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, Contaminate, lvl 20
Patches of Filth created by Contaminate last until cleaned up by an outside force, such as a massive storm, powerful magic, or the concentrated efforts of a group of people working for 12 hours. Each day the Filth patch remains, it spawns a swarm of Filthbreed Vermin (roll 1d6; 1: swarm of rats, 2: swarm of insects, 3: swarm of maggots, 4: swarm of spiders, 5: swarm of scarabs, 6: swarm of rot grubs). A Filthbreed Swarm creates a 5ft patch of Filth otherwise identical to the one spawned by Contaminate when it is slain, requiring a concentrated effort to clean that takes 4 hours.
At the DMs discretion, more powerful Filthbreed creatures may arise from especially massive patches of Filth.
Hive Mind
Prereq: Mother of Filth patron, lvl 20, Vermin Lord
You may maintain control of up to 25 creatures at once with your Vermin Lord ability, and the effect lasts indefinitely until dispelled. They no longer receive saving throws.
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Fun author’s note: Going to make a more generic version of this Patron later to fit into other people’s sessions without relying on my cosmology; you can indeed just use this creature as a different spirit of pestilence and filth, but I’m also just creating a Horseman of Pestilence-esque patron later as soon as I’m more inspired which shuffles a bunch of stuff already present here around while adding some new, more obviously vile options.
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❛ how long has it been since you’ve eaten ? ❜ (Frieda -> Historia).
IT’S SO COLD. SO COLD. WAS IT SNOWING AGAIN? [cold, like that night.] oh’ winter will bury its way into the gaps of floorboards, how oak will wallows & bones will tremble like chimes -- the creeks that shudder through the open halls / halls polluted by the dead / populated by specters of distance & blurred memories ; why do you stumble through these ruins? searching for some form of closure / some remnants of the rumble / or do you just feel safe among the silence? oh. what are you digging for? [where are they.] or have you finally gone mad? [ you know you left them here.] shush yourself, shush yourself -- bite your tongue, bite that stained / tarnished once-silver tongue / you should bite it off / you should sew such vile / sullied lips shut permanently --- you only spew such awful sonnets. those sonnets, they are fraudulent, when you speak within meetings / when you stand so stiff -- when you serve humanity, what do you think really? [i wish they all were crushed.] oh, hold the smile / hate, it sticks to your mouth, bile will digress itself / rejecting the notion that you owe them shit / repress such tone / puke it up / hold hands over your maw / you are going to spew such filth into your hands ; it’s okay, figureheads will come, & take take take take -- take it fucking all, & take / eat like hungering buzzers / vultures to prey / they will eat you alive & watch you waste away --- YOU HATE THEM, YOU HATE THEM ALL, YOU FUCKING HATE THEM SO MUCH. how deep you yearn for each of their deaths. how you wish to smother them with the pillow they sleep so soundly on. how poetic, you have no shame in your ire, guilt will be your company each waking day you face them. & you were destined to rule / destined to play the fool. Levi said it himself. so many years ago. did he not?
hm. you are back here again. you discard boxes, tomes, handkerchiefs, & so many miscellaneous articles -- so many items, so many useless, useless things ; stacking & sorting, so - so desperately you dig. [ THEY ARE HERE. ] AH. BRIGHT / STARDOM -- you are pulled to a sudden stop, the gleam of glass / mirror blinds, & naturally you flinched. [a mirror.] & you can see it, how your hand trembles at how you hold the mirror ( once so polished, now rusted. like you. ) lo, curiosity will be your downfall. FOR FLAXEN, FLAX YAWN / YOU ARE WHEAT UNDER THE SUN. such beauty is not your own, no, no, no, no, no no no nononononononno-- IT IS STOLEN. such beauty is stolen ; mother’s reflection is all you see / glass shaped mockery / is that really you? [ you have avoided your reflection for sometime. ] how your grip tightens, historia? [ i do not deserve to look like her. ] historia, do you not hear the steps? [she hates me.] historia, are you so deaf? so caught in your regression, again, AgAIn. & AgAIN. [ oh. you burned the letters..... ] wait. a hand cover a face. [ ...did i? ] WAIT. fingers pressed. [ i did. i-- ] WHY. WHY DID I DO THAT??? you know why. YOU READ WHAT SHE SAID ABOUT YOU, you read how she hated you, how looking at herself made her sick to her stomach. how you ruined everything. you are the worst thing to ever happen to her. you are the worst girl in the world. HISTORIA -- KRISTA. [shut up.] YOU ARE HUMANITY’S GREATEST ERR. [ i’m sorry. ] a daughter to no woman, for madonna has cast you out, for holofernes used you / you slit his nape. [ SHuT UP.] for delilah, she tricked you / she was a false prophet. for adam, son of no male, he touched you / broke you. [WHAT ROLE AM I PLAYING.] & now. & now. bastard / you are dirty / you are alone. AGAIN. & now. thy tears, so they fall, fall with the pattering of snow / fall with the huffing of your lungs / fluttering of your lids. why are you crying. why are you making a fist? why are you making a fist? why are you so angry? why? WHY? WHy --knuckles will smash into glass, how a rock hits the ocean / disturbing such a calm surface / & water will fly --- blood will pour / glass protrudes from a hand [ why did i do that? ] self destruction is such an ugly thing, no ? [why.]
you know why. how old were you? [i don’t know] the day she threw you to the floor? alma, hand grabbed your face, a woman’s strength / a woman’s anger / a mother’s hatred. & you rolled across the dirt, rocks against a frail body -- you were so happy. happy at the smallest touch / the smallest touch from your mother. & yet, your smile was met with tears. & you did it again, you hurt her. YOUR MERE PRESENCE HURT HER. [i’m sorry] is that why? you burned all her letters written to rod, burned them in anger? you searched for any remnants of her. anything you could hold onto, & YOU FUCKING BURNED THEM. & so. repeat. you crumpled ymir’s letter in anger. & so. repeat again. you tore eren’s letter in twine. & so----- you screamed, & cried. & ached, and repeat. this pounding / this beating on your chest / a pile of stones compressing and crushing / lifting & smashing. you are too angry / too selfish / you did this....didn’t you? [you did. STOP ACTING LIKE YOU DIDN’T.] WHAT IS LEFT? YOU WANT TO STOP. YOUR HEART HURTS. WHY DOES THIS HURT. WHY--- THOSE TEARS WILL STAIN PIGMENT.
historia, did you wish she took your memories again, or are these memories even true?? WAIT, are they. what is real?? WHAT IS REAL. GODDESSES. WHAT. IS. REAL. wHaT is--
‘ historia? look up. historia, look at me. historia, why are you crying? ‘
snap out of it. ‘ --- frieda. ’ frieda. id. frieda. eve. frieda. liar. SISTER. she still holds you. & you dare to soil her name under your breath. you are a blight to the blood. hide your hand. hide the vile blood. hide your awful awful nature. & frieda, if you saw her hideous habits / strip historia of the white she wears / strip her of her skin / strip all the facades [frieda, would you hate me...] would she hate you for how the days you stared down [ standing on the throat of a branch ] heels slowly, slowly sliding -- those pools stared into thee mouth of the devil / a titan jaw [do you jump?] -- frieda, would you hate her? & if she knew, if she knew how you used your blade--- [frieda....] historia? what stopped you? pride? fear of soiling the reiss name any further than you already have? you were told to die, die a martyr, die-- why didn’t you jump? [why didn’t i?] oh yeah. ymir was always there, always bugging you. always distracting you. & then marco. & then eren-- &, it’s all their fault. krista. you coward. was it them?
!???!!??!!?!! --- trembling hands will hold your face. hold your face like in youth. so gentle. so soft. too gentle for someone like you. Thumb will wipe away such tears. you cannot hear her, how concern is loud / scolding booming in these barren walls -- & the skirt of her pretty dress, she holds your hand in lap, wrapping such dirty hands / applied pressure / plops of crimson will soak the cloth ; you ruin another thing. ‘ i ruined your dress, i ruined it, it’s will be stained-- i’m --sorry--i’m-- ’ you hear her shush you / oft shushing the anger that beat within / those birds that fight for mere measly crumbs to feed your anger. ravens all cawing / screeching so loud. [why do you do this?] you feel you deserve to hurt. & you hurt her. when will you learn. & when will you think of her. when will you grow up. nothing has changed. you are a blemish to your name. a burden to those you love.
but does she know, dose she feel your animosity ? dose she know you lie awake ; you hold a bucket, you stare off into the fields. you hear your mother screaming ? did that happen ? WAS YOUR MOTHER REALLY AWFUL. or did she even exist. frieda ? FRIEDA, DID YOU TAKE MY MEMORIES? FRIEDA, WHAT DID YOU CHANGE ? WHAT--- PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE. WHAT DID YOU CHANGE. WHAT IS TRUE ?? your head hurts. splitting / it will burst / it will crack that crown / expose such aggression ---STOP. this is not ladylike. she will say it. she--- [i don’t care] really, you want to be her. [she looks at me with sorrow] you want to be the one to help. [she knows i am nothing] you want to be her so badly. [to hold such power] you want to be loved like her. [father loved her.] you need to be her ? [historia is nothing.] WHO ARE YOU TO CRY. [krista is useless.] she bares the founds tongue against her mouth / she holds so much pain / why would you want to be her ? the noose of time is tightening. [to stop this all.] WHO ARE YOU? are you so selfish? to make her worry. [I WANT TO BE HER. I WANT TO--] FRIEDA ? stop, HISTORIA ? stop crying. KRSITA ?? PICK ONE. PICK ONE. PICK ONE ALREADY. ‘ WHAH-- ‘
frieda hands / thy blessed touch comes to violent / they cover that mouth / suffocating - silencing your rambling. &, forehead comes to rest heavy against your own, midnight & morning ; remembrance to prior days / departure of of her company...when you begin to forget / you begin to feel dizzy--- oh. [stop.] OH. & eyes ; they are heavy, they will shut, & wings of night / lashes will flutter open to find her own --- why were you upset? why were you crying? DO YOU KNOW? you feel so hollow / so dirty / why. why --- oh yeah, you dropped the mirror & cut your hand. [i must have gone lightheaded.] Right.
‘ how long has it been since you’ve eaten ? ‘
how long...ah. you are not taking proper care of yourself again. is that why she looks so upset !
‘ ....i ate this morning, sis....i think. ’
〈 * MEME -/- @veqva
#veqva#so anyways enjoy some pain :^)#i can't believe we really just made this 1000% more sad and worst... i hate it here#frieda being alive and constantly making hisu doubt her memories and like also making her feel like a fake?? yeah#there is a tint of envy and anger and so much distrust askjaskjkajksdjksjk#but frieda making her forget stuff she did that just makes her snap ?? she is now a time bomb#・ﾟ 𝓲 ❛ ━━━ ANSWERED.#suicide /#self harm /#gore /#death /#child abuse /#snk /#long post /#ask to tag /#i hope i covered all the tags i stg#⎛ MARTYR HUNG ― TONGUE REMOVED . ⎠ ◦ ━━━ 〈 REISS. H. ◞ IC.
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Violet, Lilac, Wisteria, Amethyst: Part 1
Asra x Reader. Gender neutral, no pronouns, 100% lemon-free.
The night before you are to be wed, you make one final desperate attempt to save yourself by summoning your Patron Arcana to make a deal. But what - or rather who - answers your call is not what you expect.
Featuring: demon Asra, softness, soffftt.
*
In just twelve short hours, you are to be wed.
The bells will toll, the people will cheer, and the last piece of your raging soul will be trodden into the ground by the approving looks of those you once held dear.
Because you know none of it is for you. This engagement, this marriage, this life set out for you is not of your design. It is only to please those in power, and to give your partner-to-be more of it, and you have caught yourself more times than you can count just wondering if any part of who you were would contribute to your partner’s happiness, or if it were all merely a cosmic joke.
You have tried many times for freedom, for even an ounce of control. Every frustrated cry, every attempt at a bargain you have thrown out into the universe: they have all fallen on deaf ears.
The Gods, the wind, the magical realms: they do not wish to hear you.
In the witching hour you are on your knees, surrounded by herbs and bloodied marks and chalk outlines on the floor of your shop.
Waiting, always waiting, the seconds ticking by as you watch the space where the magical being you have summoned is to appear.
But they do not.
You growl. You scream. You lash out at the nearest things and send them scattering around you in a fit of quickly collapsing rage.
And then: a voice from behind you.
“I have always enjoyed the fiery passion of the human race.”
You turn. It’s…you don’t know what. But he is the most beautiful being you have ever seen, in all your years of traveling the world.
High cheekbones kissed by golden skin. Plumes of white hair that fall into his deep violet eyes which, even half-obscured, seem to shift in hue as they take you in. Two sleek horns curve back from his hairline, and you can spy a flicking obsidian tail with an iridescent spike at the end that seems to shift along with his eyes.
He is watching you with an inscrutable gaze, arms folded as he leans against the frame just in front of your very closed, very locked shop door.
You swallow and stand, feigning your boldness. “How did you get in here?”
He just smiles at you.
You shift on your feet and take a step closer. “I asked you a question!”
“And I don’t suffer questions the answers to which are already known.”
You hesitate. Your eyes scatter over him once more, before slowly, very slowly…
…going to the array of magical items at your feet.
The corners of his lips flick up. “There we go.”
“You’re not the Arcana I summoned.”
“Actually, you’ll find I’m not any of them.”
“Then how did you—?”
He steps further into the room, eyes traveling over the items placed out for sale. He plays with a few of the nearby trinkets as he walks, nimble fingers glancing over them as he answers you.
“I’ve been known sometimes to intercept messages from mortals that…pique my curiosity.”
He stops in front of one of your many shelves, lined with herbs and powdered flowers and every other manner of ingredient.
You bite down on your tongue when he begins picking up bottles, reading the labels and giving indecipherable hmmms as he places them back. When he picks up a particularly expensive and rare one, you take an emboldened step forward.
“If you break it, you buy it,” you snap.
This brings his attention back to you. He turns to glance you over his shoulder, his eyes a new shade—lilac, you think—as his lips curve into a smile.
He places the bottle in question back, then with a slow drag of his eyes down to your balled fists, he continues his perusal of your shop.
“I would rather you leave,” you tell him, watching as he approaches your collection of tomes and novels. He fingers the spine of a forest green one, the words inlaid in a bright gold. “I was actually busy before you barged in here. Uninvited, might I add.”
“Oh, I’m never uninvited, cherub,” he answers.
Your cheeks heat at the name, an angry flush that you quickly cover by turning away and beginning to gather your things.
“Well, you were this time,” you mutter angrily under your breath.
Your fingers fumble on the dried rosemary, the bottle of Elk blood, as you stuff them all into your linen satchel. Somewhere behind you, the click of his boots stops, and you can feel his searing gaze on the back of your neck.
“Were you not after someone to save you from your looming, impassive marriage?”
You freeze, fingers grasped around the edge of your book. Your gaze becomes a little unfocused, barely able to see the words on the page before you.
It didn’t matter now. You had tried many times to save yourself, and no mystical being or god or any of the Major Arcana had deemed you worthy enough to answer your calls.
You were not worthy of being helped, it seemed. You should have realised it from the beginning.
“Cherub?”
He repeats the name softly, tentatively, breaking you from your thoughts.
You shake your head, clearing the haze and stuffing the book into your satchel. Rising to your feet with a shake to your limbs, you sling the bag over your shoulder and begin toward the exit.
“Please make sure you lock the door when you leave,” you tell him.
Your hand is inches from the handle when he appears before you, blocking your escape. His hands are tucked behind his back, and his eyes—those damned eyes—have changed their shade once more.
Amethyst, swirling with shadows as they take in your expression: the bags under your eyes, the twist of your lips, the tightness of your jaw. All the empty hollows inside of you that had been left by your pathetic fight, always doomed to fail.
“You called for help, yes?” He asks. His voice is so quiet, almost inscrutable. You nod. “Then allow me to help.”
You swallow, then immediately back track with a soft shake of your head. Your gaze drops away as you speak, a whisper you can barely force out.
“I can’t pay you,” you tell him. “Every offering I had was for—”
“We will figure out payment later. You wish to be free of this impending marriage. You wish to be happy. Free to choose?”
You hesitate. Of everything you have learned in all your time dealing with the Arcana, with all things magical and otherwise, one of the first was what to look for in the makings of a murky bargain.
No bargain without explicitly outlined payment was ever worth making. The payment could come at any time, and in any form, and more often than not the being in question was merely after a profit—the payment was always too steep for the reward.
And you’re about to shake your head and deny his offer. About to take the safer option; perhaps you can summon your patron Arcana after the vows, perhaps there is still a way out after you have been wed.
But…
Your eyes flicker up to his. They are a deeper amethyst now, no shadows, with flecks of wisteria. You are quickly coming to understand that each colour means something, and a strange part of you aches to know you might never understand exactly what.
“Why?” You ask, finally breaking the silence.
You watch his expression shift again, some of the lightness clearing from his eyes as his brows pull down to cast shadows over them.
“Why what?”
“You said you intercept messages that pique your interest. Why was mine so interesting?”
The corners of his lips flicker up as he tilts his head at you, and you feel another flush coming to your cheeks, though this one is not angry. In your mind, you begin creating a list for the shade of his eyes: lilac, amusement.
“I said ‘sometimes’,” he corrects you softly. “And sometimes, when I don’t choose, the choice is made for me. The universe has been known to be more of a trickster than I, and this time…”
He trails off, his eyes dropping to your lips.
Wisteria: lust.
“…this time,” he murmurs. His eyes move back to yours. “It was less of a trick and more of a catastrophe.”
You swallow. He has come close, so close.
“A catastrophe?” You whisper.
He nods. One hand comes up to push the hair from your face, then dips down to trace your lips. You watch the movement, breath held in your throat.
“In that, I’m afraid that if you say no to my bargain,” he says. “I may just pretend I did not hear you, and whisk you away to your freedom anyway.”
Your eyelids flutter shut as he shifts forward, and you are enveloped in the scent of him. Lavender. Sage. The musk of incense, ones you’re sure you’ve been burning in your room since you could light a fire at your own fingertips.
A shiver envelopes your entire body when his lips make contact with your forehead. They linger there, warm and soft, with his hand cupping the back of your head.
“Please, cherub,” he murmurs against your heated skin. “Honour me by letting me take you away. You will only be with me for as long as you are happy.”
“And then?”
“And then I will take you to wherever you need to be to be happy still.”
Your eyes open as he pulls back to find him already staring down at you. A new colour, one that is so barely there you have to search for it.
But the answer comes to you after a moment, almost as easily as breathing. You can feel it swirling in your chest as it shifts, wisteria into orchid, and you know: power. A promise.
He will not force you into his bargain. But, should you say no, he will still watch over you. From his knees, he will still do whatever is necessary to keep you you, to stop you from becoming suffocated and lifeless.
Nothing is beyond his power, and you are the being at its helm, allowed to direct it in any way you so need.
“I don’t even know your name,” you tell him. You receive a soft laugh in response, a twinkle to his gaze as it lightens.
“I am Asra.”
“Well then, Asra…I should like to make a bargain.”
“Mmmmm. I thought you might.”
He kisses your forehead once more, and then dips down a little lower to capture the tip of your nose. You crinkle it, and he laughs, and at the sound of it you quickly realise that the payment might not be the part of the bargain that undoes you.
“We will seal our bargain with a kiss,” he tells you. “Would you allow me to kiss you? Properly?”
You nod.
You loose a breath.
And then he kisses you.
And it’s the softest, the most glorious, his power and desire and affection wrapping themselves around your very soul as he cups the back of your head and swirls his tongue through your mouth.
You gasp against his lips, a hand to each of his wrists, as though that might steady you.
But the world still spins.
And your heart still sings.
And before he whisks you away in plumes of shadows to a better world, you add one final colour to the list in your mind.
Amethyst: love.
On to part 2 --->
🍑 Requesting | Masterlist | My Ao3
#the arcana#asra#asra alnazar#asra x reader#the arcana asra#the arcana asra alnazar#gender neutral reader#gn reader#lemon-free#nnn#writing#demonverse
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Stale Cigarettes and Scourge Magic
A cool morning breeze wafted through the open window and ran through Berinhardt’s hair. The warm embrace of the morning sun washed over his bare chest and slowly the sleeping mage returned to the waking world. Books were strewn all across the desk he’d fallen asleep at between near empty bottles of beer and the charred remains of cigarettes.
It took a few moments for his senses to fully wake up as the mage looked around in a daze and finally rose from his seat to stretch his stiff limbs. He let out a yawn more akin to the roar of a tired old lion as he shuffled out from behind the desk and opened the cracked window even more. As if by routine a cigarette made its way between his lips, and he snapped a finger to light it from a tiny flame on his thumb.
The hayseed wizard cleared his throat and looked himself over. The hairy, rune covered farm boy must have looked more like a seedy underworld goon than a scatterbrained wizard, as his presence drew several turned eyes and hushed whispers. As the cigarette burned down he drew away from the window and once again plopped himself back down at the desk before taking a swig from the fullest of the open bottles among the books.
“Why is everyone in this fucking city so afraid of a little Scourge magic?”
The question fell on deaf ears. Berinhardt paused for a moment and let out a huff. He knew damn good and well why his task was so impossible, but that was hardly a deterrent for him. People always told him he’d never become a mage like his mother, and six grueling years with the Kirin Tor later he basically had proved them wrong!
“If I could just find someone who knew how to read these fucking things” he bemoaned as he flipped through pages upon pages of material he’d already read.
A Primer on the Forbidden: Scourge Magics and You had been his first stop, but it was little more than a children's book on not fucking with necromancy, and it found its self on the floor of his room. Runes and You: A Guide to Enchanting Better seemed like it would at least give him some insight on where to look to translate the runes but it was more of a recipe book for budding enchanters.
Berinhardt leaned back from the pile of books he once again had begun to sift through. It was a never ending cycle of finding a lead only to come to another block in the road. Old friends in the Mage Quarter wouldn’t help him out of fear of reprisal, he’d asked a handful of Death Knights for assistance but he had apparently picked out the broodiest of the bunch and wound up in a few scraps. He’d made a promising arrangement with a Warlock but when the man started asking for limbs as compensation Berinhardt ended that deal post haste.
The mage stood up once more from his desk and shuffled past the piles of tomes and bottles towards the bed, crouching down beside it. Hands felt around in the darkness beneath the bed until they made purchase on a long box he carefully drug out into the morning light.
The rather unassuming maple box lit up in patterns of brilliant glowing amethyst runes. Circles and squares intersected with lines and other shapes all containing arcane runes. Berinhardt traced a strange pattern across the floating runes as if connecting pieces to a puzzle before the bright purple glow died down and the simple gold lock popped open.
He took a deep breath as he opened the lid and stared down at its contents. Cushioned in crushed blue velvet was the lower blade and hilt of a runeblade. The gnarled skull fixed to the crossguard looked up at him with blank eyes, sending a chill down his spine.
The crossguard as well as the remaining portion of the blade were decorated in intricate runes that had at some point glowed an ethereal blue color. Now they stared back at him cold and lifeless just as the skull did, sending feelings of remorse throughout his whole body. What was he doing, truly? He’d brought the shattered blade of a Death Knight into the city and for what? To try and decipher the runes and bindings that had given it power.
A knock at the door nearly sent Berinhardt backwards as he slammed close the trunk and traced a different pattern over the lid, sliding the faintly humming box back beneath the bed before he clambered over it and towards the door.
“Ma’ apologies sir, I came tae’ ask if ya’d like me ta’ clean up your room. Ya’ve been up here locked away fer’ so long I thotta’ change of sheets and some breakfast may help you with wha’ever it is yer working through” beamed a Dwarven woman with a handful of fresh linens and a plate of fruit.
Berinhardt stared at the woman with an aloof expression before plucking an apple off the tray and taking a bite as he stepped back from the door to give her entry. The Dwarf hummed in pity as she looked over the maze of books and beer bottles, shaking her head lightly.
“I have some errands to run so I’ll...leave you to it I guess” the mage said between bites on the apple as he pulled his best smelling shirt over his head and hooked his suspenders over his shoulders. “Just promise me one thing,” he followed up as he pulled a few gold coins from his pocket and offered them out to the maid.
With a cocked brow she snatched the coins up, still sizing the hayseed mage up as if expecting some rather outrageous request. “S’long as it’ll nae’ make me want to hurt ye” she fired back.
“Just don’t mess with the box under the bed. It's very important mage equipment and I don’t want you getting hurt,” he said with as charming of a smile as he could muster between munches on the apple.
The maid agreed and with that Berinhardt nodded, snatching his baldric, sword, and belt from beside the door as he set off towards the front door. He had heard rumors of a bookseller who not only dealt in exotic tomes, but in discretion. Perhaps it was time for Berinhardt to meet this mysterious merchant.
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FFXIVWrite Prompt #16: Lucubration
Victoria reads Wyda's books when she's not home.
It feels a little like theft; she waits until she knows she's alone, that no one will come in suddenly and catch her rifling through someone else's knowledge. Being discovered would be terrible. Having to explain herself would be worse. Having to explain herself to Wyda would make her want to die. Better to just avoid the problem entirely by pretending she harbors no interest in the subject her surreptitious browsing centers on.
That's what you do; that's how people work. Everyone else thinks your interests are pointless, and if you fail to hide your passion you'll be mocked for being foolish enough to care so deeply. Those laws of engagement apply doubly to things you'll never be capable of doing. She's buckled under the weight of shame all her life, and she couldn't bear to have Wyda be the one loading it upon her.
And still, Victoria cannot make herself stop.
Arcanima is a science that paints its precise angles into an art all the more beautiful for its complexity, and even with the blood in her veins being death to any magic she could ever try to touch, she cannot bring herself to walk away.
It fascinates her with the intricacies of its structure; clear anchor points of principle, tying myriad lines of theory with enough flexible unknowns to twist and splice the strands of the web they form. Of all the ambiguities Victoria struggles with, the aetherial shape of the universe is perhaps the only one she can't seem to find terror in. There is promise in its uncertainties, rather than pain, and with the grandeur of its scale she finds safety in her own insignificance.
Wyda is enraptured by its theory, too. The love letter she penned to it stretched on long enough to become a thesis on its nature, and the upswelling of her delight in its what-ifs blooms unreservedly on her face if she gets the opportunity to express it. Of course, it's all couched as academic interest, but covering is necessary. Victoria understands, and so does not begrudge her that ostensible objectivity. She merely listens to Wyda give voice to her enthusiasm, loving it and loving her.
She's thought about trying it herself once or twice, in the focused hours when she's caught up in fascination. A tome, a quill, and a carefully chosen gemstone, and she'd have all that she needed to try and lay her fingers upon the weave of aether. Sketching out the shape of the scaffolding shoring up the equation for carbuncle is as alluring a possibility as water in the desert.
That's foolish, though, and she knows it. Ilsabard's children are deaf to the music of the spheres and blind to the notation that directs it, and they will always be so. She is no exception, no matter how tempting it is to wonder if she's some fantastic anomaly.
That sort of thinking is for those too young to grasp that they cannot be anything they want; childish daydreaming pries open the armor of restraint she protects herself with, and she cannot afford to offer the world yet another place to sink its teeth in and tear out her heart.
Some things are forever out of reach, and some dreams are not meant to be, and so she simply watches the aether of the universe map itself into constellations on the page while knowing that she will never be able to touch them. But even then, she wonders still, until the spectre of anticipated failure inevitably stays her hand.
She has loved the stars so fondly.
Would that she had the strength to not be fearful of the night.
#FFXIVWrite#FFXIVWrite2020#this is quick and dirty but I have no time and my wrists still hurt#Vicky honey it's okay to like things#as to whether she can actually use magic: I have no fucking idea#because canon doesn't say shit about half-Garleans and I hate writing myself into corners#my writing
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Dumpling ch. 18
Maevis busied himself for the next hour by returning the books to their proper homes while Barnaby gathered Jae and Nenani over to one side of the table. Under a green cloak, was an old wooden trunk. The wood was worn and dark with age. The metal was unpolished, but strong. With difficulty and a bit of help from Jae, Barnaby lifted away the lid to reveal the treasure inside.
Books. Human sized and bound in black leather.
He ran his finger along the spines of the top layer, scouring the gilded letters.
“A small miracle these survived,” he said. “But I believe the one I want is...ah, yes this one. My boy, would you mind to clear some room here? Those paint pots are dried so no worry about them spilling.”
Jae obediently made room on the small work table as the older man pulled one book out slowly and with great care before placing it open upon the table. He gestured for Nenani to come look. She had a little learning of letters, but had not been very studious and the years of disuse after her parent’s deaths had left her reading comprehension sorely lacking. “I’m not very good with letters.”
“Oh, well we will have to sort that out in the future. But for now, I will read them to you. These pages list the names of men who were all apart of the Thorn Guard. Listed by family. This page here is where the Family Daelg begins. And as you can see...” he flipped through several pages. “...there are many of them. Your forefathers were all in the guard for many many year. One of the oldest serving families. Protecting the King and kin.”
“Papa guarded the King? Really?” She drew up an image of her father in her mind and had no diffuculties reconciling with image. In her eyes, her father had always held all the qualities of a knight from stories he read her. Brave, selfless, and loyal. It warmed her heart to know she had been right, but it fueled her need to know more.
“No, he was not high enough in rank to be so close to the King himself. Your grandfather would have, yes. Often. In fact I do believe that was his last official post. But here, look.”
The archivist ran his finger along bottom of the page. “This your father’s entry. Hayron. Born to Hayier Daelg by his wife Maudre on the fourth of September in ninth year of King Haeral’s rule. Your Uncle, Halden was born little over a year later in the winter.”
There was not much more about her father or uncle in the book and very little revealed itself in the other tomes. But Barnaby was gracious enough to tell her stories her remembered about them when he was still the archivist for Silvaara. However, she was able to get a better picture of her Grandfather, Hayier. As captain of the Thorn guard, his name repeatably popped up throughout the pages.
“They use to call him Old Ironwood, because he was so straight and unyielding,” he told her. “He was a fierce fighter, your grandfather.”
“You should come to open call and see Rheil break in the new recruits,” Jae suggested. “It’s in a few days, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Seeing as she’s got Thorn Guard blood,” Jae grinned at Nenani and poked her with his elbow. “Maybe she’ll pick up a few things.”
Barnaby looked as though he were about to protest, but was cut off by Maevis. “Oh dear. My friends, we may have a problem.”
The three humans looked to see the magician standing near one of the windows with a small stack of books in his arms, one arm still holding one out as he was slipping it into an empty spot on the shelf. He was looking down at something below.
“What’s wrong?” Jae asked.
“Just now, I noticed Hev leave the west side corridor.”
Jae’s face fell. “Oh….oh, that’s bad.”
Nenanmi turned to Jae and asked, “Why is that bad?”
He sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair before giving her a sympathetic glance. “Because that means he’s coming back from the kitchens.”
Nenani felt her insides turn as understanding settled in. “Maybe he was just getting a snack?”
Barnaby placed a hand on Nenani’s shoulders. “I am afraid my dear that the proverbial cat, as they say, is out of the bag.”
“So that means...” She trailed off with a groan.
“Yep,” Jae replied. “Farris knows you lost your marker.”
………………………
They had left the library, saying their goodbyes to Maevis and Barnaby, and made the slow trek back through the tunnels towards the kitchens. Jae tried to reassure her that they could still potentially come upon the marker somewhere along the tunnels in a fortuitous turn of luck. Grateful as she was for his continued optimism, she knew without giving it concrete consideration that it would be a fruitless venture. It was gone forever. Plain and simple. And she felt sure that facing Farris was a much better direction to take. How could she ever explain to Jae or to anyone what she had seen? How could she ever find her way back, even if she wanted to prove that she had not been making the whole thing up?
The moment they stepped into the dark, she had expected to hear the voices again, to feel dizzy, or to feel anything beyond the norm. But it was as it had been before. Just a tunnel illuminated by Maevis’s orbs. Nothing strange about it. As they moved along the path, she kept a close eye on the light, worried that any second they were disappear and the heat-less flames would come back, beckoning them both towards the catacombs. But they did not. She decided in that moment that it had never happened and she never needed to waste another thought on what lay deep inside the walls of Vhasshal.
Jae sensed her anxiety and gave her a cheeky smirk.
“If he’s that mad, you could always stay here in the tunnels with me,” he offered. But his grin faded when he received no reply. “It’ll be OK, y’know. I promise. Farris will yell for a while and maybe make you sweep the kitchen by yourself or something like that. Make a tiny broom for you or something.”
“Yeah,” she replied lowly as they rounded the last corner and could see the door to the kitchen. A faint string of light outlining its shape in the dark. “Maybe.”
Drawing nearer, they could hear Farris hollering nearly twenty feet from the door.
“Oh,” Jae said with a frown. “He’s pissed, alright.”
Nenani grimaced and groaned, not looking forwards to what was to come. She hoped she wouldn’t go deaf. As they approached the tunnel door, Farris’s words became that much more audible. “...COULD YA BE THAT STUPID?! ONE SIMPLE THING!”
“Well, old Hev did mention the request came from Keral,” Yale’s voice, much softer and muffled by the stone, replied. His words were barely heard. “Wouldn’t be shocked if he’s also the reason why.”
Jae glanced over his shoulder and motioned for Nenani to stand behind him and then slowly eased the door open a few inches. It was quite heavy, however and despite his best efforts to make a quite and inconspicuous entry, the hinges creaked. A high pitched shriek of old and oil thirsty metal.
“I COULDN’T GIVE A..” Farris’s voice abruptly cut off at the sound and Jae froze, eyes wide and mouth grimacing. They both stood silently behind the ajar door, waiting for something to happen. Perhaps the two giants would continue on speaking and not notice anything. However, when Farris’s voice struck up again, it had lost almost all of its previous volume and was replaced by an irritated snark. “Well? Ya just gonna skulk behind the fucking door or ya what?”
With a resigned groan, Jae pushed the door open the remainder of the way. Hesitantly and with an uneasy smile, he stepped through and onto the mantel’s surface. Nenani was on his heals, pressing herself behind him as if to shield her from the sight of the giants. Farris loomed over the pair, a severe scowl plaster upon his face. One hand was clenched at his side while the other was planted firmly on his him.
“Farris, I can explain-” Jae began, but he was completely ignored and without even allowing him to finish, the giant reached out and slammed the door to the tunnel shut. The same hand then turned to grab up the young man and plucked him from the spot where he stood. “WHOA-hey!”
“Yale!” Farris barked while holding Jae out away from his person, never averting his eyes from Nenani. Behind gritted teeth, he hissed, “Find somewhere more fitin’ fer this one to be that ain’t in m’face.”
Yale started, hastily lowering the crock he has been holding onto the table before moving to Farris’s side with alacrity and reaching out for Jae just as Farris’s fingers released their grip. Jae cried out in alarm as he dropped the three feet before landing in Yale’s outreached palms.
“As ya say, Boss!” Yale replied, giving Jae no time to recover or add his own commentary, and promptly sprinted out the archway and into the courtyard.
“Saen!” Farris barked, his eyes still not wavering from Nenani. On the other side of the kitchen, Saen was elbows deep in flour. Upon hearing his name, the young giant jumped, sending a small plume of flour up into the air.
“Uh, yeah?” He asked tentatively.
“Leave it be fer th’moment and go see Bart.”
“Aye, will do.” Same as Yale, Saen quickly made his exit through the archway, leaving Farris and Nenani alone. In that moment of silence, she was reminded of just how imposing a figure Farris was and being the focus of his ire was truly a terrifying experience. It was not wholly dissimilar to their first meeting and though she was absolute in her confidence he would not harm her, she could help but shrink away.
“Don’t suppose ya have some shit of a’reason fer not having yer marker, eh?” he began sternly. His voice strained as he struggled to maintain his tone. He waved a hand at her before crossing both arms and staring at her expectantly. “Well then, let’s have it.”
Her tongue felt twice its normal size and all she managed was a few false starts and stutters.
“Yer gonna just gap at me like a fucking lipper or is that all ya got?”
“N-no...” she managed to mumble out quietly.
“Gonna have t’be doin’ better than that, Dumplin,” said the spice master. He opened one palm to reveal a small scrap of leather at the end of which dangled a piece of struck metal. Her new maker. “You remember at all why these are important?”
“So...so other Vhasshalans leave me alone,” she replied, swallowing thickly against the growing tightness in her throat.
“NO!” Farris roared. “ITS SO THEY DONT FUCKIN’ EAT YA!”
Nenani jumped, stumbling back until her shoulders hit the wall and she stared wide eyed up at the giant. Hot tears fell rolled down her cheeks. Farris was red in the face and snarling, his anger open and on show. It was too hard to meet his gaze and she averted her eyes to stare at her feet.
“Thrist aint’ th’only fucker that would try t’gut n’ roast ya if he thought he could get away with it. Are ya soft in the brain t’ave forgotten that?”
“No, I-I just...I’m sorry...” Nenani whimpered.
“And ya’d be even sorrier if...”
“Farris,” said a voice from the archway, cutting his words short. Farris turned to glance over his shoulder, giving Nenani a clear view of the doorway. Captain Rheil, dressed in his red boiled leather armor stood under the entryway, and wearing a somber and serious expression. “Forgive my interruption, but I need to speak with you.”
“Can’t ya see I’m busy?” Farris growled in annoyance, but the gray haired giant’s steel gaze never wavered.
“Believe me, you will want to make time for this,” he replied. “This matter concerns the humans.”
Farris turned fully face Rheil, head tilted in interest. “Alright, on with ya then. What other trouble have these wee brats managed?”
“Nothing like that,” the captain replied, taking Farris’s affirmative response as invitation to enter, and he stepped into the kitchen proper. “This matter involves all the humans on castle grounds, I am afriad. There have been several troubling reports.”
“Reports? What reports?”
“You’re familiar with Queen Rosanna’s personal guard, Creag, correct?” Rheil asked. When Farris grunted an affirmation, he continued. “I’ve also been fielding complaints about him since the Ibronian procession arrived last month. Harassing wait staff and some of my men for the most part, but he has also made several threats against both Sawyer and Connar. There has been a sharp uptake in his behavior and the Ibronian has been outright violent since the wedding, but today both Maevis and Keral came to me about him explicitly trying to kill Jae near the Royal apartments. Your ward was reportedly with him at the time of the incident.”
Though she could not see his face, Nenani watched the muscles of Faris’s back pull taught and his fits ball up.
“That fish nosed fuck tried t’murder two children right under the King nose?” Farris’s demanded. It was a tone Nenani had not heard him use and it felt much more dangerous than his normal level of anger. A deep, guttural growl with real vehemence behind it. He fixed the captain with a razor edged glare. “Rheil, yer lot better be doin’ somethin’ ‘bout this fucker. ‘Cause I can’t be promisin’ ya that me and my boys won’t.”
The captain seemed to have anticipated this reaction and held up a placating hand. “My men are escorting him to an audience with the King as we speak and I have plenty of witnesses to attest to the event. My main mission in coming to you was to let you know to keep a short leash on the lil’un for a while. Keep her down here and out of sight while things are taken care of upstairs.”
“Aye.”
“And since the brat’s already down here as well, that makes my task all the simpler. The King requests the same of Jae. Don’t allow him to squirrel away some place of his own choosing. The King has ordered him to remain down here and under your supervision until his Majesty comes to collect him in person.”
Farris cursed and shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Gods piss on it all. It’s fuckin’ Baynor all over again.”
“Luckily for us, the Ibronian does not posses nearly the political currency as my predecessor,” Rheil replied. “However, the Queen has an ample supply and my observations have been that she is heavily reliant on him.”
“Ya expectin’ any trouble?”
“No,” Rheil replied. “Nothing so bad as when Baynor was ousted. But I would rather be prepared in any case and his Majesty was very clear. Jae is to remain here.”
For a long moment, no one said anything and Nenani wondered if she had been forgotten entirely.
“Aye,” Farris said finally and nodded. “They’ll be watched well and good.”
Rheil hummed in approval and tilted his head to the side to look passed Farris to fix Nenani with a warm smile. “Haven’t see ya in a good long while, lass. Hope that walking boulder didn’t hurt ya none.”
Nenani shook her head. “No. He wasn’t really going after me.”
“So I’ve been told,” Rheil said. “Jae does seemed to have been th’ main target, but I have no doubt he’d have just as well treated ya to the same had he caught ya. Keral mentioned he found ya wanderin’ ‘round by yerself. Lost in the halls without yer marker.”
There was a teasing nature to Rheil’s words.
“S’that how ya lost it then, eh?” Farris asked, pinning her with one green eye.
She shrugged meekly. “I don’t remember it falling off. I had it and then I didn’t. I was running a lot.”
Farris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, before turning to her and walking up to the mantel. He held her new marker aloft between two fingers and as she reached out to take it, he told her firmly, “Best be learnin’ to take better care of it, Dumplin’. ‘Cause if yer ever needin’ another anytime in the next ten years, I’ll be tying one end of a short lead to ya and th’ other to a lipper barrel and ya can live in the yard.”
She stared and then nodded fervently before quickly clipped the leather around her neck. The metal was almost hot from being clenched in Farris’s fist for so long, but there was a measure of comfort with the now familiar weight being back along her collar bone. She peeked up at the kitchen master, cautiously optimistic.
“So...does this mean I’m not in trouble anymore?”
#g/t writing#dumpling#Giant/tiny#Fantasy Story#Nenani#Jae#Barnaby#Maevis#Kera#giants#humans#Vhasshal#Rheil
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14: hero’s journey
prompt: part || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror
word count: 4813 (i DONT want to talk about how long this is)
You are not simply a hero, but this is still your journey, and the parts of you are waiting along the way. All you have to do is take them.
DRK shenanigans, anyone? Note: distinctly not canon-DRK things ahead, hopefully still keeping the same emotional sort of weight? Also, second person POV! There’s no spoilers because this is just me going off on a tangent :P
Someone had noted—an age old teacher, perhaps, memories inlaid deep onto your crystal—that grief causes the greatest oddities to occur. Simulacrums formed of it weren’t so uncommon as one might be led to believe with a surplus of aether and enough love turned sour.
You just weren’t expecting to be one of them.
Like wildfires, you expect to fade back into the darkness of the abyss easily enough; the hands of such a young knight wouldn’t be able to bear being stained so pitch-black, you think, not when she glows with Halone’s blessing and something even more. Her hands leave freezer burns over the facets of your crystal, frosty fog forming as she keeps training, keeps hunting down more and more aevis until there’s nothing left. Even Ishgard’s worst blizzards fail to stand up against the winter storm of her fury.
Must be some sort of rebellion, violent and reckless as it is. You sit back (as much as a distant flame in the abyss can, anywho) and wait until the worst of her temper fizzles back into snowmelt—which, obviously, doesn’t happen like you assumed, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, now would you?
(When you hear the truth of it, crystal fed enough blood and aether to reach out further than just from the little knight’s pockets—when you hear betrayals and exiles and my brother is dead because of your Braves, Alphinaud, what more do you want from me, your realization shows itself in coldflare and dark light, wrapping itself as best it can around someone so blessed and “loved by the gods” as your ward.
Though you need her more than she needs you, it still doesn’t hurt, you think, to cover her armor in a veil of darkness, even when her shield sings of nevermelting ice and wraps light around her anyways.)
But eventually, it does; Lumelle—you find out her name from a man willing to jump in front of inquisitors and magical spears alike for his beloved friends—her enraged grief bubbles off into a quieter sort at the beginning of Ishgard’s new dawn, and you are left by her bedside when she falls into a sleep after destroying a wyrm with grief that, really, wasn’t all that different. (Besides the whole eternal lifespan and eyeballs of power, and the wyrm’s sibling being eaten by Lumelle’s ancestors thing. That had thrown you for a loop.)
And oh, you expect it to end there, your tale that of accompanying a girl who didn’t need you so much as she needed closure; fading after protecting someone so bright would be an honor.
...
(But there is no rest for the righteous, now is there?)
...
Your next chapter opens in the palms of someone already acquainted with bloody hands, and though the little time spent out of Lumelle’s hands has left you wanting for your senses yet again, it takes hardly any time to figure just what this one’s deal is.
(Her hands shake whenever she sees her party’s astrologian—so small, her head is practically the size of your ward’s fist balled up—and the thought of Vylbrand sours every conversation like milk left to rot. Y’shtola utters the word crone and the spike of earthquake panic you both feel lets you understand the jumble of misremembered nightmares that still haunts the warrior so far north from the place.
When she almost drowns herself in the memories, asking the sea to take her back into her arms, you are the one screaming the entire time—not because she is taking you with her, no, but because you can feel the summer breeze and hear the quiet pond rushing about the housing district looking for her, and you do not know what you’ll do if her death reignites Lumelle’s tempered anger.
The scholar cries out her name just as she falls too deep; Syhrwyda, you remember—you’ll force her name onto this damned crystal if you have to—and the breath of relief you sigh when the white mage forces the ocean to spit her out is all but audible.)
You expect her to let the little supernova cut her down, cleanse burns with blood and old aches with a trip into the abyss, because if Lumelle’s aches were screaming freezer burns then the gentle warrior’s are a quiet erosion. Even dripping blood can wear down a mountain, with enough time, and with a Calamity come and passed, the proof burned onto her skin, it is more than enough to see this mighty willow fallen to the skies opening up and pouring a tsunami’s worth of suffering in retribution.
Both you and her close your eyes when the axe comes swinging down, kneeling on the ground in pain. You do not expect it to be swift or painless like the rumors say of guillotines and execution, but you hope it is anyways.
And yet, and yet, the blade does not come.
(Part of you wonders: would the girl shrouded in fallen moonlight have done the same thing, if she had seen what Syhrwyda had seen? Would she, knowing that the choice was submission or death, have still seen her friend and ally in the woman that burnt her childhood with naught but a single incantation?
It matters not. There is no turning back time, and she has decided to give her friend a boon.)
It is not metal that comes, but a flurry of stars calling a lost sailor home instead, so potent that her magic seeps into your crystal as she collapses against your ward’s shoulder, whispering I’m sorry, I can’t, I won’t like little wishes made upon falling stars. You don’t know if you imagined the croaked it isn’t your fault or if you simply missed the mumbled movements, but Syhrwyda’s aether settles in time with the stars bursting across her skin and you know that your time with her will come to an end soon.
When she sets your crystal by a small crystalline lamp, you hum in amusement, letting yourself slip down into the abyss once more as the watery blue light ripples off the bookshelves.
…
(Who are you?)
(No one of consequence.)
…
You find yourself more confused than before when the scholar picks up your small crystal, facets gleaming brighter than before but still dulled from decades of being frozen under Ishgard’s snows; nothing about him sings of the same pain like the last two. He pockets your crystal easily and you wonder just what use he’ll find from you if he has no abyss of his own to draw from, no font to gather his strength for him to find.
(You miss how quiet he is in the din of everyone and everything else, tuned up to near painful when you open your eyes again. You miss the words he reads, the spells he crafts, the spared glances to his usual tome. Nothing about the man betrays it; hardly anything he does seems to suggest even a hint of regret, grief long since frozen over and forgotten of a home he’d long lost.
This was never an easy road—traveling down into the abyss and to rise back up again—and you do not expect easy wards, but the scholar—)
Even deadly waters can be calm at the surface, deceiving depths holding something stronger, and when he rises to meet the Illuminati and the (not their) primal, you start to see the signs of something lurking in the water and strain to open your eyes, drained as you are so close to Alexander.
(You should have noticed how he balked away from poisons, preferring to sit far away from the rogue; you should have felt the gentle ripple when Mide mentioned Alexander’s purpose and wondered more.
It is too late for regrets, but it is not too late to stop this man, whose hands are too gentle and weary, from falling further into something he did not truly want.)
Are you daft, you whisper, and it’s not the best thing you’ve ever come up with but it’s the first words you’ve truly spoken to be heard. Like the rest, you expect your words to fall on deaf ears—stubborn people, the ones that have found you—but this time the scholar stops. Lingers, the precipice of a typhoon brewing up from the bottom of his soul. Do you truly think this will work?
“Not completely,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble as his small carbuncle shimmers and shakes its way into existence; part of you wishes you were strong enough to do the same just so you could shake the fluff out of this man’s brain to where it belongs. “But it might, and even the smallest chance...”
What of your friends today?
You don’t know what you expected, really; the scholar clams up and so do you, a connection cleaved in two as he walks away from the hand of the giant primal, stone in hand, and you are too exhausted to try and pry his heart open wider. Convincing him to let it all spill forth is harder than convincing a rock to move on its own, so you don’t try.
This time, when you fall back asleep atop a book with a soft leather cover, you desperately hope this is the end of it.
…
(Did you know them, too? Did they lead you to me?)
(In a way, yes.)
(Then you can stay, for now. Just… keep quiet.)
…
And of course, it never is.
It’s hard to describe your next awakening as anything but a bolt of lightning straight to your center, with how much aether rushes through your crystal and into the abyss. Too fast, too quick, like a flame burning too hot too soon. From freezing to the fiery depths of hell, you think incredulously as you reach out, looking to just who might be so dangerously close to tipping too far.
You don’t expect to find the timid white mage staring down at your soul crystal, red eyes and all.
(In a way, perhaps you should have known it would happen; the man was too damned reserved, all flower petals and no bark, the look in his eyes when he saw someone injured too intense for simple worry. He hates bloodshed yet makes his career in it all the same, and you’ve been held by Lumelle so tightly that you felt his magic—summer’s night bottled into a cure, blooming flowers pressed over scars, and you think nothing could be kinder than the way he loves.
Shame that you forgot that sometimes kindness is forged in the abyss.)
You’re sure he doesn’t mean to keep your crystal at all—hells, he sets it at the bottom of his satchel before he goes running off to join the fray in the same place that nearly killed him, the damned martyr—but you get taken with him regardless, and you see just how badly he’s dealt with it all. You don’t retort as snarkily as you might have with Duscha; your current ward is like paper thin glass, and you worry that if you push him he might break into pieces so small not even the sun’s light could find him.
In fact, you’re not sure what will happen if you make yourself known at all. He doesn’t seem strong enough to handle the idea that his guilt is making a simulacrum manifest.
(If you truly wanted, you could make him a fine dark knight. Teach him how to take his love and turn it into strength and protection stronger than anything the realm’s elements might give him, no matter how loved he is by them. Stain this white mage in dark.
But you see his dreams, sometimes—you never had found your way into dreams before, but with someone practically bleeding their life aether onto you, a simulacrum fueled by memories and pain, it’s hard not to have new experiences—and his hands are always coated in blood. His own, someone else’s, his mother’s, his father’s…
You choose not to take him through the abyss. You don’t want to know if he’ll still be there when you walk out.)
Finding someone that might be able to help someone who very stubbornly doesn’t want help is… a lot harder than intended. There’s not too many people… happy, with your ward; not after Baelsar’s Wall, and the man that Lumelle sent flying. You faintly remember a name—Caelestis, or something—but you care little for details and more for solutions, so you keep peering outwards and looking as best you can without fully peering into their heads.
That is, until that someone comes running at the white mage like a teal tulip some sylph chucked at you with the force of a demon.
(He introduces himself to everyone as Haruki, but you can’t help but call him Ruki after one too many trips into A’dewah’s head—Dewah, he says, and you don’t know much about Seeker names but you know that it means more to your ward than it does to anyone else—and you think you can get him to help, even if A’dewah himself is trying to avoid him like the plague.
Especially because he’s avoiding Haruki like he’ll die if he doesn’t.)
It takes a few minor illusions and a trip to the Steppe (you didn’t know how to do these before A’dewah, you think as you practically lead a trail of hints from the Enclave to the tree A’dewah’s stuck himself in) but Haruki’s always been smarter than he might look (you still can’t get over the peacock feather of a mess his hair is) and eventually, eventually, your plan comes to fruition.
You don’t try to listen when they talk, but the rush of relief in A’dewah’s aether and the slow transition of summer bottled up tight enough to crack glass to the light warmth of, say, a greenhouse in full bloom tells you all you need to know, anyways.
(Doma is freed, soon after, and the Warriors are called back home, to Ala Mhigo’s war, but you look one last time out to Doma and see the last moments of A’dewah’s goodbyes, and of course it’s Haruki he tells last. His eyes burn like a solar eclipse, and you think if it weren’t for his son—so small and brave, callouses already on his fingers—he’d come back with you.
You think it might be puppy love, somehow, but you take one last look at what you know and think that maybe he’s just tired of being left behind, of being the last one. Might be love, might be wanderlust.
It doesn’t matter. You still have to leave, even if it hurts.)
On the ship’s journey back through the Sirensong Sea, A’dewah finally acknowledges you, in a way.
“Thank you,” he murmurs to no one in particular as he ties up his hair tighter. His eyes aren’t reddened from crying anymore—just the unfortunate lot of his mother’s eyes being blood red by nature—and you think you can rest, now.
So you do.
…
(Don’t you understand to call for help?)
(I can manage.)
(So sayeth the Weapon of Light.)
…
From one firebrand of a caster to another, you think as your crystal gets put into Valdis’ open palms—you learn her name early, this time, instead of just before the climax of the story—and though her aether is quiet you know well enough that it doesn’t mean there’s nothing hiding behind it.
(It’s the same sort of longing for something long past, you remember. Duscha’s aether had a similar balance to hers, even if Valdis is mostly umbral shade and hardly a hint of water among the flames she pulls into form. Where Duscha was restrained she is explosive, and you don’t need to look too hard to find the root of the issue.
The thing is: you’re too exhausted.)
You’re lucky she doesn’t fight closer to the front line, like Lumelle or Syhrwyda, because you can hardly summon a shadow at this point—perhaps you were played the fool by A’dewah’s tears into doing too much, not saving enough.
But then you look at Valdis and think she might be fine on her own, eyes still lit up and hopeful. Spitfire in her hair and embers in her eyes, already burning like a flame that knows how to rise from her ashes already.
There’s something to be said about youth, maybe, and you sigh as you close your eyes and hope to wake when she needs you.
(The thing is: she doesn’t need to.)
…
(... Hmph.)
(If you’re expecting an apology, you’re getting none from me.)
(I do not need—)
…
Your next venture leads you into the hands of someone so astrally aspected you don’t know if you can even summon the strength to peer outwards. Their aether and yours conflicts so greatly that it’s hard to tell if the abyss is flaring up or dying down, really, but you try regardless.
You will eternally be glad you do not have a face, because the pure shock when the face you see is one that was supposed to be long dead is not a face you’d ever like to see.
Lumelle had been your catalyst, and the little machinist before you the cause; you didn’t think he’d survived, somehow, even if you saw the monk that supposedly fell with him. He’s brighter than you’d thought he’d ever be, as close to the abyss as his sister was, and then you realize—
He truly doesn’t need you. His eyes still gleam on their own, not shrouded by something buried deep. If Duscha’s abyss was well hidden enough for you to mistake it, there can be no mistake here.
When he keeps your crystal close, anyways, you close your eyes again, thinking that perhaps this time you won’t be needed like before.
And for the most part; he doesn’t.
(There are times, surely, when a speck of darkness flickers into the light that fills his aether, but you hardly need to look at it to tell it’s over something silly. A flame that will flicker out soon enough. You don’t lift a finger over that.)
In a way, his hands are a restless reprieve. You cannot sleep, truly, because if you do you don’t want to know how much your crystal’s facets will fade, but there is nothing for you here, either.
So. You watch.
…
(But. Don’t you want?)
(I already want enough. I can get by.)
(Doesn’t mean you should.)
…
The rogue plucks your crystal from Elwin’s bag, a shadow in the night, and you hardly realize the change until you’re set by a pack of crystals. You nearly think to panic—what disaster do you have to reconcile now, tired as you are—but then the rogue whispers like he already knows.
(Maybe he does. Every rogue you’ve seen through other eyes has always been a bit sharper than they make themselves to be.)
“Take a breather,” he hums, flipping his daggers in the air and watching them glint in the dim moonlight. You think you might know his name, uttered once or twice in passing, but you’ve hardly begun to rest from your time in Elwin’s bright hands and aether that it’s slipped you by once or twice already. “Ye’ve helped us out. ‘S high time we pay back, hm?”
I do not do this for payment, you sigh, but his aether is the easiest of them all, really, more comfortable than even Valdis’ despite the light chill of it. He doesn’t respond, merely whistling as he walks along the metal pathway—Garlean territory, and he’s so calmly strolling through it?
You don’t choose to rest, even though you could, and keep an eye on the man anyways.
(It’s worth the trouble, you think when you shroud him in shadows, narrowly avoiding the gaze of some wisened soldier who knows the tricks of the trade. Even if nothing’s gained in return.)
…
(They’re...gone. They’re gone, gone, what do I do now—)
(Breathe. You’ll find them again. You always do.)
(But what if I can’t this time? What if I find them only to lose them?)
(You won’t.)
(How can you be sure?)
(Because you want to find them. I’m still here, aren’t I?)
…
There isn’t so much of a rest between leaving Tehra’ir’s palms and falling into the monk’s own, really; not when the rogue collapses alongside Valdis and the man with the eyepatch after some reverberating call that shook even you, incorporeal as you are. If you’d a physical form, the pain behind your eyes would be overwhelming; the sensation of being ripped from one’s body must be horrible, but even more so being torn from the very aether that keeps you.
Either way, the Elder Seedseer drops your crystal into their hands when she comes from the infirmary with a grim look on her face.There is something so familiar about this new bearer, aether so tempestuous and yet… calm. Leaving you contented and wanting all at once.
You don’t know what use you might be to them, either, but if you belonged in the hands of your past seven bearers then you are at home in theirs, lightning crackling from their skin to your crystal’s surface with great ease, for two non-metallic things.
(There is nothing I can do, the Seedseer murmurs and the sharp ache that immediately takes over the dull pain in their head echoes to you and oh, you understand more than ever now what you must help resolve, head spinning as the abyss flares and rages around you.)
You are there for everything after; when they flee to the Steppe, when they hole up in the empty house, when they take Ochir and fly across the mountains until Lunya calls them back home. Your crystal is usually hidden away in their pocket, safe in the leather pouch and buttoned into the cloth of their pants, and never once do you feel ignored, sitting in mutual silence. There’s nothing to be said, really, because their loss is just as much yours.
Both of you grin when you finally, finally make it past the gates into the First despite the horrid circumstances you have been brought to resolve, because it brings you both one step closer to finding them again.
(At first, you think they’ll be just fine without you, that you might be prudent to fall back dormant once more in face of the terribly draining light. At first, it seems like the others might just be a day’s journey away. The Exarch may be hiding things, but if the Scions are scattered then so too are the wayward Warriors; nothing so difficult as pulling souls back across the rift, yet.
Hah. When has anything ever been so simple?)
The journey is the hardest it’s been out of your eight travels, really; whether it be from the Light or from the constant confusion and grief that they struggle to pull from you do not know, and you keep your eyes open when they cannot—especially after Malikah’s Well.
(You are not the one fighting—never have been, even on that odd occasion that you’ve been able to force your way out of the abyss—but in Eulmore you see the flying eater’s wings seconds before they come crashing down on your bearer’s back with talons and when you reach out, for whatever banal reason, it is not darkness that springs forth.
At first, you think it a trick of the Light, because the last time you saw this shield it was back when you were still convinced you were ephemeral, but the next time you reach forth your ward’s wounds are healed in a burst of crystalline lilies.
You are not so stupid as to think this is your own strength, but they have not been with you for so long that you can’t tell what else it could be, what could be more than the others you have traveled with.
Oh, how blind you were.)
Here, down in Amaurot, it’s harder than ever on them but the easiest it’s been for you, and when they start slipping you have to drag them back to their heels again, lest the Light breaks free and both of you end up dead. You don’t have anything else to give—you do not have Lumelle or Syhrwyda’s inhuman strength or the healer’s prowess of A’dewah or Duscha, too incorporeal to give support like Tehra’ir or Elwin and too loud to stay as quiet as Valdis—but you are there and that has to be enough.
(If Zaya themselves is not whole enough to be worthy in that Ascian’s eyes, then you will find the missing parts that make them whole and bring them home, because in your eyes there is nothing more than them and the little family you’ve somehow managed to pass through like a hand-me-down, and if you and the friends that remain are not enough to guide them through Hades’ abyss then one of them will be.
And the funny thing is; you do, because the missing parts of their soul were the storm in you.)
The final days of Amaurot are harrowing; you are there when Zaya nearly falls to a bird demon, of all things, and you are there when the tempest of aether above a simulacrum of Emet-Selch’s world nearly shatters you into a million stars. It is less you taking the reins and more you standing by their side, the shadow in the light of falling stars that pushes forward when they cannot.
You think Ryne and Y’shtola can see you, can see the glow of seven crystals at Zaya’s side, but it matters not when Emet-Selch still refuses to take reprieve of the abyss and see the merits of something different from what he knows; all that does is that you are by their side, a shade in a city of simulacrums.
(How funny is it, that in his grief Hades dipped into the abyss just as Zaya did in theirs?)
You don’t remember much of what happens afterwards. There is a blur of light, a man’s voice—seven voices you recognize as the abyss flares and takes you back, because there is no space left here for darkness, not now. You expect to die, somehow, because you’d been fighting for so long in a place that threatened to swallow you whole and keep you there even if you followed Zaya resolutely, Hades taking you in his grasp and shattering you just to prove that they are nothing.
There’s a moment of clarity—when dark overtakes light once more—and you take the chance to stretch yourself out, to cover as many people as you can tell are here because Hades’ claws glow with something terrible and you will not lose anyone now, not when you’ve found yourself in them. Even Urianger, even Alphinaud, even Thancred, who is yalms and yalms away from Zaya—all of them have become too precious to lose, too beloved to let be harmed, and if Hades’ form is large then you will become the event horizon that swallows him.
(If you disappear here, it will be worth it—you have served your purpose as a shield, gouged on aether and memories as you are, and if you can give them even a moment more the price of your existence, as much of a simulacrum as you were, it would have been worth the trouble.
If Hades wins you don’t know what you’ll do.)
But he loses. He loses, and you go home as small of a flame as you were when your journeys began.
And when all is said and done, your crystal ends up on a necklace of thin chain and leather, held close to Zaya’s breast. Dark lightning crackles over the shining facets, finally polished to its prime like it was all those years ago when your last owner died; even then, you don’t know if you can ever come back again, really, exhausted and drained and frayed as you are.
It matters little, those ifs and maybes.
(“No matter where you go,” the gunbreaker says, and you can feel Zaya’s soul warm, cracked as it is—or maybe that’s yours, feeling a bit like your own promises are being voiced through his. Ardbert, the bloke, smiles from behind you, and the little part of you that knows exactly how you and he are similar grins wildly. “I will be there, guarding your back.”)
When they need you next to pull them from the blackest of nights, you’ll be there to see the beautiful dawn they bring in return. There is nowhere else for you to go.
…
(I’ll have to leave soon. Heroes don’t stay, you know.)
(Well, you do.)
…
From the depths of the crystal, a quiet light shimmers brightly, and you are reminded of home...
Action learned: The Brightest Dawn.
#ffxiv#my writing#tales from the blue#ffxivwrite#ffxivwrite2020#elie's ffxivwrite2020#a'dewah tia#duscha vesnasch#elwin de lipine#lumelle de lipine#tehra'ir naphto#syhrwyda maetityrbwyn#valdis otoel#zaya qestir#solo'ing bardams mettle on monk was not my best decision to date but the voiceless muse is still fucking gorgeous#i *had* to use it. my reputation as steppe simp was on the line#long post
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Between Heartbeats
i come bearing GIANT SPOILERY but ultimately pointless fanfic about the Exarch, don’t read if you haven’t finished SHB MSQ
features mute WoL
He knew the question behind those large, inquisitive eyes that came to rest on him as soon as they were alone in the Ocular. Well, he thought he knew. There wasn't a particular secret to understanding what the Warrior of Light was thinking. In some ways it didn't matter, because all she seemed to need to do was gaze into one's eyes and all one's secrets would come spilling out into the open. Then she would find and fix the problem. Even Emet-Selch had fallen prey to her curiosity.
Never had the Exarch struggled with keeping his true identity secret before. Every time she peered at his hooded face, searching so hard for a hint, he had wanted to cry out that he knew her, and she him, and that he had waited so long to see her again—
That was no longer an issue now. His hood was down, his greying hair bared to the world and to his hero. Now his hero gazed at him, asking in her silent way what had happened when Emet-Selch had taken him away. She looked from the bruise on his chin to the cleaned and tended cut on his forehead. Once, her eyes flicked to his chest, looking for evidence of the bullet that had rendered him helpless.
“I may be old, but I'm a sight sturdier than I look,” he said. “Rest assured no permanent harm befell me while in Emet-Selch's...'care'. In fact, I'd say I got out with fewer injuries than expected.”
The Warrior of Light—or Darkness, rather—tilted her head in her most dubious way.
“I do believe I owe you an apology still,” the Exarch said, hoping to distract her. “I forced you to help this world when your own has its own issues...to be honest, I truly intended to sacrifice myself to save you.”
Her eyes narrowed. She didn't like his plan. Understandable.
“Since things didn't work out like I'd planned, well...here I am, fully able and willing to apologize for my arrogance,” he said, and bowed. “I'm sorry.”
When he straightened, he found himself speared with a look so potent it could've been bottled and sold at the Musica Universalis for a premium. The Warrior of Light lifted her hand to point at his chest. Her expression was stern. Don't you dare try to change the subject, it said.
“If you insist,” he said as his heart tried to beat its way through his ribs. “Obviously my reluctance is—ahem. I would rather you worry about other things besides what happened to me, that is all.”
He remembered fire. The smell of brimstone. Emet-Selch had taken him around the recreation of Amaurot before trapping him in the end of days. 'You seem an intellectual sort,' he had said. 'Allow me to show you what once was and what will be again.'
“Emet-Selch brought me to his city of ghosts,” said the Exarch. “Since he had need of my knowledge, he healed my wound and attempted to convince me to cooperate.”
The very same nonsense spewed forth by Vauthry, the ridiculous logic that as an inferior fragment, he ought to be working to restore the true perfect society. Raha had never found Emet-Selch endearing, not even for a moment, and this situation only cemented his dislike. Even worse, he knew they had far more in common with each other than he would have liked. The difference was that Raha had his hero.
“When I failed to be convinced, he instead threw me into that hellscape you and your fellow Scions fought through and told me to think on his proposal for a while. I assume by 'think' he meant spend most of my time desperately dodging falling buildings.”
The Warrior of Darkness grimaced in fellow feeling. She, too, had dodged those buildings.
“The majority of my injuries came from that and from facing the various fell fiends the ancients created,” the Exarch added. “I saw you making your way through the calamity from afar and did my best to reach you. I am glad to say I made it in the nick of time to summon help.”
Bleeding fingers clutching at crumbling cermet as he struggled to scale broken architecture, pain with every breath as his ribs screamed. The whole world groaned in agony with him. Oh, it had been its own hell, being just out of reach when they needed help. No healing magic, for he needed every onze of his strength to open the gate for those warriors from beyond the rift. How long had it been since he had bled? He was surprised to find it was as crimson as ever. A miracle indeed that his blood had not been replaced with crystal.
“You know what happened afterwards,” he said. “The long swim to the surface was rather taxing.”
The Warrior of Light and Darkness nodded and let out a little huffing sigh at the memory. Even a hero of legend thought swimming across the sea was a bit much for an after-battle cool down. Her gaze softened, her curiosity satisfied. Her hands came up. To his astonishment, she began to speak using Lakeland Sign Language.
“<GRAHA,>” she said, using fingerspelling.
A jolt hit his entire body. His name...oh, how it all came flooding back. His past, when things had been simpler. Seeing an adventurer and challenging her to a race. In between forays, curling up with a fat tome under a tree...
“My friend,” he said, willing his voice not to wobble. “I...Honestly, I have been the Exarch for so long that that is who I am, but...”
The Warrior of his heart was up to some mischief. “<GRAHA,>” she said again, a twinkle in her eye.
“Now I know you're just trying to get a reaction out of me!” he groaned. “Before you bring me to tears yet again, I'll have you know that I have thought of a proper name sign for myself.” He showed her. As Exarch, the various deaf residents at the Crystarium had long since given him a name sign: the sign for tower, but with one's hands forming C and E. As Raha, however, he chose to create his own.
“<Raha,>” she said, her hands opening as if to read a book, but with one hand forming the letter R.
The sight gave him a terrible case of the butterflies. His tail lashed in agitation under his robes before he could get a handle on himself. “Very good,” he said. “Ah, it would be best to keep that between us. You know the name sign for Crystal Exarch, I hope.”
She nodded and smiled. Those butterflies were not keen on leaving him any time soon.
“Very good,” he repeated. “Is there aught else you would like to know? No? Then if you'll wait a moment, I will attune the portal...”
Today he would send her back to where she belonged. Once upon a time he had dreamed of meeting her again and going with her on all her adventures. Now he knew that she was no longer his. She belonged on the Source, where she could be the hero she was meant to be, while he...he belonged here on the First. Though he had briefly bridged the gulf between them, the time had come to send her on her way.
As she stepped through the portal, her eyes on the invisible horizon, Raha allowed himself one last flight of fancy. He imagined himself following her home, seeing his old friends again—
But the portal would not let him through. That was not his world anymore. Not his past. Not his present. Not his future.
There was still hope for him, though.
“Do you hear me, G'raha Tia? This is no time to be sleeping!” he called, as though his words could reach across time and space to slap himself upside the head. There was hope for some version of himself to wake up to the still living face of the Warrior of Light, to go on adventures with her...
For now, he would wait and remember her calloused hands saying his name.
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