Chapter Text
PART ONE
The Brickleback had been restless for days. You felt it long before it breached—felt its agitation humming through the water. You had always loved the Brickleback.
It was not the largest of the beasts, nor the fiercest, but it shimmered when it swam—its armored hide caught the light in soft greens and sea-moss, and something almost close enough to your own tail that, from a distance, you could pretend it was kin.
Close enough that it reminded you of someone else, someone whose laughter used to ripple through the currents and come back to you like an echo.
When the Brickleback rose and struck Jim Nicklebones’s ship, you whispered a plea to the beast. You pressed your palm to the water, sending soothing currents the way your mother once taught you.
Enough. It’s not worth it. Go back down. Please.
The beast did not listen. It never did when fear outweighed reason.
And then the Inevitable arrived—like a blade through water.
You recoiled instinctively, sinking deeper as harpoons flew and cannons thundered. You watched from the safety of the depths as the Brickleback roared. And then Captain Crow struck the killing blow.
The sea went quiet but the Brickleback did not die gently. With the last of its strength, it seized the man who had felled it, dragging him down as its body sank.
You surged forward without thinking. Crow’s consciousness was already slipping, his breath lost to the deep. The Brickleback’s grip was iron, even in death.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered—not to the man, but to the beast. You wrapped both arms around its tendril and pulled, gently and reverently, until its hold loosened.
That was when another shape broke through the water. Fast and desperate—human. Jacob dove with the force of someone who refused to lose anyone again.
Your eyes met for a heartbeat. Your tail caught the light. His gaze widened, not in fear, but in something older and unnameable. A recognition without memory, an ache without reason.
You let go and pushed Captain Crow upward before vanishing into the deep. Above, Jacob hauled his captain toward the light, a single color seared into his mind.
That night, Jacob was called into the captain’s cabin. There, he was promised to be the next captain and along with it, the title of the greatest hunter. For Crow was certain—Jacob will do great things.
“Captain. May I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Have you ever heard stories of… mermaids?” The word felt strange on his tongue; childish and absurd.
Crow’s expression changed. Not dramatically, just enough. From his shelf, he pulled out a thick and weathered book.
“Mermaids,” Crow said, tapping the page. “Old stories. Older fears.” Jacob leaned closer.
“They used to say they were bad omens,” Crow continued. “That they brought storms and wrecks and lured sailors from their ships with sweet voices and dragged ’em down to drown. Hunters went after them once, long before our time. Thought they’d make the seas safer.”
The day after they arrived at the Three Bridges, Jacob, barely sober, along with Crow and Sarah made their way to Castle Whiterock.
The skeleton still hung from the ceiling, massive ribs arched like a crown of bone. Jacob had seen it a hundred times before. It no longer stirred anything in him.
But something else did.
Set along the far wall stood something new. Glass—an enormous aquarium. The water inside glowed faintly, lit from below.
Jacob stopped walking.
Inside the tank, suspended in quiet stillness, was a figure he had been told was a myth that no longer existed. A mermaid.
Her tail curled beneath her, scales light and green. Her hair drifted around her shoulders in slow motion, and her hands rested loosely at her sides, unbound—but unmistakably confined. She did not thrash, did not plead. She simply watched.
Her eyes lifted. They passed over Captain Crow, over Sarah, over the guards. Then, just briefly, they met Jacob’s.
Admiral Eric Hornagold’s voice cut cleanly through the silence, “Impressive, isn’t she?” He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back, a satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.
“The mermaid,” Hornagold continued. “Superstitious creatures. Dangerous ones, too.”
Jacob didn’t look away from the tank.
“The King and Queen have kept her secured in the dungeons for years,” Hornagold went on lightly, as if discussing a new ship design.
“But Their Majesties recently decided she deserved… a more appropriate display,” he gestured broadly to the room.
“A reminder. Of mankind’s triumph over the terrors of the sea.”
Jacob’s eyes drifted downward then—and his stomach tightened. Beside the aquarium sat a wide silver bowl filled to the brim with pearls—perfect, iridescent, and countless.
The mermaid inside the tank did not move. Her expression remained serene, almost distant. If she felt fear, pain, or rage, she did not grant it to them.