Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.

_______

Regulus is cold.

That’s the first problem. He knows it’s only one of many, telling by the way there’s nothing more than a dripping wet surface beneath him. Hard surface that his smooth, tailed body isn’t made for. He’s used to…well water, rocks that feel slick even on the ocean floor, the feeling of being warm even though he knows that his home is far less comfortable than that.

His second problem is air. The feel of it on his face, whipping through his hair, drying the fear and water on his skin. There’s no air underwater.

His third problem, when he opens his eyes and tries desperately to figure out how to breathe the air that he’s not supposed to be breathing in through lungs that don’t want to, is the four humans standing over him, and the sharp, glinting metal in their hands threatening him without a single warning uttered.

His fourth, and probably not final, problem is the net wrapped around his body, trapping him.

He’s going to be gutted. He knows this even before he figures out how to take a proper breath (it’s just like breathing water, only air feels too sharp and too light, and too unknown and he doesn’t understand—)

Yeah. He’s going to die. He can see it in these strangers' eyes. These humans who are staring at him as he stares back at them. If there’s anything he understands about the monsters that hunt his kind, it's that they want him dead, and he can read the greed in their eyes.

He tears his gaze away to look down at his tail, somehow still connected to his torso. Getting caught in the net and being hauled out of the water like a pound of shrimp had happened in less than a minute, so quick he’s sure he hadn’t even had time to scream. Uselessly, he watches as his tail flops against the deck of the ship, trying vigilantly to get back to the water.

“Hey!” One of the humans says, drawing his attention. “Shouldn’t we start…you know? Before he turns?”

“I guess.” Another peers closely at him. She has short blonde hair cut so horrendously that Regulus is sure his mother would throw a fit if she saw it. Her clothes are like the others, a loose fitting garment tucked into  brown slacks and black boots that go up to her knees. She’s wearing all types of beads in her ears and on her face, and her lips are a bright red.

Regulus’ tail gives another helpless flop.

“Wait!” The other female says. Her hair is a bright orange color, and her eyes are green. Regulus thinks, as his eyes zero in on her weapon, that she would make a nice looking mermaid. Maybe she’d even be kind.

Maybe…

“Where’s James?” The woman asks. “He caught him. He should get the honors.”

“He’s putting the anchor down,” one of the males explains. The taller one. “He needs to hurry or it'll turn.” He turns and cups his hand over his mouth; his voice is louder when he speaks again. “James!”

“Coming!” A voice calls back. There’s the sound of feet shuffling and another one of them comes into view. Another human, his weapon of silver brighter and grander than the rest. His skin is a creamy brown, and in the light of the moon his eyes look golden. Regulus knows this is impossible (because humans simply cannot have such exquisite eye colors, and they shouldn’t be able to look like they have gold thrumming in their veins, but this one does, so Regulus supposes this human can be an exception).

But he can’t, Regulus remembers. Not as he watches the humans—James, is what he was called—eyes zero in on his tail. Eyes that are exquisite. Simply. Eyes that should not hold such malice, or such greed, not for such beauty they hold.

Regulus feels his chest split in half, and something akin to a wail bursts past his lips. The humans all jump back at the sudden noise, wielding their silver weapons like threats.

“They don’t usually…” The first human who spoke starts to say cautiously. He’s cut off by the taller one, guiding him back, eyes wary.

“It might start singing or some shit,” The blonde woman says, stepping back with the two others. “Maybe we should bind its mouth. James?”

James glances at her. He’s yet to meet Regulus’ eyes. “Yeah. Peter, would you—“

“On it,” The first man moves away, slipping out of sight.

“Hurry!” The taller one calls after him. He looks back at Regulus, face twisting. Regulus can’t read that look, not as his chest continues to split, and his body grows colder. Another wail parts his lips involuntarily, and his fingers scrape against the net trapping him. His tail flops in succession, trying violently to break free.

“Uhm.” The orange woman backs away from him. “James?”

“I’ve got it.” James walks towards Regulus, his gait too calm and his eyes too gold. Regulus stops moving, head tilting back as James moves closer. The wail that escapes Regulus’ mouth then turns into a plea as gold meets silver, flashing like two opposing sides at war.

Their eyes lock, hold, and James falters.

“Please,” Regulus whispers, his voice not unlike the melody he sings as a language underwater. He speaks this human tongue like it’s natural for him, when it's anything but.

James’ feet come to a stop. Their eyes don’t stray away from the others' gaze.

Regulus opens his mouth again, eyes desperate.

“Please.”

______

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

______

James hesitates.

He doesn’t know why, but he does.

His feet stop moving, and his gaze locks in place, eyes locked with the monster that lays on the deck he stands on. He would point out the very certain display of power if he could get a proper breath into his chest. He would point out that he has the upper hand if he did, but he doesn’t. His sword doesn’t lift and come down in a swift chop, and his voice, usually filled with the power of a captain of a ship, escapes his grasp.

For the first time, words elude James, and he cannot find the will to speak.

The monster beneath him—hell, if you could call it that—its eyes.

That’s it. They shock James into immobility. They stick his breath to his throat and crush his lungs. They make his grip on his sword loosen and his stance sloppy.

They make him weak.

Dad never said they did that, he thinks. He never told me about their eyes.

Because he never had to. All the monsters before never looked him in his eyes. Most of them accepted their fate and went limp. They didn’t look at him.

They didn’t—

And then, as if James couldn’t falter any worse than he already has, it speaks.

“Please.” A whisper, something akin to a song, almost like a melody dug out of the deepest depths of hell. A siren's song can damn you to the fiery pits of tartarus.

But James doesn’t  feel damned. His ears pop, and his breath hitches.

And he does not look away.

Then.

“Please.” 

A cry for mercy, a plea for life. Still a song, a tune that makes James sway a bit and falter even more.

“James?” Lily calls. “What’s wrong?”

“I—“ He wants to turn and look at her, but he can’t. He can’t look away. Just like he can’t lift his sword up and kill this monster. Just like he can’t get a proper breath in. He falters, he sticks and vows to never look a monster in the eyes again.

This monster that’s not a monster at all, but a…boy. Somewhere near his age, with pale skin that glints in the soft light of the moon and high cheekbones that James is sure could cut glass.

Or him. They could cut him, and his eyes wouldn’t leave those silver ones. Ones that clash with his oh so perfectly. Gold against silver.

James can see the way it glows. It’s eyes, it’s skin, it’s tail. He can see the way he contrasts.

Gold against silver.

James' breath comes and leaves him all at once, and when he tries to breathe again he fails.

The monster—the boy?—talks again. (They shouldn’t be able to do that, James is pretty sure, not when they have tails. When they dry and get legs and fake their way as a human maybe, but not when they still have a tail. Especially a tail like this one, a pretty teal-blue, glittering just as much as the monster's pale skin).

(James feels his throat go dry. Wind whips through his air and questions him. He finds that he has no answers.)

“Please,” the monster whispers. “Don’t take me apart.”

James flinches away then, and behind him, his crew breaks into anxious chatter.

“James,” Remus warns. “Peter will be back with the gag any moment, let’s just—“

“He’s fucking hypnotized!” Marlene exclaims. “It’s singing at him.”

“It’s not singing,” Lily corrects her. “It’s speaking English. It just sounds like that.”

“Sounds like that my ass,” Marlene pokes James' shoulder. “We have to kill it, James. One pound of its scales will make us hundreds.”

“She’s right,” Remus shifts. James can tell without looking at him that he’s uncomfortable. He can just about feel him shifting side to side. “The money will be good for a while.”

“James,” Lily places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We can always catch another one. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

“We can’t let it go just because it wooed James,” Marlene laughs. “Guys!”

“I don’t think…”

James still hasn’t looked away. His breath hasn’t come any easier. Something underneath his skin hums and he takes a step back. The monster's eyes follow him as he moves. He doesn’t speak again, but James can practically hear him in his head.

Please.

“Let it go,” James whispers finally. His voice just about cracks when he speaks, and his sword becomes even looser in his grip. “Put it back in.”

“James!” Marlene exclaims. “It takes ages to catch these things and you’re just going to—“

“Mars!” Lily pulls at her friend's shoulder. “Look at him. He won’t kill this one. Why ever not is a mystery."

“A whole fucking riddle if you ask me,” Marlene sighs. “James.”

“Put it back,” he repeats. The monster keeps looking at him. Its eyes aren’t grateful or relieved. James doesn’t think it can show emotions like that, or maybe it just doesn’t want to show him. Their eyes stay locked even as his crew share a glance, but do as he says. He watches, wide eyed, as the monster is slowly released from the net and pushed back into the sea.

The water is cold, he knows it is, so it's a wonder the monster doesn’t make a sound when it slips into it. James’ breath pushes out of his chest as he watches its tail flip once, before it disappears.

The silver is gone.

James blinks back into himself in an instant. Immediately, he drops his sword and wipes a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

“Boss won’t be happy,” Remus murmurs to him.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Lily responds for James, patting his shoulder. “Right James? It was just a simple mistake. We’ll catch another.”

“Here’s to all nighters,” Marlene barks out a laugh before walking away. “Where the hell did Peter go?”

James tries to breathe. (He succeeds, but it is not an easy feat, and he finds himself thinking about silver eyes the rest of the night, as guilt settles in his bones and his crew doesn’t ask questions. They know better. Not once has James let go of a catch.)

James slants Lily a small nod, before turning on his heel and walking away. His gait is heavy, unsure, and he still feels hypnotized. When he makes it to his cabin, he digs out his notebook and opens to a blank page.

Entry 89:

Their eyes.

Not all of them.

One of them so far.

Their eyes sing, even more so than their voices.

I let one go because of its eyes. Now I know to bind them before it has a chance to strike.

Chapter Text

2.

______

James doesn’t think it matters. This one time, letting the monster go. It was a mistake, he knows. A mistake he never makes—usually— no matter how many monsters tremble at his feet. A mistake he made this time because he needed to learn something new from it.

There’s always a lesson to be learned out of the mistakes one makes.

Don’t look them in the eyes.

James flinches when he steps onto the dock. The air is still cold and damp around him, and it smells strongly of the sea (and possibly his failure as well, but he doesn’t pause long enough to relish on that fact). He shrugs his coat tighter around himself and sets forward briskly, not glancing back to see if his crew is following. With the early morning breeze comes a crowded dock, merchants and sellers milling about, villagers lining up at one shop or the other. They part when they see James coming though, eyes immediately going to the sword looped through his belt, at his high boots and golden jewelry.

James is used to the looks. Once even basked in the attention. He doesn’t like it so much at the moment, as guilt bites at his lungs and regret burns his eyes. If he could go back and kill that monster he would. He would come back with a tail, prettier than any of the ones he’s ever caught before, and Riddle wouldn’t give him that look. That look that James gets every time he doesn't come back with a tail.

(“Why, James, if you don’t come back with a treasure, did I bother making you captain?”)

(James knows this is a rhetorical question. He may not like the look he gets, but he gets it often because it’s hard to catch the monsters, whether you’re captain or not, and James is a damn good one.)

(Today was just a lapse of judgement and will.)

“James,” Remus calls after him. James doesn’t slow down. He has to get to base and inform Riddle that there was no kill, then he’d go home and—Remus grabs his arm and James skids to a halt. Remus is too tall, not all that much muscle, but James knows well enough to stop walking when Remus grabs him. It’s principle, he’s known it since he was younger.

“Could you breathe?” Remus peers at him, eyebrows scrunched up. It makes the scar across his face jump and crease, and all the smaller ones around it wiggle like they’re waving at James. He fights the urge to wave back, and instead lets out a long breath. Remus smiles, and his scars wiggle again. “There you go.”

James smiles back, because how couldn’t he? It’s Remus, and it’s smiling. James may not be the bright ball of joy he used to be when he was younger, but he still values a smile. His father had taught him so.

“Good?” Remus asks. He glances behind James, no doubt at the building, bigger than all the others, that sits nestled at the end of the dock. James doesn’t have to look at it to know that the guards who stand outside it are looking his way. Nothing about the business James’ works in is exactly gentle. They hunt, they kill, they sell.

(“What’s this made of?”)

(“Scales.)

(“From the monsters?”)

(“I figured you’d like it to sell. You’d make good money.”)

(“Sell?”)

(“Or you could work for me, young patron.”)

James has been in this business since he was fourteen years old. There was hardly a person on the island who treasures the monsters other than for what they can get from them when they’re dead. James had grown up with tales about the monsters, and had learned to strike before they could open their mouths.

He just failed. This one time.

Never again.

Now he knows to strike before they open their eyes as well.

James stiffens at the thought and pulls away from Remus. “Let’s go.”

Remus frowns at him but nods. “Alright.”

*

Riddle’s office is dark and cold when they step inside. The contrast is stark from the weatherment of the dock, so much so that shivers run down James’ arms. He doesn’t let it show, and instead closes the door behind himself and Remus.

He’s the only one in the crew who wants to come with him to meet with Riddle. James puts it less down to fear and more down to the fact that Remus has known him the longest, grew up with him and was basically raised by Monty. They’re closer than just crewmates, than just a captain and his siege.

Remus makes seeing Riddle easier, just a fraction.

Tom Riddle is a tall man. Handsome, and smooth eyed. His skin is pale, and there’s a singular stripe of white through his dark brown hair. He’s handsome in a scary, angular way. In an old way, almost ancient, if you will. His eyes scan James when he looks up, ignoring Remus entirely. 

(“You’re my best fisher, young patron. The very best.”)

(Once upon a time, and maybe still now, James had yearned for that approval. It’s hard to walk away without it.)

“James,” Riddle leans back in his chair. His desk is riddled with papers and coins and pens, but in a neat type of way. Everything about him is pristine. “Captain, you’ve returned.”

The question in his voice is there: “and with what have you returned with?”

James lowers his head, just a bit. “I’m afraid there was no catch today, sir.”

“Really?” Riddle leans forward. So much that James has no choice but to raise his head again. Riddle’s eyes glint when they lock gazes, and James feels his pulse slow.

It isn’t like with the monster, where his pulse had quickened beyond belief and his breaths had become short. This is different. James feels his legs weaken beneath him, and the only thing that keeps him from falling is Remus, who grabs his arm and holds him up. James doesn’t break eye contact with Riddle though. He knows how this game goes.

“Are you lying, young patron?”

James’ heart stutters in his chest, agonizingly slow. “N-no, sir.”

Riddle stares at him for a long moment, dark eyes scalding. James is used to it, the sudden bouts of fatigue when Riddle is questioning him, the slow rate of his heart when Riddle seems to anger. He chalks it down to fear, because what else could he make it out to be?

Riddle has, and always would, scare him.

Then, Riddle looks away. He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright then. Get back out there in two days time. I want a tail, Captain James.”

James swallows thickly. He can feel Remus’ worried gaze on him. “Yes, sir.”

*

Being a captain wasn’t always James’ dream. Well, it wasn’t his dream at all. He’d grown up with the horror stories and the tales of grievance and vengeance. He’d known there was a hate in his father’s lungs that didn’t fit who Fleamont Potter was as a person. That hate was passed onto him, justifiably.

It was the monsters that killed Euphemia Potter at a young twenty-two years old. She was four days out from turning twenty-three. By that point, she had only been with Fleamont for three years, with a few months straying it from being four.

James had been two when she died.

He doesn’t remember her all that well. Sometimes, he’ll dream and get flashes of a warm laugh, the smell of the sea—which is ironic, he thinks, since that was the very thing they’d lost her body to, but alas, Fleamont Potter could confirm that Euphemia Potter, his wife of only three years, had nothing more than love for the sea. Sometimes James caught the smell of herbs, and a dusty perfume that smelt strongly of honey. Other times he remembered soft hands and a beaming grin, gold eyes twinkling at him.

He has a necklace of hers, a simple blue gem set in stone (a blue agate, his father tells him some time after he turns twelve). He thinks it was her favorite, though his father never tells him that part. Instead, he tells him stories.

James grew up hearing tales of horror and heartbreak. His parents' own story was one of them. Euphemia Potter had fallen in love too quickly, and had died even quicker, and in those almost four years of love, Fleamont had barely registered how fast it had gone by.

So, it wasn’t James’ dream to be a captain. He thinks it’s the anger that keeps him driving, that made him Riddle’s favorite. He thinks it’s the resentment of never knowing the woman who gave birth to him, or not knowing her long enough.

He knows, for a fact, that even though being a captain isn’t his dream, that he’s a damn good one, and he never once had to second guess that.

Not even when he lets one go.

That was a mistake of his will. A mistake that has taught him better. He knows better.

He does better.

______

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

______

“There’s been three disappearances within the West of the province since the new moon, and six since the disappearance of…the heir,” Dorcas’ face is blank as she recites off her rounds, hands gripping the spear she carries. Regulus watches her carefully, fiddling with the bead of gems that lay across his stomach, and his eyes twitch towards his mother and father when she mentions the heir.

The heir. The old heir, since Regulus is the new one.

The new heir. Regulus wants to scoff every time he thinks of himself that way. Sirius was the heir, still is. Regulus knows he’s not dead. He’d feel it if he was.

He’s just being stubborn.

“The ships are getting more frequent,” Dorcas continues. “Closer. We can’t move the province, and we can’t attack, lest we give ourselves away. I recommend restricting province travel, lengthen curfew. Keep citizens from swimming too far, and lower the humans' catches, so they relocate.”

Walburga hums, eyes sharp. Regulus doesn’t like the way she looks at Dorcas. Like she’s dumb. She’s far from dumb. “My people know the risks of swimming too far. They’ve been warned. They’ve seen how citizens who swim too far up have ended. They’ve seen the corpses. If they don’t listen, what are we wasting resources for?”

“Madam—“ Dorcas corrects herself. “My Queen. I don’t mean to assume but the importance is the people. The more we lose the less labor we have. We wouldn’t want to merge with other provinces to create a bigger economy because we’ve lost too many—“

“That’s absurd,” Walburga cuts her off. “I only wanted your report, praetorian, not your guidance. If you’d like a seat at my advisory, then I suggest you file for praetor.”

Dorcas’ mouth snaps shut and her blank expression flickers for a moment, something like offense flashing in her eyes. Regulus is sure he’s the only one who notices, because Walburga continues, her tone harsh.

“Continue with your report, and refrain from wasting my time. If citizens are foolish enough to swim up to the surface and die, then they have clearly not been listening to their superiors enough.”

Dorcas’ face molds back into that look of blankness, and she resumes speaking. “Our search party has gone west of the province now, though it’ll be difficult terrain to search because of the harsh waves. The mermaids in that region are more cruel to outsiders, which is why they have direct orders to return if one of them is killed. I fear the heir, even with all his charms, would not survive their terrain if their aim was death.”

Regulus bites back a snort. Sirius, with all of his charms, could barely survive the wrath of their mother. It was only with Regulus’ help—help that was often shunned—that he even managed to not get his tail impaled on a daily basis. Sirius would be a moron to go west. He’d be dead. Regulus knows, with almost certainty, that there’s only one other realm Sirius would feel comfortable in, no matter the warnings he never heeded.

Regulus’ eyes drift to the faded mark on his torso, the crisscross patching of a net.

The surface.

Sirius is stupid enough, reckless enough and selfish enough to go to the one place he knew his mother wouldn’t follow. Wouldn’t think to follow, even though that’s the first place Regulus had thought of when Sirius disappeared two weeks ago.

His first chance to get up there had just gone wrong. He’s sure his brother isn’t dead though. Stupid, but never dead.

*

“Regulus.”

“Legionnaire.”

“That’s praetorian to you,” Dorcas scoffs.

“And that’s prince Regulus to you,” Regulus retorts, though he’s the one lurking outside of her training center, disrupting her legion and her orders. The few she’s training drift away on instinct, eyes wary when they glance at Regulus. He sighs and lets his guard down. “You know Sirius isn’t stupid enough to go to the west.”

It’s been two days since that meeting in the throne room, since Regulus sat there and listened to a report his mother cared nothing for, and his father could barely recall. He doesn’t talk to Dorcas often, not with her acting more as his guard than anything, and his mother watching at every move. It’s these times, when Walburga is absent, where he can freely talk without censoring his words.

His brother is a sensitive subject.

Dorcas sighs and swings her spear through the water. It’s made of shark bone, stronger than most praetorian guards and longer as well. Dorcas is lethal. She’s been praetorian for only half a year now, but Regulus has seen how she climbed up the ranks of the older guards, how she’s been put in charge of training the new ones.

Regulus thinks she’d do well training an actual legion. (He doesn’t tell her this, because if he knows anything about Meadows, it’s that she likes to go her own way.)

“Locating your brother is difficult, princeps,” Dorcas says finally. “We all know that he doesn’t want to be found. Sirius never does anything without meaning it, disappearing included.”

Regulus’ heart clenches in his chest for a moment. “He’s not dead.”

“I know.” Dorcad swings her spear again, eyes never landing on him. “Sirius isn’t stupid enough to die.”

“Stupid enough to leave,” Regulus grumbles.

“He made a choice.”

“He could have—“

“A choice is a choice.” Dorcas finally looks at him, brown eyes hard. She’s the perfect example of a guard, of the start of an army. Her chest plate glitters in the light of the sea, flashing a familiar silver. It’s more than any other maiden would wear, and certainly more than many of them would dare. Regulus respects her, in a way. “Just like yours is to look for him.”

“I haven’t found him.”

“You found something.” She thrusts her spear forward and the tip of it grazes the faded mark on his torso. So light that even he has to squint to find it. “Don’t find it again, princeps.”

Regulus hears the hardening of her voice and knows the conversation is over. When he looks up at her again, her face is blank, eyes hard, and lips tight. She’s no longer the Dorcas he talked to as she stood outside his door as a simple legionnaire, or the Dorcas she was before war took hold of her head.

He flattens his expression as well. Nods once. “Praetorian Meadows.”

“Prince Regulus.”

With nothing more than a glance, Regulus turns and swims away.

(Everything in him tells him to go back and shake the girl who used to be his light out of the shell she’s become.)

(He doesn’t.)

(She doesn’t want him to.)

*

Regulus visits Keke.

He’s not supposed to because “memories are always stained with regret” in his Grandmother's words. But she’s dead, so Regulus doesn’t see the point in listening to her, when she’s all but a skeleton in a tomb now.

The Library of Memories (is what it isn’t called. It doesn’t sanction a name, apparently, because mermaids aren’t fond of visiting the past unless they prospered in it) is a large room full of bubbles. Bubbles that, of course, hold images.

There are thousands of them, millions even, but the ones Regulus seeks always float out to him, while the others drift away. He used to visit all the time with Sirius, their small way of rebelling, even if it didn’t mean much.

(It meant a lot to Regulus. Still does, even if visiting isn’t the same anymore).

The Library of Memories sits at the very edge of the province, a building that used to house two but now only houses one. Regulus swims inside and closes the entrance behind him. The bubbles crowd him like fish, kissing his face and hair, tickling his skin. When he was younger, the feeling would make him laugh. Now, it just makes him mellow.

“Keke,” he calls. “It’s Reg.”

A brown head of hair pokes out from behind a pillar, along with a smile that makes one tick on his face. Keke grins at him, and he watches as the color of their eyes go from brown to silver, much like his.

“There you are!” Keke swims towards him and envelopes him into a hug. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“You’re counting?” He remarks, and is rewarded with a punch. He nods then, eyes flitting around. “How have you been?”

“As good as an orphan can be.” Keke shrugs, tail flicking and Regulus can’t help how his eyes fall to it. Most citizens in the province have bright tails, and despite the reign of Walburga, bright eyes as well. Keke’s tail is a muddy red, and their eyes are usually a similar brown. They’re different. Regulus knows this, they know this, and yet, neither of them know why.

“You know you don’t have to stay here,” Regulus says carefully. “Your mum—“

“Is dead.” Keke’s smile doesn’t fall, but Regulus sees the glimmer in their eyes dim. “And her memories don’t float to me. I don’t have any relatives, or friends, other than you. So I’m stuck here. It’s fine.”

Regulus swallows, guilt welling up so suddenly that he almost chokes. “I’ll…try to visit more often.”

Keke smiles at him again. “Don’t sweat it, Reg. I know you can only come so often. I’m sure mamma appreciates how often you do manage to come.”

Which isn’t often at all, they don’t say, but Regulus hears it anyway. Regulus knows they miss their mom, the only person other than Regulus they could be around freely. The miscorloration of their tail is too important to the province, something that never fails to make indifference choke Regulus. He knows it sucks, the loneliness, and the fact that no one is ever around.

That’s how he feels now that Sirius is gone.

“Have I…”Regulus pauses, looks around at the bubbles. “Do you want to look at a memory with me?”

“You’ve made new ones?” Keke asks, eyes intrigued.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard that Sirius has disappeared,” Regulus settles down on the floor, tail folded beneath him, and after a second Keke follows. “I went to look for him.” He pauses. “On the surface.”

“Dumb move,” Keke says immediately. “What was your attack combo?”

“Swimming up until I found him, I guess,” Regulus shrugs. He gestures at the bubble that’s floating towards them. “I was captured.”

Keke’s eyebrows furrow. “But…you’re here.”

“I know,” Regulus waves the bubble closer. “There was a human. That one—“ he points at the memory, at the James human that Regulus hasn’t let himself think about since he was released. Eyes that make his body stiff and his pulse race. Eyes that entrance. Eyes that should not belong to a human. “He let me go.”

“He looks strange,” Keke peers at the bubble. “He…glows.”

“You see it too,” Regulus nods. “He’s different.”

Keke’s eyes shoot to him in alarm. “Different in like a, you like humans now way or—“

“Different in a life or death way,” Regulus clarifies, heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Humans have no exceptions. This one with the eyes does not either. “I wanted to find Sirius. I have to find him.”

Keke frowns for the first time. After a moment, they whisper softly. “You’re a good brother.”

Regulus lets the bubble float away, dread prickling his throat. Keke means what Sirius means to him, in a way that's less complicated as it is more. “Not to you.”

“You’re trying,” Keke nudges his shoulder, smile back in place. “And you are a prince. You’re busy, I get that. You still find time to visit when you can.” They float up and grins down at Regulus. “Can you stay for dinner?”

Regulus doesn’t smile back. He’s not sure he can. “Yeah.”

I have to find him.

“Will you go back?” Keke asks eventually. They’re huddled away from the bubbles now, picking at crab wrapped in seaweed. “To the surface, I mean.”

“It’s the only place I know he’ll be,” Regulus responds. “I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” Keke sighs. “Aren’t there like, search parties for that?”

“They won’t look up there,” Regulus says. “No one will. That’s how I know that’s where he is.”

“And if you’re caught again? Killed?”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Humans have no exceptions, Reg.” Keke reminds him. Their tone makes Regulus look up. He knows Keke’s changed since their mothers death. It wasn’t that long ago since Cicilia passed, and visiting memories suddenly wasn’t as joyful as it once had been. She’d been like a mother to Regulus too, when he was losing his best friend to a spirit of war and his brother to a spirit of freedom. She was more of Keke’s happiness than she was his, but he still can’t help but feel a bit robbed.

(He knows it isn’t fair. He knows she isn’t his mom. He spent too long in the library with Sirius, peering at the bubbles when they weren’t supposed to, until Sirius grew an interest in seeing the sun above the surface. He doubts Sirius even knows Cicilia passed. He never bothered to tell him, since Sirius never bothered to visit anymore.)

Regulus can’t do anything for Keke now. Nothing but visit every so often to feel like a better person. He looks away and resumes picking at his meal. “I know.”

Keke is quiet for a long moment. Regulus feels bad.

“Okay.”

______

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

______

James doesn’t know how it manages it, to not get caught by the nets a second time around. He guesses it’s ready for them, after being caught once, but it still startles him.

He hears the splash before he sees it.

Then it’s voice.

“Hello.”

James spins on his feet, moon pinning him down, and stares. Just stares. He chokes on his breath when gold meets silver for the second time in what could have been days, or even weeks.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other.

Then, James’ bones unlock, and he forces himself to breathe. His spear is in his hand. He doesn’t hesitate this time.

He throws it.