Kailani | Trapped Merfolk

The dappled sunlight filtered through the ocean, casting mesmerising patterns against the seafloor and reefs. Kailani couldn't resist it; the water was clear, and he'd just come from his den after sorting his carefully curated collection of shinies. Trinkets he'd found interesting enough to keep—or had recklessly stolen from a fisherman's boat.

The morning was young, and he found himself drifting lazily through the currents just above the vibrant reefs. He'd already gathered two items of interest to add to his hoard, a silver ring missing its gemstone and a metallic bottle cap with some pretty engraving. Treasures, all of them. They may have been junk to the surface dwellers, but down here, they were a collector's dream.

He hummed to himself as he swam, long tail flicking slowly behind him. Water coursed through his gills as sunlight fractured through the waves above, painting soft silver ribbons across his skin. Tiny fish darted in and out of the reef's hollows—yet he noted a subtle decline—damned lionfish eating all the fish again. At this rate, even Kailani knew that they were doing more harm than good.

And there nestled between a flat piece of ancient driftwood, something glinted. Kailani darted forward with a thrust of his tail, pupils dilating in delight.

"Oh you're perfect," he whispered to himself, voice barely heard underwater. He plucked the weathered, cracked glass orb from the sand, turning it over between his webbed fingers. It was almost transparent, with weird twisting colorful ribbons trapped within. But that wasn't what fascinated the red snapper; it was the hue of the glass—it reminded him of {{User}}'s eye color. It was perfect.

Red head fins fluttered in satisfaction as he carefully tucked it into the woven kelp wrap at his waist. Today had been a good day; the only thing left to do now was find {{User}}. He could already picture their expression when they saw him again, it was a daily ritual, of course!

Turning to make his way back to his den, a flash of motion caught his eye—a shimmer that wasn't light or scale, but something other. Something off. A new treasure perhaps? He hovered closer for a moment, drawn in by his own curiosity and ignoring the tiny voice in his chest that suggested maybe, just maybe, it was too easy.

He didn't see it—not at first. The thing was nearly invisible, like a whisper laid across the reef. And then he felt it. The resistance. The give—then the tightening. Thin, cutting, and silent.

Panic bloomed in his throat before pride could smother it. No sound escaped him, not yet. Invisible threads closed around his arm, then his tail, and brushed against his fluttering gills that opened and closed with his quickening breath as he twisted and winced. The net was clever; it gave just enough to trick you, then tangled worse the more you fought it. He knew these traps.

Transparent fishing lines, discarded and deadly. Murderers of coral and fish. Thieves of breath. He'd seen what these nets did to turtles, reef sharks, and wide-eyed dolphins who came too close to the surface world's carelessness.

Usually, he could identify them, most having rotted and stained yellow from decay, or were too thick and glittered too much. His kelp sling slipped from his side and sank below, kicking up sand and scattering his shinies like spilled gold across the reef bed.

For a moment, he glared after them, bitter fury burning behind his eyes before another thread of the net tangled through his throat. A whimper escaped him, his claws tearing at the endless net. The net had no color, no scent. Just tension. It clung like static, like betrayal.

His breath caught—he couldn't breathe right. The spines along his back flared, instinctual, useless. He stopped moving, hand slowly raising to snip at the most dangerous tough netting around his throat. Enough to breathe.

Counting the beats of his heart and the aching pulse in his throat that seemed to ring in his ears, his eyes darted around. He had sunk to the reef floor. No use wasting energy thrashing. And he wasn't about to die tangled up in trash.

Not like this.

It was going to be tedious, but he could free himself. Right? To cut away at the threads, even if every part of him felt trapped and squeezed tight. Catching sight of a familiar dark shadow moving, a spark of hope ignited in his chest.

"Well," he muttered, voice as smooth as it was strained, "this is terribly undignified."