Chapter Text
The wind carries tall tales from afar.
A city made entirely from gold, sparkling in the light with the allure of riches. A fountain of youth, blessing one with untold beauty. A hard-to-reach treasure that gives whoever finds it unimaginable power. All examples of imagination-capturing legends.
Far, far away, hidden in the lush jungles south, there exists a a city so abundant in gold, it covers their buildings head-to-toe. So much they have, the king of the city washes himself in a bath filled with gold.
Initially, this tale had intrigued him the most. What was a king without gold? He needed that gold for himself, and then it would be he who bathes in it, he who would be called king. But the tale had existed for longer than he, and alas, as he heard of one failed expenditure after another, he realized that it must be nothing more than fantasy.
How in the world would it be possible to miss an entire city made out of gold for so long?
In a space and in a time hidden away from mortal men, there exists a fountain running with most blessed water. Bathe in it, and the old will turn young again. Bathe in it, and the young will stay beautiful, forever, until they fall from wounds or sickness.
This at least made more sense to have never been found. Where else would an abomination to time hide but beyond it? But he simply does not care. What would being young forever achieve? Nothing useful. The eyes and touch of women mean nothing to him. It doesn’t even protect him from death!
He would never go out of his way for something so inconsequential.
Deep in a cove of the New World, there exists a treasure encased in a clam. Like a mother’s embrace, the sea protects it from intruders, but manage to obtain it, and pure power made physical rests in your hands.
He could almost believe the tale was made exactly for him. The one thing he wanted the absolute most…carefully cradled as an object in his palms. No matter what, he needed to find the New World treasure. With it, he could make his dreams come true.
With it, he could rule the world.
He wandered the seas, for years on end, searching with all his might. It was not so strange that Arthur Kirkland let tales of treasure and power rule his mind.
He used to be told tall tales as a child, too. Now, he leads a crew of men with him to realize the legends into reality. It was the only time he could ever bring himself to tolerate being with his siblings, when they would read for him. And thank the Lord that those days are over! Now, he is on his ship, under his control, and he doesn’t have to speak with anyone if he orders it so. In the soft light of a bedroom at night came tales of the monkey’s paw, of fae, of trade-offs that come when you deal with magic— Arthur has heard it all. Now, Arthur will rise above his predecessors. When faced with power laced in trickery and peril, he will be the first one to come out unscathed.
The moon shined upon him that fateful night, the night he saw for himself that the legends were true. In droves, people set sail around the Caribbean looking for famed treasures. Well if everyone was all there at once, what use was that!? So Arthur had set his sights above the rest of the dull-minded crowd. Literally; he headed north. And that was where he was then, with the foamy waves lapping at his boots’ heels, facing the mouth of a daunting cove.
Shifting through slippery pebbles and watery mud revealed a dark entrance big enough for him to crawl into. Sticking his hand inside of it revealed that he would have to submerge himself underwater for who knew how long. But the hole faced the larger landmass of the continent, and earlier cannonballs pulled the curtains off of caves that led to nowhere on the inside of the land. This entrance would lead to a hollow area. Arthur was sure of it.
Dipping into the inky water, though the only first step, felt like the entire challenge he would face ahead all at once. He did not know if the eyes of secretive sea critters watched him as he passed. He did not know how much further he had left, or when the cold would stop. Faith, blind like he, pulled him forward.
Eventually, out of nowhere, the water broke to air. Arthur rested his elbows on newfound ground, and didn’t gasp for breath until he remembered he could, in which he spit, and coughed, and sucked in oxygen with a greed none could match.
But the moment didn’t last forever– there was then a sharp pull on his coat, dragging him back into the water. He kicked out, and his foot connected with the cartilage of an underwater creature.
He scrambled to reach the surface; there were bioluminescent flora littering the cave walls. In the soft light, Arthur faintly saw a huge shadow following him. Ah, he realized. A shark.
In the ensuing battle, Arthur got away with only a manageable clip on his left leg, some lost jewelry, and a completely shredded coat. Goodness, the shark sure loved his coat. Throwing both himself and his sword out the water, finally, he personally thought that it was an alright deal for fighting a gigantic monster underwater and in the dark. Nothing could be a better monster than a pirate, anyhow.
He smirked. It was no matter– soon, he’d find the treasure of the New World and rise to the throne of a king. Then, he wouldn’t be fighting monsters as a better monster, he’d be fighting ants as a god.
Arthur walked and walked along a path shaded lightly in an umbrella of blue to green. But his feet came to slow. Up ahead were three split paths. A choice.
Singling out this cove to explore was a chore, yes, but was only possible through the rumors he and his crew had chased up and up the continent. There were others before him. He looked pointedly at the X etched into the stone of the middle tunnel. But it really couldn’t have been many. The shark must have gotten the small few who even found their way in here, if he was the one to kill it. So, not many, but maybe one. He wouldn’t give up on his hunt. Arthur knew the treasure he was looking for was close.
Underneath the X was a dash, and slashed on the wall of the left tunnel was a dash also, but no X. The right tunnel had no dash, nor X. The explorer never made it back from the left tunnel to make it that way.
He thought it over for a second, wondering if the explorer chose the correct path of the left but still died of their own idiocy. But no, even if many are not as bright as he, he shouldn’t just assume that’s what happened. It was most likely just the wrong way. And so, Arthur walked into the third– the right– tunnel.
Right makes right, anyway.
The road was filled with mud covering up pitfalls, large caverns that hid the entrances to the way onward (one time high above the ground), leading to terribly small spaces that would capture people with too-big a bust or hips trying to crawl though, climbs up of crumbly gravel, and once, Arthur swore he heard the growl of a bear. It gave more credence to the possible ineptitude of the previous explorer choosing the correct path and yet still dying than he’d like.
But doubt was no formidable opponent for the pirate Arthur Kirkland. Faith, the faith that he would eventually get what he wants, led him forwards, this time unblindedly, to the final room of the right tunnel. Stone glittered with algae that sparkled like gems, the ground littered with vibrant sea flora. Glowing bugs and plants and rocks illuminated the room more strongly than any that came before, droplets ran down stalactites, catching the light like rhinestones, and tucked cozily into the clear waters was an innocent-looking clam.
The clam, of legends.
Slowly, carefully, he knelt onto the damp ground in front of it. His heavy gaze carried unbridled hunger. Arthur didn’t have the patience to wonder for one more night what the weight of power made in a physical form would feel like held in his hands. Would it be chill to the touch like gold? Could you wear it on your head like a crown? What would it be?
Arthur couldn’t wait, not any longer.
He took the clam from its cozy bed of moss, flicking off the thin strands of seaweed lying on top. It was big– he had to lay it on his lap. And then, fingers he couldn’t will enough to stop shaking pried its mouth apart, struggling inch by small inch to get it open. As his shoulders heaved, he thought about using his sword as a tool instead, but with a sudden crack!, the top half of the clam flipped itself wide, revealing–
Revealing…!
Revealing a childlike, half-human abomination.
It had the face and torso of a human, only the skin was blue, and was sewed onto the lower half of a fish. Its many fins, on the tail and head, were green, and its hair was the unappealing color of straw. When the thing stopped sucking its thumb, the glint of sharp teeth were visible but for a moment, and eyes with dark irises and unnaturally blue, slit pupils cracked open. It peered sleepily at Arthur.
Most of his revulsion came not at the perversion of nature before him, but because the treasure of the New World was living.
Why!?
In what ways would Arthur gain his promised power through a highly disgusting independent creature?
The drip of water in the background accentuated the standstill.
…He supposed that it was up to him alone to find out.
The treasure mewled softly as the pirate picked it up to take, as a good pirate should. In the light, the thing looked up at him dazedly, and he noticed that the pseudo-dorsal fin was not centered perfectly on its head, instead skewed to the left, and that the blue of the skin faded softly into a delicate white on the underbelly, underarms, and muzzle on a human. Really, he didn’t know why he was studying the creature– in fact, he genuinely felt that he would have rather preferred the small fish-babe to be a large and unmanageable stack of golden coins.
He ran his hand down the spiny back-fin adorning the tail in a last-ditch hope that maybe the creature would give him the true magical artifact that he was hunting for all this time. Nothing such happened, the creature just laid its head down on his chest and snuggled into his shoulder! What was he, some nanny!? It was disgusting! He made sure to give it a good jerk so that it wouldn’t slobber all over him like some dog. He didn’t like dogs. They kissed him too much.
“If you get drool on my coat, I’m warning you now, you would make some truly mythical fish ‘n chips…” Arthur muttered darkly. He desperately needed to figure out how to turn this slimy pathetic thing into something useful.
It babbled, spitting bubbles in response.
…Immediately.
With that in mind, he started his trek back to his ship.
