Chapter Text
"Heave!"
The large, heavy fishnet dragged through the water, pulling up and bringing the frantically flopping fish out of the water, suspending it by the side of the ship. It wasn't a huge haul, they'd already been through this cove once earlier today, so most of the wildlife was still hiding.
"The fuck is that?"
Chan glanced over at the loud, confused voice of Jeongin. The younger man was stood starboard side, staring wide eyed at the net they'd just reeled up. Most of the fish had already begun to stop moving, strangled by the lack of oxygen or crushed beneath the heavy weight of the other fish. It was a normal sight, all considering.
He squinted a bit, leaning forward till he saw the distinctly not normal flash of powder blue, a hump forming at the top of the pile right above it.
"Did we hook a dolphin?" Felix piped up, poking his head head out from behind a pile of crates he was using to hide from the sun.
"No dolphin is that blue," Changbin replied, also joining in on the deck huddle.
Minho grabbed the rope hanging beside his head, using it to leap over the edge of the nest and swing down, landing just behind Chan who had come down from the wheel deck.
For a minute, there was no movement from the net. All the fish should've been dead by now, so there is no reason for there to be something moving at this point.
Chan was just about to call it and say there was nothing, probably just a trick if the light, when there was another flash and a choked hissing noise.
The whole net shuddered.
Several fish flopped free of the weave as something inside jerked against it, scales flashing silver and blue through the gaps. Then came another sound—not a hiss this time, but a breathless cough, like someone trying to suck in air through water.
"The hell—" Minho started, stepping closer.
Whatever was inside twisted sharply, and a pale arm—an arm—shot out from between the ropes. Fingers caught the coarse fibers, gripping them hard enough for the knuckles to blanch. The skin was slick, faintly iridescent in the dying sunlight, and webbed between the fingers.
"Holy shit," Jeongin whispered. "That's not— that's not a dolphin."
Chan felt the breath leave his lungs in one rough exhale. "Get it on deck. Now."
They all moved at once. Changbin and Minho took the ropes, heaving together, and with one strong pull, the net came over the rail and crashed to the planks. A wave of seawater splashed across their boots—and then a shape tumbled out with it. He was human, at least from the waist up. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, gills fluttering along his ribs and throat like the slits of a delicate shell. His skin shone faint blue, almost translucent beneath the sun, though there was obvious muscle definition and normal melanin when the shade hit him just right. And where legs should have been—
Felix let out a low whistle. "Oh, wow."
The tail unfurled in a weak arc, powder-blue and edged in silver, the fins sweeping like silk underwater even now. Each movement sent droplets scattering like tiny crystals.
Minho crouched down, knife still in hand, ready for anything. "It's a mermaid."
The thing blinked through the netting, dazed and breathing fast, pupils blown wide from fear and air deprivation. When he spoke, his voice rasped, strange and melodic even in its hoarseness. "L—let me go..."
Chan's grip tightened on the nearest rope. The words weren't quite human; they carried a ripple beneath them, like an undertow.
Felix, ever curious, took a hesitant step forward. "He can talk?"
"Course he can talk," Minho muttered, though his tone was thin with disbelief. He flicked his knife toward the ropes. "What do you want to do, Captain? He's caught in deep."
Chan exhaled slowly, eyes locked on the merman who glared weakly up at him with glassy brown eyes. Curiously, at a closer glance there seemed to be a ring of sea foam blue around his irises too. Its tail twitched again, sending another spray of water across the planks.
"Cut him loose," Chan said finally.
But before Minho could move, the merman hissed again—low and sharp, the sound vibrating through the boards. "Don't—touch me."
The entire ship seemed to still at that, the salty wind catching in the rigging and tugging in a dull clatter like it was listening too.
And from below the waves, something answered.
The sound that rose from the deep was low and resonant, not quite a roar but not the groan of a shifting current either. It was alive, too deep for human lungs, too broad to belong to anything they'd ever seen. The boards beneath their feet trembled with it, the water against the hull churning in sudden, restless swells.
Jeongin stumbled back, eyes darting to the dark water lapping against the sides of the ship. "What the hell was that?"
No one answered.
The merman's tail gave a sharp, involuntary flick, his gills flaring wide as he sucked in a ragged breath. His eyes were wide now—terrified. Not at them, Chan realized, but at the ocean itself.
Something massive moved beneath the surface, brushing against the hull with a dull thud. The men froze, the ropes and rigging creaking softly in the stillness that followed.
"Captain," Minho said quietly, "I think we've got company."
Chan didn't move for a long moment. His hand tightened on the railing as he scanned the horizon, the dying sunlight glittering across the waves in cruel little flashes. He'd seen storms roll in before, seen whales breach close enough to feel the spray—but this wasn't that. The water below was pulsing, shadows shifting in lazy, deliberate arcs.
Felix crouched low near the merman, cautious but unable to help himself. "Hey," he said softly, "you called that, didn't you? Whatever that thing is."
The merman's head snapped toward him, wet hair sticking to his cheeks. His pupils were slitted now, cutting thin and sharp like a predator's. "You shouldn't have pulled me out," he whispered, voice trembling through clenched teeth. "She'll come for me."
"She?" Changbin echoed, brows drawing together.
The merman blinked, dazed, chest heaving. "The tidekeeper." His tail shifted restlessly, muscles flexing beneath its smooth sheen. "You broke the water's claim. She doesn't forgive thieves."
Chan exhaled through his nose, the sound caught somewhere between disbelief and nerves. "We're not thieves. We didn't even know you were in there."
"You took me," the merman said simply. And for a moment, his voice wasn't angry—it was mournful.
From below, the water boiled.
The next sound was unmistakable: the groan of timber under strain. The ship rocked violently, sending half the crew stumbling into the rail. Felix hit the deck with a sharp grunt, Minho swearing as his knife clattered away.
Chan barely caught himself before toppling over the side. He looked down—and his stomach dropped.
Something vast and pale was circling the ship, its silhouette just visible in the deep. The faint shimmer of light along its back looked like the curve of a fin, impossibly large, arcing in a slow spiral around them.
"Everyone, back!" Chan barked, voice cutting through the sudden chaos. "Away from the edge—now!"
They all scrambled, boots sliding over wet boards. Only the merman remained still, tangled in the remnants of the net, his chest heaving. His gaze flicked toward the dark water, then back to Chan, voice breaking with desperation.
"Let me go before she breaks your ship apart."
Minho hesitated, looking to Chan for the order. For a moment, the captain didn't answer—his jaw tight, eyes flicking between the trembling creature on his deck, chest heaving like it was struggling to breath, and the monstrous shadow circling below.
Then he gave a single, clipped nod.
"Cut him loose."
Minho didn't wait. The blade he’d scoured back up came down fast, slicing through the net. The moment the ropes fell away, the merman lurched toward the rail, dragging himself with a strength none of them expected. His tail slapped the planks once, leaving a wet, gleaming streak before he half-dived, half-slipped into the sea with a sharp splash.
The water went still.
For several long, tense seconds, nothing moved. The crew stood frozen, staring at the place he'd vanished, hearts pounding in unison with the ship's creaks.
Then, deep below, a final echo rolled through the water—lower, softer this time. Almost like a sigh.
And when it faded, the waves calmed, leaving the pirate ship rocking gently once more in the dying light.
Felix exhaled shakily, rubbing his hands on his pants. "What the fuck was that?"
Chan didn't answer. He was still watching the horizon, jaw set, the sunlight painting his face in streaks of gold and shadow.
"Whatever it was," he said at last, "we just made a deal with the sea."
”Or an enemy,” Changbin muttered, still looking quite rattled from his spot leaned up against the far railing.
The crew stood there for a long moment, no one daring to speak above the rhythmic slap of water against the hull. The air itself felt heavy—thick with salt and something older, stranger, that clung to the back of the throat.
Eventually, Minho broke the silence with a snort that didn't quite hide his nerves. "Well," he said, sheathing his knife, "that's one way to ruin a perfectly good net."
A few of the others laughed, thin and shaky, the sound echoing unconvincingly across the deck.
Chan didn't.
He still had his hand braced on the rail, gaze fixed on the rippling surface where the merman had vanished. The sea looked calm again—eerily so. The kind of calm that comes after thunder, too brief to be trusted.
Felix approached him, wiping his hands on his trousers. "You think he's gone?"
"He'd better be," Changbin muttered from the winch. He was already coiling rope, but his shoulders were stiff, his movements too deliberate. "I don't like that kind of shit, Cap. Talking fish, sea monsters, curses—nah. We're sailors, not ghost hunters."
Minho smirked faintly. "You're a pirate, Bin. You hunt everything."
"Not things with teeth that big."
"Fair point," Felix murmured.
Chan barely heard them. His eyes had drifted toward the horizon where dusk was swallowing the sky, turning the waves bruise-dark. There were no gulls, no wind—just silence, stretching wide and endless.
He didn't realize Jeongin had come up beside him until the younger man spoke, voice low. "Captain... if that thing was real, what did he mean? About a tidekeeper?"
Chan rubbed at his jaw, rough thumb dragging across the stubble there. "Old sailor tales talk about spirits that keep the balance," he said after a moment. "Some call them queens, some gods, some monsters. But they all say the same thing—you don't take what the sea doesn't offer."
Minho looked up sharply. "You think we did?"
"I think," Chan said slowly, "we might've just dragged something holy into our mess."
The words hung between them.
Felix gave a weak grin, trying to chase away the chill creeping up his spine. "Holy, cursed, whatever—long as it doesn't sink us, I'll take it."
"Bold of you to assume it'll ask first," Minho muttered.
Changbin shot him a look. "You're both real comforting, you know that?"
But beneath the banter, everyone's eyes flicked to the water more often than before. Every ripple made them tense; every creak of wood had someone's hand twitching toward a blade.
By the time the sun disappeared completely, the deck was quiet again. Most of the crew had retreated below deck, muttering about bad omens and lost sleep. Only Chan remained topside, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the damp railing where the merman had vanished.
The night air was cool and sharp. Stars pricked faintly through the darkening sky.
He was about to turn in when a faint splash echoed from starboard. Small. Careful.
Chan froze.
He turned his head slowly toward the sound. At first, he saw nothing—just the faint shimmer of moonlight on water. Then, just beneath the surface, something pale flickered. A tail. Powder-blue, edged with silver.
The merman.
He hovered there, half-submerged, watching Chan with luminous, unreadable eyes. The sea around him was calm, unnaturally so.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then the merman tilted his head slightly, gills fluttering with the motion. His voice, when it came, was softer now, carried easily over the quiet water.
"You shouldn't stay here."
Chan gripped the rail tighter. "Why not?"
The merman's gaze flicked toward the black expanse behind him, something ancient and cold flickering in his expression.
"Because she hasn't decided to forgive you yet."
And before Chan could speak, he vanished beneath the waves again—leaving only a ring of ripples, spreading wider and wider into the dark.