Chapter Text
It was the sixth of Karkinon, month of the crab (equivalent to June 27 in the zodiacal Atlantean calendar). The season of Auxesia or Upwelling blew gentle tides over the green fields, nourishing raised beds of seagrass lilies as idoteae, the green-and-gold bees of the ocean, came to pollinize. Amid the green, beautiful gardens and majestic stone monuments and gold-and-marble statues in Poseidonis’ Golden Square plaza, King Arthur and Queen Mera held hands as they took a leisurely walk on the colorful pebblestone sidewalks – the breezy tide blowing in their braided hair, Arthur holding their little infant son with his other arm.
Just a couple of years ago they had their wedding ceremony, the grand finale of a process called the Selection – where aristocratic maidens from all over the nation, as well as a few independent city-states and tribes seeking alliances, became eligible for Queenhood. Lovely and wonderful all those maidens were, but Arthur had eyes for none of them – none except her, the ex-assassin and prisoner of war who had stolen his heart. They couldn’t deny King Arthur – who kept delaying the Selection process with engineered schedule conflicts – had effectively chosen his Queen, as they reluctantly absolved her and put her under his inviolable royal protection.
The sixth of Karkinon was a special occasion – for Arthur a date even more important than his own birthday, in importance only behind the birth date of his little Thomas. It was an opportunity for him and Mera to enjoy some quality time together, in contact with Nature and away from royal matters, just the two of them… at least that’s what their plans were. Their first anniversary, to put it mildly, really didn’t go well – what was supposed to be a leisurely hike in the countryside became a rescue mission as an old enemy from the surface world knocked Arthur out and captured him, leaving him bound in the corner of a claustrophobic submarine struggling to breathe out of the water until Mera and Garth came on the backs of their swift dragons to save him. Their second anniversary… well, the whole nation has been struck by a plague of sleeping sickness and they were now in quarantine, the borders heavily regulated and most businesses now closed, so there weren’t many places they could go to. And they now had a little three-months-old son to care for, so taking a walk with little Tommy in the Golden Square plaza it was.
He didn’t mind, though. He enjoyed having an opportunity to relax and breathe some fresh water again, away from any and all responsibilities for at least one day. He loved spending time with his little son, and most of all he loved spending time with her – the only woman, the only person Arthur has ever loved in his life. Though he did have some complicated feelings for a certain Herald much older than him…
Arthur’s holo-comm beeped.
“Oh, blast” he cursed under his breath. “Mera, can you hold Tommy, please?”
She picked little Tommy as he haphazardly took his clock-like holo-communications relay from his pocket. Surely enough, the miniature hologram of the one other woman he thought about was projected in the water.
“My King!” Esther Maris’ hologram spoke, her swirling delicate blond curls seemingly white in the achromatic projection. “Sorry for interrupting your time-off, Your Majesty, but–– I have a message for you. It feels too important to not forward it to you as soon as possible.”
Mera’s eye seemed to twitch as she observed the convo before her. She knew Arthur had… feelings for Esther of house Marius – though he wasn’t sure yet what his own feelings were, he knew Mera’s feelings about it were surely not good. In her arms, little Tommy stared at the hologram with wide tiny eyes, as if Esther were an eelgrass fairy.
Arthur pursed his lips.
“You can proceed, Lady Maris.”
The hologram glitched and changed into a young man – he seemed young, but Arthur wasn’t sure as his face was completely covered except for his eyes, loose strands of curly light-colored hair escaping from the fur scarf wrapped around his head. He recognized that style of dress, typical of Mera’s birthplace, the nation of Xebel – the patterned blubber snowsuit covering the entire body from the bridge of the nose to toe, the leather gloves, the elaborately wrapped fur scarves and waistcoats, the flipper shoes. Clothes appropriate for the freezing waters of the Arctic Ocean.
“Atlantis” the hologram spoke. It kept glitching and fading in clouds of static snow, indicating poor reception. “Dr.––Xebel. Cure––plague. Find me––” the image glitched out.
“We received this message last night” Esther’s hologram appeared again as she spoke. “I thought I should forward it to the royal family, since our Queen is an exile from Xebel. It seems this man is telling us he has a cure for the plague…?”
Arthur glanced at Mera.
“Do you know this man?”
Mera shook her head, burrowing her brow.
“Thank you for bringing this to our notice, Lady Maris” Arthur said. “We will ponder on this situation tomorrow.”
Esther nodded.
“Merry anniversary, Your Majesties. Farewell.” She closed the comm.
Mera kept glaring at him as he tucked his holo-comm back into his pocket.
“What’s the problem, Mera?” he protested. “She just called to inform us about a… a compatriot of yours!”
“She called you” she said. “She could have just called me instead.”
Arthur shrugged.
“Maybe she doesn’t know your number?”
“The Herald’s Guild has the numbers of every royal family member and important person in Atlantis, Arthur.”
Little Tommy started crying.
“Great, Mera” Arthur waved his hands in a sharp gesture. “Tommy’s crying again.”
They swam to a bench nearby, sitting as Mera cradled their little son, calming him.
Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. They were trying their best to nurture and care for their son together, even though they could just leave him to be raised by servants instead, fed by wet nurses. But it was important for that little boy to have a mother and father figure in his life, to be loved and be able to live a normal life despite his gilded crib and royal blood.
And it was important for his mother and father figures to get along, like a functional family. They were trying, though.
Mera lowered the cleavage of her queenly green dress to breastfeed the baby as Arthur observed the statues around them – all the High Kings and Queens who came before him, sculpted in white marble and colored with mineral paints, inlaid with precious gemstones and gold. So many Atlans, Atlannas, Orins and Orinnas. As per tradition the firstborn in every family in Atlantis was to be named after their paternal grandparent, unless the maternal lineage had more prestige – and the royal lineage will always be the most prestigious in all of Atlantis. Arthur would have been named Orin, after his maternal grandfather, if he were raised here – he felt lucky he escaped from that.
“Do you think we can trust that man, Mera?” he then asked.
Mera sighed.
“I don’t know.”
Arthur didn’t know much about Xebel. All he knew was from what was common knowledge in Atlantis – though it was difficult to know what was true and what were rumours and stereotypes – and the very little of what Mera told him of her infancy. He knew she fled her birthplace to escape her unwanted marriage when she was still just a kid, he knew krillcake was the national food of Xebel (Mera still liked it, despite Arthur’s vegetarianism and Atlanteans in general finding “bugs” like krill, shrimps and crabs disgusting), and a few other things. He knew more about the country’s past – when it had good relations with Atlantis, Xebel ruled by Mera’s late father Nereus and Atlantis ruled by Arthur’s grandfather Orin – than its present, as since the sudden death of the former king, Xebel became an isolationist nation, little to no communication with Atlantis it had.
Atlantis and Xebel always have had a rocky history. The royal lineage of Xebel was itself founded by an outcast from Atlantis, Ryus the Mad, who after a vision from Phannon the Sun God – the national God of Xebel – took a band of freed slaves and prisoners-of-war to the gelid waters of the Arctic. The name Xebel itself came from xebias, Medieval Atlantean for war exile (xeno-bia, literally stranger-violence). Ever since the fall of Krastinus, Xebel has lived up to its reputation as Atlantis’ greatest rival, the two nations forever engaged in a (quite literal) Cold War. Now they had good economic and diplomatic relations, now they were brandishing their respective weapons and militaries again. It was a tension that never left – Xebellians were always the bad guys in epic novels and plays set in the modern day, the threat of an all-out war always imminent.
“I don’t know how the situation in Xebel has been since Leron took the throne” Mera said. “But if I had a guess… you know the rumors he throws every dissident into the Pit?”
Arthur shuddered. He heard about The Pit. It was an infamous piece of Xebellian story still told in Atlantean history books-slash-propaganda – political dissidents, criminals and prisoners-of-war were chained with lead, tied to lead-coated cement balls and thrown into a deep canyon, left to die from hypothermia in the cold waters with no way to warm themselves. Such a barbaric punishment has fallen out of use over the last centuries, but rumours had it the tyrant Leron had revived it under wraps…
“I know”, he said. “Are you telling me… this man could be a dissident?”
She nodded.
“Leron was always an anti-intellectualist” she said. “This man could be hunted by the Xebellian government because of his cure.”
“And he’s calling for help” Arthur continued, “to escape his possible, eventual fate in the Pit?”
“That” Mera said, “or he’s simply allying with the enemy because it’s convenient. It’s very possible this ‘cure’ might be nothing more than a hoax.”
Arthur sighed.
“But… what if it’s true? What if this man’s promise is genuine, and we end up deciding to waste our chance to cure this plague once and for all?”
The plague has demoralized Atlantean citizens for months already. Scientists, priests and scholars still worked together to find any solution for the problem – anything, anything to wake up the terminally asleep. At that moment Arthur would cling to any remainder of hope they could have, however slim, however unlikely.
Tommy coughed from Mera’s milk. She held him in upright position in the water, helping him clear his waterway, then cuddled him, patting his back.
“No big a cost being prudent, Arthur” she said. “If something’s too good to be true, it’s probably a lie.”
“I’d rather take risk with a lie that might be true” he said, “than throw away a truth mistaken for a lie.”
He couldn’t say he didn’t feel any doubts, though. That man could as well be a Xebellian Spy, taking advantage of a vulnerable moment in Atlantis to spearhead an invasion. But Arthur has heard so many, so many conspiracy theories of that nature – especially about his own blasted wife – to believe anything like that could ever happen. Why would Xebel, the only nation in the world rivalling Atlantis in power and military might, need to recourse for covert invasion plots?
“In the chance it might be true” Mera then said, “I doubt it’d be for free.”
“Of course.” Arthur sighed. “So, we help him sneak out of Xebel and he’d still want something in return?”
“Probably.”
“What do you think he’d want?”
“Could be money, or prestige… the usual stuff.”
Arthur pondered for a bit.
“We should use our positions as King and Queen of Atlantis to secure his alliance, then” he said. “And promise the payment afterwards, just so he wouldn’t run away with his reward before we take him here – and we don’t, well, lose any of it on the road.”
She nodded.
“He won’t believe we’re serious about it, though – if we only send heralds, or a few guards, instead of meeting him ourselves.”
“So it needs to be us” Arthur finished.
She observed him with those attentive turquoise eyes.
“You still want to go through this?”
“It’s one in the eye for Leron” he said, “isn’t it?”
Mera smiled.
“Your years on the throne taught you well.”
He sighed as he picked little Tommy from Mera’s arms.
“So we should enjoy the rest of our time-off today” he said.
“Because tomorrow will be a busy day” she finished.
They chuckled and sighed as they cuddled on the bench, Arthur humming a lullaby as he cradled little Tommy in his arms.
“Here” Mera threw a snowsuit on the royal bed for him, as she undressed herself to change. “Put this on.”
Arthur frowned as he examined what were basically full-body blue pajamas – in strange swirly patterns that seemed to camouflage in the water – but made of blubber so fine they’re form-fitting. He grimaced – he didn’t feel so comfortable wearing the skin of what were once living animals.
“Do I need to wear this?” he protested.
“You don’t want to freeze.”
He observed as Mera put her own snowsuit. Hers was turquoise like her eyes, painted with dynamic creases like a brain coral’s.
“Where did you get these?” he asked.
“Sent a servant to buy a couple in Cerdia.”
“Cerdia. Of course.”
He knew Cerdia well. This independent merchant city at the Atlantis-Xebel border prospered with visitors and goods from all over the ocean – quite appropriate for a city literally named profitland. All kinds of people, all kinds of oddities could be found there. Before he became King of Atlantis Arthur spent a couple of his early teen years there, working odd jobs. It was in Cerdia where he met Garth in the streets, and it was there they rescued Storm and Imp, their lovely, loyal dragons, from a travelling show.
He sighed as he put on his suit, defeated. It was so warm, he felt as if he were cocooned in a tight blanket… maybe too warm for the mediterranean-climate waters in Atlantis, but he didn’t feel like changing on the road. At least it was late at night, the water chilly enough. Neither of them wore the embedded masks yet, though – the cloth stayed lowered around their necks, like loose scarfs.
He moved his cocooned feet. Been a long while he wore any kind of socks like that. Sandal-wearing Atlanteans did not wear socks at all – they were even commonly stereotyped as typically “barbarian” articles in fool plays. When Atlanteans are not wearing sandals, they’re barefoot. Only members of the Military and forgesmen wore protective boots.
Mera threw a pair of blue flipper shoes at him. She donned a turquoise pair herself.
“This will help you keep balance while swimming with socks.”
Arthur kicked his feet as he wore those strange shoes, creating thick lines of bubbles in the water.
“I feel like some kind of duck.”
“A what?” Mera raised her eyebrow.
Arthur sighed. He forgot sea humans had no knowledge of any land-dwelling or freshwater animals.
“It’s a Veilworld bird” he tried to explain. “It’s aquatic, but not marine… y’know, because it lives in… freshwater springs.”
She chuckled.
“Must be a very drunk bird.”
“You have no idea.” He chuckled.
The ocean had a few underwater freshwater springs here and there. While revered as sacred abodes to quench one’s thirst (sea humans get thirsty too – it’s called hypersalinity, and they need to daily replenish water with food and beverages to counter the osmotic pressure of the saltwater around slowly dehydrating them) they were also infamous for having an… inebriating effect if one kept breathing those waters for too long.
Mera also had leather gloves and fur coats and scarves to wear later in the journey. Arthur dispensed the leather and fur, preferring one of his designer-label felt wrack fiber cloaks instead. Might be too fancy – engraved with golden eelgrass patterns at the seams – but if that combined with his royal trident didn’t tip off his true identity to “Dr. Xebel” or whoever that man was, he didn’t know what would so. You’re going to get brain freeze, Mera protested as Arthur shook his head emphatically. She still brought the extra garments along, though.
As they prepared their provisions for the journey, Arthur gave goodbye to the three maidens of house Marius, who were all staying in the royal palace – Tula, Lori and Selena. Esther’s sister, Esther’s niece and Esther’s daughter.
“Do you need to go, my King?” asked Selena, the youngest of the three. The fair haired eleven-year-old looked up to him with wide eyes.
“We’re going to be back soon, my little darling” he said. He had a big soft spot for her – sometimes, she felt like a daughter for him. “We’re going to find a cure for this plague. Soon enough, you’ll be able to go to athletic school and frequent festivals again.”
Tula, the oldest of the three, put an arm around her shoulders.
“Our King’s going to be alright, Selenitsa. He’ll be back in no notice. Vulko will take care of things while he’s gone.”
Lori sighed. She was sat in a corner, as her paraplegic condition – Touched by the Gorgon, as the Atlantean expression had it – didn’t allow much movement. She wore a long green skirt beneath her brown tunic, draped over her limp, ragdoll-like legs.
“I hope you come back to witness my coming-of-age ceremony, my King” she said, a sliver of hope in her voice. “You said you’re going to find a cure, right? This means we can stage the Mysteries again soon enough… right?”
Arthur sighed.
“Hopefully.”
The girls came to hug him – Lori using her arms to move in the water, with a butterfly stroke. Arthur warmly embraced all of them.
“I’d like to ask you three a favor” he said. “Can you help our servants watch our little prince for us?”
They nodded, smiles on their little faces. He smiled, warmly.
“Good luck with your studies under Vulko, Lori” he said, ruffling her hair. “You’ll be a great vizier someday.”
“Of course I’ll be!” She smiled, proudly. “I am doing my best!”
“And Tula” he asked, “can you watch Garth for me?”
She chuckled, smiling knowingly as she met his glance. She knew he knew.
“Of course.”
Arthur’s belief in rehabilitative justice meant the royal dungeons were no longer used. What were once sorry cells in the basement of the royal palace were now converted into stables, to accommodate their friends – Storm, Imp and Pinky, the three dragons who brought wonder and color to their lives.
These giant seahorse-like creatures were the only known dragons in the whole world. Their mere existence seemed to defy all logic – from their impossibly swift speed and sheer size to their incredible human-level intelligence, their scales glimmering like precious gemstones. They felt like remnants of a distant past, from a time Gods and Monsters still roamed the mortal plane. Although their existence was relatively well-known in Atlantis, Arthur’s dragon-riding adventures could feel like ludicrous tall tales for the uninitiated – naysayers and political opponents loved to tout these dragons as nothing more than the King’s own personal stage show, all but lavish costumes played by hapless servants. Arthur did not argue – he didn’t feel like dealing with the implications of basically owning the last three members of what may be a long extinct species, lest they become fodder for unethical scientific experimentation or lavish exhibitionism – or travelling shows. For their own protection, his dragons were seldom shown in public at all.
“Hello, Storm” Arthur greeted her as he freed her from her stable. “We’re going to have an adventure now.”
The giant seahorse with iridescent blue scales observed him with attentive amber eyes. Arthur saw these deep wells full of wisdom again, as if she had lived many, many lives before meeting him. Storm missed her right anterior fin – after all these years he still wondered if it was severed at that awful travelling show, or at some point beforehand.
Are you sure, Singer? she asked. It’s late at night, and your whole realm is asleep.
“This is why we must go now.” He sighed. “We’re going to sneak out a bit. Well, not exactly because our sentry will still be informed of where we’re going, but… it’s urgent.”
Urgent?
“We’re going to find a cure for this plague” he explained. “This might be our only chance to get it, now.”
She turned her head, skeptical.
Beware of holy grails choosing to reveal themselves at most opportune moments, Singer. A lie is most dangerous when it cloaks itself in truth.
“I know, I know. But if it’s a lie either way, I am going to feel better knowing it.”
He heard the sound of the next stable being opened behind him. He turned and saw Mera with them, trying to goad Pinky on leaving the comfort of his sleeping space. The opalescent pink seahorse was a newcomer – given as a rare, prestigious wedding gift for the King and Queen of Atlantis. He was still gentle and loyal, but unlike Storm and Imp he always seemed to have had a pampered life, his personality somewhat callous.
Wake me up when the tide falls, he mumbled, half-asleep.
Arthur chuckled.
“C’mon, Pinky” he said, swimming closer to them. “The journey won’t be long. You can sleep all you want when we return.”
I am a solar dragon, Pinky said. I need sleep.
Our humans need help, Pink, Storm said. You should be grateful for their hospitality and give back their kindness.
Whatever, lady, Pinky chirruped as he stretched himself.
“Did he say yes?” Mera asked as she observed her dragon stretching lazily on his many cushions.
Arthur shrugged. “Kind of.”
As they started to guide their dragons out of the dungeons-turned-stables, the dragon in the stable closest to the exit – Imp, Garth’s amethyst purple dragon – woke up just as they were about to leave.
Where are you going? they asked. Is this an adventure?
“Imp, I need you to stay behind” Arthur said. “Where we’re going is too dangerous for a young boy like Garth. I’d like you to stay so you can watch him, giving him company while I’m gone.”
The purple seahorse shriveled their fins. This is unfair! I want to have an adventure.
Can we switch places? Pinky asked lazily.
No, Storm said emphatically.
Imp lowered their head, morose.
The Singer is right, Storm said. You should stay behind, safe and protected in these chambers. So you can continue my lineage, helping your human… in case we do not come back.
Storm turned to leave as Imp curled in a corner, disappointed.
Farewell, youth, she said as they left.
Can’t I be the one who continues your lineage, lady? Pinky asked as Arthur and Mera mounted them outside the palace. I could stay behind, watching the humans as I sleep in my cushions… Nevermind.
The Veil was pitch-black above them as they flew over the tall steelglass walls that constituted the limits of Poseidonis. Arthur could swear he heard a few sentry guards giggling as they saw him. Catching the King of Atlantis wearing ridiculous Xebellian pajamas under his fancy cloak while riding a dragon late at night must indeed be a rare sight.
They pulled their masks over their noses as their swift dragons soared through the chilly night water. Eelgrass fields, rocky reefs, dunes and dunes of sand were a blur around them as they flew, soaring in the pitch-black night.
Arthur laughed with sheer glee as he felt the tide against him, blowing his hair far behind him. There was always a sense of pure freedom and wonder anytime he rode the back of Storm – as she brought him to heights in inhuman speeds, showing him and his friends the whole world around them in a way no human – land and sea-dwelling alike – has seen before.
The dragons flew close to the Veil for a moment. Now the black clouds up in the sky gave way to the stars – bright, shimmering stars, around a bright full Moon tinging the black water deep blue. Hazy with the altitude sickness, Arthur raised his hand to touch the Veil for a moment, his fingers leaving a trail in the rippling waves. Bioluminescent algae too shimmered around them, glittering like stars in a lower sky.
Storm and Pinky swam down again, taking them to more oxygenated depths as they flew North. Soon enough the mediterranean biomes gave way to temperate kelp forests, golden patches of palm-like fronds filling the pale wide Desert with color. At the distance Arthur could see the rocky, mostly barren mountains of Maarzon – the territories of a people called the Gelrai, according to legends the descendants of the Gargareans, an all-male tribe from the distant antediluvian past, who allied with the Amazons of Libya when they conquered Atlantis and founded the mythical stronghold of Bana-Mighdall (the “Temple of Women”) in Atlantean territories. Now the Gelrai were definitely not all-male, though male youth still had the traditional custom of coating themselves with thermic alga-green paint in lieu of clothes and go hunting in bands while women were still expected to stay at home, giving somewhat of an impression. The roles were somewhat reversed for the Vannish peoples of Vanuria and Afrania, who were supposedly descended from the legendary Amazons of Bana-Mighdall (the name Vanuria related to Banoura – pronounced va-noo-ra – “Women’s Guardian” in the archaic hybrid Libyan-Atlantean language of the tribes. Vana is also an older spelling for Venus, the Aphrodite). These twin tribes dwelt in the kelp forests nearby – the ancient Temple of Women now supposedly buried somewhere in the Great Desert, under the unfeeling, unrelenting sands of time.
Arthur as King of Atlantis was expected to know all of this, due to trade regulations – from Vanuria and Afrania as well as the Gelrai they imported kelp products and hunting byproducts like ambergris and sharkskin, while Atlantis in turn exported to them grains, metals and all kinds of plasma technology. It was always important to keep trade relations steady, with good diplomacy. It was exhausting to learn, but after all these years, he’d gotten the hang of it.
As they crossed the Atlantis-Xebel border, Cerdia could be seen in the distance – flinty buildings of sandstone and piled stone shacks, the many bazaar platforms draped in assorted banners and curtains. The kelp forests then gave way to rocky deserts and sparse cold-water coral reefs, as they officially entered enemy territory. Arthur and Mera nudged their dragons to slow down.
The water was getting really cold, now. Arthur wrapped his cloak around him, covering his exposed hands with the felt textile as he shivered and chattered his teeth – he was not used to such freezing waters. Mera, meanwhile, wore her leather gloves and fur waistcoat, wrapping her fur scarf around her hair in the elaborate Xebellian style – though a bit shaky, it’s still as if she did it so many times before.
She showed him the fur and leather garments meant for him, tipping her head.
“No, thanks” Arthur shook his hands and head, frantic. “I am just–– unused to the cold. I’ll get used to it, don’t worry.”
She snorted. “If your ears freeze and fall off the sides of your head, don’t complain about it to me.”
Arthur kept staring at the way her jaw moved under her form-fitting, crease-patterned mask. There was a kind of… beguiling quality about it – no trace of a mouth behind that cloth, though the shape of her nose, cheeks and chin were still so defined, moving up and down. It was like… watching the waves of the ocean break into the shore, retract, and break again.
“What?” she asked, noticing his stare.
“Nothing.” He turned his eyes away, glad his own mask covered his reddening cheeks. “So, um… what do we do now?”
“We should go around the back” she said. “I know of a way. That’s the way I fled, all these years ago.”
She nudged Pinky, guiding him in the water as Arthur and Storm followed them. The tide still blew their hair in all directions, even though their dragons were flying much slower now… strange…
“There’s a tunnel entrance here” she said. “You may have heard of that tunnel in your history books – it’s through where Ryus brought his followers to ancient Xebel, when huge mountains and walls of ice used to separate the Atlantic Ocean from the Arctic. The tunnel is still there, but––” she gasped, suddenly. “It’s blocked.”
Arthur looked. Indeed, at the base of a mountain covered with cold-water corals there was what seemed like the entrance of a cave… completely covered with debris and rocks.
“Leron, that garden eel” she cursed, enraged. “He must have found out about that entrance.”
“Do you know of any other entrance?” he asked.
Mera shook her head, frantic.
“We can find another way” Arthur tried to reassure her – and himself, as well. “I… I hope.”
“You hope?”
“We could look around” he thought out loud. “Maybe that mysterious doctor is somewhere in the desert around here.”
She thought about it for a moment, taking a deep breath through her nose. Then she shrugged.
“We came all the way here just for this, after all” she said. “We cannot waste our journey.”
And so they set to search the desert, for any clue, any sign of the mysterious “Dr. Xebel” in the cold dunes. In the Veil above Dawn was starting to break – not rosy but red, red like coral, red like blood…
No sign of “Dr. Xebel” or anything like a conspicuous young man awaiting them anywhere in the desert. It was like trying to find a needle in a duststorm.
What they did find, though, was someone completely unexpected – a certain mousy, scrawny teenage boy who really shouldn’t be there at all, black ringlets tied with a thin headband, riding an amethyst dragon under the breaking dawn. He wore only a casual red sweater and cyan-blue loincloth in the freezing water, as if he just got up from bed.
“H-h-h-h-hey” Garth gave a haphazard wave, his teeth chattering.
“Garth?” Arthur was on his nerves. “What are you doing here?”
“I-I-I-Imp b-b-b-brought m-me h-here!”
“Here” Mera threw her spare garments to him. “Warm yourself, sprat.”
“T-t-t-thanks” Garth said, hastily putting on the leather gloves and fur waistcoat.
Why did you follow us? Storm asked. We told you to stay behind.
I overheard the humans talking about where you went, Imp said. It’s too close to home! Won’t let you get near that awful place again if I cannot go with you.
“Wait–– dragons? You know Xebel?” Arthur asked.
The tides kept blowing – they seemed to only get stronger and stronger each minute…
Do you notice you brought your human to die in the cold? Storm scolded Imp. How are you going to help humanity if you keep doing this, youth?
Lady. The Maelstrom, Pinky said. It is answering to our presence… calling us home.
Just what I feared would happen, Storm said.
“Home?” Arthur asked, frantic. “What home?”
The tides became so strong, they lost balance and got dragged into a funnel cloud. The endless spinning ripped the screaming humans off the backs of their screeching dragons as they were thrown around, and around, and around. The whole world spun around them, seemingly expanding and dissolving, as the Maelstrom devoured them whole.
Feathered whales and eelgrass fairies seemed to spin in Arthur’s vision as his conscience slipped away in darkness.