Chapter Text
Legends speak of merfolk, beings of otherworldly beauty whose very presence is an allurement to doom. Their forms, adorned with iridescent scales, shimmer like moonlight dancing across water. Their eyes, deep and luminous as stars reflected above a tranquil pool, draw the gaze of any ill-fortuned soul who ventures too close. Their voices, weaving haunting melodies that wash over weary seafarers like the gentle warmth of dawn, carrying a temptation so irresistible that sailors abandon reason, steering their vessels toward jagged reefs or plunging into the depths to chase after the fleeting promise.
These legends warn of splintered masts and shattered hulls and drowned crews, all bewitched by the merfolk's allure.
Yet, a darker legend persists, etched in ancient slates: those who partake of a merfolk's flesh are granted immortality, their bodies forever untarnished by time's decay.
Deep beneath the crumbling castle, in a long hallway carved out of fortified stone and illuminated by flickering torchlight, young Prince Mydeimos hurries after his father. His legs strain to keep pace with King Eurypon's long, purposeful strides, his breath quickening with each step.
"We're here," Eurypon says, his voice curt. "Open it."
They stop before a massive vault, one Mydeimos has never seen before. Then again, the young prince is rarely permitted beyond his chambers or the training grounds. Since Queen Gorgo's death, the tyrant king's gaze has never softened for his son.
The vault groans, and the door swings open to a chamber with a massive tank of reinforced glass at its center. The attendants take their positions outside the door, their impassive faces revealing nothing to Mydeimos.
Eurypon steps inside without a word, and Mydeimos follows, hesitant. His leather sandals slapping on the uneven stone floor, drawn by an inexplicable tug in his chest that grows stronger with every step.
The dungeon air hums with the tang of salt and the faint whir of mechanical pumps. At the far end of the tank, a creature floats, its form both ethereal and unsettlingly familiar. It curls into itself as they approach, as if it could hide from their gaze within the confines of its barren, watery prison.
Long, fair hair swirls behind it, a halo of moonlight caught in the artificial currents. Its tail, resplendent in shimmering hues of sapphire and citrine, gleams faintly under the diffused light, though patches of raw, abraded skin reveal where its scales have been callously stripped away. Its eyes, described in the tomes of his mother's grand library to be as luminous and deep as the ocean's heart, are dulled with pain and anger.
Those blue eyes lock onto Mydeimos', and the prince's breath catches, his heart caught between awe and dread. A chill races up his spine, as if the creature, no, the merman, sees not just him but through him.
Without waiting for his father's permission, the young prince darts forward, pressing a calloused hand against the cold, unyielding glass. The merman remains still, his gaze unwavering.
"Father, what is… this?" Mydeimos asks, fighting to keep the tremble out of his voice.
A smile, fervent and cruel, curves Eurypon's lips. "This," the king replies, his voice low and resonant, like a priest before the mass, "is our key to immortality."
Mydeimos' stomach twists. The word 'our' lingers in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. His father has never recovered from the grief from Mother's death. He steals a glance at his father, whose spindly frame is draped in a cloak of royal red. Eurypon's eyes, sharp as obsidian and burning with a zealot's fire, remain fixed on the merman.
"... Our?" Mydeimos echoes. He follows his father's gaze back to the merman, whose fair beauty is now marred by the sharp glint of bared teeth, a silent snarl behind the layers of glass. Those blue eyes hold his once more, far too weary, too distrustful.
Those eyes spark a memory Mydeimos cannot place—a fleeting image of blue skies and cotton clouds stretching above fields of gold, of a man with soft eyes and a bright voice calling out his name. The vision vanishes as quickly as it comes, leaving only a hollow ache in the prince's chest.
Wrong.
This is wrong.
Mydeimos' knees buckle, unable to support his weight. He heaves his dinner onto the stone floor.
He does not understand.
Does not understand why this merman wears the face of the spectre who haunts his dreams.
But he knows that this merman does not belong here, trapped within the cold, unfeeling walls of their castle.
"Useless child. Guards! Take him away."