Chapter Text
CRASH. Another fishing net hit the wooden dock, the impact echoing sharply across the harbor.
“Again?” A woman’s voice cut through the sea air, sharp with irritation barely held in check.
She crouched down and lifted the net herself. The coarse fibers slipped through her fingers, heavy with seawater and loss. It didn’t take long to see the damage. The mesh was torn open, shredded as though something sharp had deliberately carved through it. The gap was wide enough for fish to escape effortlessly.
This was the third time this week.
Rhinedottir straightened slowly, her jaw tightening as calculations ran through her mind. Each ruined net meant more mora wasted, more fishermen sent back out to sea, more time lost chasing what would never be recovered.
“Apologies, Miss Rhinedottir,” one of the fishermen spoke hesitantly. “We cast it farther out this time, just like you asked, but it washed back up torn again. Could it be sharp coral?”
He barely spared the net a glance before looking away. Anyone with eyes could tell it wasn’t coral. The cuts were intentional and with purpose.
He considered saying as much then caught sight of her expression and thought better of it. She looked infuriated, more than that she looked feral.
Rhinedottir paid him no mind. She paced a few steps back and forth, boots thudding softly against the dock as numbers stacked mercilessly in her head. How much was it… 219.000 mora for the propeller, 354.000 mora for the water damages on the boats, 573.00 to replace one broken boat.
Her breath came shallow. She had lost far more than she cared to admit and this was only from the nets. Boats were deteriorating faster than they should. Fishermen whispered of claw marks, punctured hulls, and strange sounds beneath the waves.
Loss layered upon loss.
Her fingers curled into her palm.
“I want one of you— no,” she corrected sharply, stopping in her tracks, “any of you, to find out who or what is doing this.”
She gestured toward the corner of the dock, where broken nets and damaged equipment lay in a miserable heap.
“This week,” she added, her voice clipped, iron-hard. “I don’t care if it’s a beast, a person, or something that shouldn’t exist at all.”
A brief, tense silence followed.
“Yes, ma’am,” the fishermen answered in unison, voices tight as the sea wind rushed past them.
Clink, splosh, woosh all sounds so familiar they almost faded into the background of Mondstadt’s laboratory. Glass met glass with practiced precision as a luminescent vial tipped, its contents sliding neatly into a waiting beaker. A moment later, minty green smoke bloomed into the air, curling lazily as if it had a mind of its own.
The woman holding the vial waved a hand in front of her face, coughing lightly as she wiped the haze from her glasses. Once she could see again, she leaned over the worktable and scribbled a few notes, her pen moving faster than her thoughts could settle.
“Did you get it right, Sucrose?” a calm voice called from behind her edged with fatigue.
She startled so hard she nearly dropped the vial. “Eep!” Sucrose quickly adjusted her slipping glasses, clutching the glassware close to her chest before answering. “N-not quite… The moisture in the air fluctuated too much, I think. It affected the first vial, and I was… probably too slow with the second one.” Her voice dipped at the end, disappointment seeping through despite her effort to stay composed.
“I see. Thank you, Sucrose,” the man replied.
Albedo flipped through his notebook, pages already crowded with observations and crossed-out theories. With a quiet scratch of graphite, he eliminated a few more potential causes. They had been at this for weeks now, chasing the same result — a liquid with very specific properties, requested under circumstances that still lingered heavily in his mind.
“I need something that will poison the surrounding waters,” Rhinedottir had said, her tone precise, measured. “Not enough to harm the fish, no. But enough to leave whatever’s been wrecking my boats… disoriented. Unwell.”
He remembered her words clearly, not only because she was his mother. That assumption, at least, wasn’t fully true. What was true were the torn nets, the damaged hulls, the growing losses that finally drove her to seek him out personally.
She had come to him late one evening, frustration thinly veiled beneath her usual composure, wondering aloud whether she had angered something lurking beneath the waves. A sea creature, perhaps. A kraken. Even a monster pulled straight from an old sailor’s tales.
Albedo had dismissed the idea without hesitation. There were no sea monsters hiding in fairytales, no mythical beasts waiting to exact vengeance on fishing vessels. Such things simply didn’t exist.
A memory surfaces from long ago, back when numbers still took effort and counting faster than his peers felt like an achievement worth quiet pride.
In Mondstadt, there was a tradition that had endured for generations and still persisted to this day. At the end of the year, when snow blanketed the streets on Christmas Eve, children were told that a man in red they called “Santa Claus” would descend from the skies with eight flying reindeer. He would slip down chimneys unseen and leave presents behind for every child who had been good.
He never believed it. After all, Santa had never visited him.
The classroom had been warm that day, heated by a crackling stove that filled the air with the scent of burning wood. Sheets of paper were passed around, each child instructed to write a letter to Santa, wishes scribbled down in uneven handwriting meant for someone who was never going to read them.
“I wish Santa would give me a toy train!” one of his classmates announced proudly, gripping her pencil too tightly as she wrote, her letters wobbling across the page.
“And I want a sparkly dress,” another chimed in, laughter bubbling out of her as she folded her letter and placed it carefully into the decorated box at the front of the room.
Albedo watched quietly. Even then, there was something strangely fascinating about how humans guarded their innocence — how they clung to fantasy as if letting go would make the world collapse. He had once done the same, he supposed. He had been a child, after all, even if that part of him felt distant now.
“Albedo, what about you?”
The girl beside him shifted in her chair, smoothing her skirt as she turned to face him, her expression open and expectant.
He thought for a moment, searching for something, anything that felt honest. In the end, he found there was nothing to embellish.
“Nothing,” he said calmly. “Santa has never given me anything.”
The room stilled.
A few students nearby froze mid-motion, eyes widening as though he had said something impossible.
“What?” someone blurted out.
“You’re joking, right?” another laughed nervously. “Santa gives everyone presents!”
“Not me.”
The voice was quiet, almost absent-minded, as if the statement carried no particular weight. When they turned to look, they found a grey haired boy seated in the far corner of the room, his attention fixed on the pages of a book resting in his hands. He didn’t look up, didn’t wait for their reaction, instead turned a page and continued reading. Well at least Albedo wasn’t alone now.
“Why not?” a student asked, their voice thin with disbelief.
The grey haired boy finally paused his reading. He lifted his head and looked toward them, his expression a mixture of mild annoyance and genuine confusion, as though the question itself made little sense to him. “I’m Sumerian,” he said plainly. “And… Santa doesn’t exist.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the room erupted.
Children cried out in protest, some shouting “Yes he does!” while others accused him of lying outright. A few burst into tears, faces flushed and trembling, and rushed toward the teacher as though seeking refuge from a truth they were not ready to hear. The noise swelled quickly, filling the once joyful classroom with chaos.
Albedo watched it unfold in silence. His gaze drifted back to the grey-haired boy, who had already returned to his book as if nothing of consequence had happened. There was no trace of guilt or concern on his face, only a certainty that should definitely not exist in a child.
Albedo looks at the grey haired boy who stared at the wailing children and goes back to his book without a single care. Curiosity stirs up his chest and he approaches the boy’s desk, careful not to draw attention to himself.
“Why do you think Santa doesn’t exist?” he asked, his voice calm, measured.
The boy glanced up at him, studying his face for a brief moment before finally closing the book. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “I know he doesn’t.”
“What’s your proof?” Albedo pressed gently.
Instead of answering immediately, the boy tilted his head and gestured toward the children still wailing near the front of the room. “Look at them,” he said. “The ones excited about Santa are always Mondstadters, Fontainians, or Snezhnayans. Children from other nations don’t celebrate Christmas like you do. To us, it doesn’t exist.”
He spoke as if stating a simple fact, one so obvious it hardly warranted explanation.
“Oh,” Albedo murmured. He hesitated, then asked, “But wouldn’t you want Santa to be real?”
The boy considered this for a moment. “Not really,” he said at last. “Santa only exists because parents give their children presents while they’re asleep. But what about children without parents? Or parents who can’t afford gifts?”
For the first time in five years of his life, Albedo found himself without an answer. “I guess… you’re right,” he admitted quietly.
That moment while small and unremarkable as it may have seemed marked the beginning of something resembling a friendship. Over time, they traded books and shared observations, challenged each other’s ideas, and grew alongside one another until their paths diverged into different disciplines. They no longer met as often as they once did, but whenever they did, the conversations were always thoughtful.
“Mr. Albedooo.”
Sucrose’s voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling him abruptly back into the laboratory. The memory dissolves, leaving only the familiar scent of reagents and seawater clinging faintly to the air.
“Yes?” he responds, lifting his head.
“You were zoning out,” she says softly, though there’s a hint of relief in her voice. “I tested one of the vials, and it seems to be working. There’s no harm to the fish. Come on! Let me show you.”
She leads him over to her section of the workspace, where a shallow basin of water rests beneath careful observation. The liquid has taken on a faint greenish hue, subtle but noticeable, yet the fish within it move freely, lively and unbothered. Their gills flutter steadily, bodies untainted by distress.
“It appears stable,” Albedo murmurs, watching them for a moment longer. “Where is the vial?”
Sucrose reaches into her pocket and produces a small corked glass bottle, its contents shimmering faintly as she places it into his hand. “I bottled it for you to test out in the field,” she says, smiling nervously. “I hope it brings good results.”
He raises an eyebrow, studying her expression. “You don’t want to test it together?”
She hesitates, fingers twisting around the hem of her sleeve. “Ah— well… I get seasick quite easily. I wouldn’t want my weak stomach to interfere with your observations.”
“I understand,” Albedo replies, nodding. “Thank you for your help, Sucrose.”
“Good luck, Albedo,” she says, her voice brighter now, as if willing success into being.
He leaves the laboratory shortly after, discarding the used gloves and carefully setting aside his goggles. The lab coat comes off as well, he makes certain of it before stepping outside. Old habits die hard.
As he walks, the weight of the vial settles in his pocket, heavier than its size would suggest. He can only hope that whatever lurks beneath the water’s surface is not as dangerous as Rhinedottir fears.
“You’re ready, sir?”
A fisherman who had been leaning against the outer wall straightens as Albedo approaches.
“I’ll be going alone,” Albedo replies evenly. “But thank you for the offer, Clinton.”
“Of course, sir.” Clinton hesitates before continuing, his tone lowering. “The lady asked me to tell you to be careful. It’s been weeks now, and the sea’s been rougher than usual.”
Albedo inclines his head in acknowledgment, eyes already drifting toward the distant horizon.
The boat’s engine sputters to life with a low, uneven brrr, the vibration traveling up through the deck and into Albedo’s boots as the vessel eases forward across the water. He steadies the wheel with one hand while unfolding the map with the other, its edges softened by frequent use and faintly stained with salt. Most of these waters have already been charted, marked, crossed out, annotated again and again — but several areas remain circled in careful ink, places where the nets had been slashed most frequently, where losses piled up without explanation.
He guides the boat toward one of those marked spots, the shoreline gradually slipping out of sight as the water deepens and darkens. When he slows the engine, the sudden quiet feels almost oppressive, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. Albedo leans over the side and studies the water level, watching how the surface shifts, how the light refracts just beneath it. After a moment’s consideration, he uncorks the vial and lets a few measured drops of the concoction fall into the sea. The liquid disperses quickly, leaving behind no more than a faint greenish tint before vanishing entirely.
He dips his bare hand into the water, ignoring the chill as he tests for any immediate reaction. The temperature remains steady. There is no stinging sensation, no sudden movement beneath the surface, nothing at all.
With nothing else to observe, he allows time to pass. He retrieves a book from beside him and begins to read, the steady rhythm of the waves and the quiet hum of the idling engine settling into the background. Minutes stretch on. When he reaches nearly halfway through the text, he looks up again, scanning the water with renewed focus. Still, nothing has changed.
Eventually, he adjusts course, steering the boat toward a second location — one he remembers well from the fishermen’s reports. This was where they had spoken of claw marks gouged into the hull, of holes torn through solid wood as if something beneath the surface had tested its strength. As he arrives, he cuts the engine and casts a net into the water, taking care to secure it firmly to the boat before letting it sink.
Once the net is in place, he pours a thin stream of the concoction into the surrounding water, watching closely as it disperses. He checks the temperature again, then the pH, noting every detail with practiced calm. His mind turns over possible explanations. Could it have been sharks that are hungry, desperate enough to bite through the nets?
The thought lingers only briefly before he dismisses it. Sharks might tear at nets, yes, but they would not leave deliberate claw marks, nor puncture wooden hulls with such precision. As far as he knows, they have not evolved to do so.
For a moment, it almost feels as though the entire trip has been for nothing. The sea lies deceptively calm around him, offering no answers, no disturbance with only the soft rise and fall of the water against the hull accompanying. Albedo reaches for his book, ready to concede to patience once more, when the boat suddenly lurches.
The impact is sharp and unexpected, a violent jolt that sends the deck shuddering beneath his feet. The hull creaks in protest as turbulent water surges from below, strong enough to throw him off balance. He grips the railing instinctively, boots skidding across damp wood before he manages to steady himself.
Peering over the side, he catches sight of movement beneath the surface.
A large fish thrashes near the net, its body cutting through the water in powerful arcs as it struggles against the mesh. The waves ripple outward from it, churning the once-quiet sea.
“So it was a large fish,” Albedo murmurs under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else.
The creature fights for a brief while before its movements slow, then still altogether, suspended unnaturally within the net. It is only then that unease creeps in. That… wasn’t supposed to happen. Sucrose had been clear in ensuring the concoction was safe for marine life. There should have been no adverse effects.
He pushes the thought aside for now, knowing there will be time to analyze later. First, he hauls the net back onto the boat, muscles straining slightly as the weight breaks the surface. Tangled among the coarse ropes are strands of seaweed and several smaller fish, all of which seem unharmed. The large one, however, remains disturbingly motionless.
After securing the net, Albedo turns the boat toward shore.
I’ll have to perform a medical examination on it, he decides quietly.
By the time he docks in a more secluded section of the harbor, the sun has begun its descent, staining the sky in muted hues of orange and violet. The docks are unusually quiet, with only a handful of fishermen lingering in hushed conversation. Night sails have become rare these past few months ever since the sea began to behave unpredictably.
Storms had grown harsher, tides higher, and rain heavier. The ocean no longer welcomed those who challenged it after dusk.
Mindful of how little time fish can survive out of water, Albedo wastes no time once he disembarks. He hauls the heavy net across the dock and through the narrow path leading to the personal pool near the laboratory, the weight pulling at his shoulders as the damp ropes leave faint trails behind him. The pool itself lies calm and shallow, its surface reflecting the dimming sky. He lowers the net carefully near the water’s edge, close enough that whatever lies inside might still draw breath, then turns and heads indoors in search of equipment, of anything suitable for assessing the creature’s condition, its health, its response to prolonged exposure.
When he returns moments later, tools in hand, the sight before him stops him cold.
The net is no longer still.
Something large thrashes against it, movements frantic and uncoordinated, sending ripples splashing across the pool’s surface. At first glance, his mind insists on the familiar—a large fish, it supplies automatically but the shape refuses to align with that assumption. What emerges from the tangled mesh is a powerful tail, broad and iridescent, its scales catching the fading light with an almost aurora-like glow. And above it—
A human torso.
Arms flail helplessly as the creature struggles, fingers clawing at the net with unmistakable desperation. Its skin gleams faintly where scales give way to flesh, luminous and unreal, and the strained sounds it makes. Whatever this is, it is very clearly frightened. Panicked even.
Albedo’s breath catches.
His reason scrambles for footing, for some explanation that does not unravel everything he knows to be true. And yet, standing before him, undeniable in its form, is a mermaid, his thoughts whisper incredulously. Or judging by the build, the voice, the more accurate term would be merman.
Albedo stops, hands slowly lowering at his sides. The words slip from him before he can stop them, barely more than a breath lost to the air.
“You’re a mermaid?”
He takes a careful step closer and the creature notices immediately. Its movements grow sharper, more erratic as it recoils as far as the net will allow, eyes wide and fixed on him with raw terror. The ropes tighten, scales scraping softly against fiber as it tries to put distance between itself and the unfamiliar figure looming nearby.