Merman König

The water was warm tonight, calm in a way that made König uneasy. He moved through it like a shadow, his broad form slicing the current in long, silent strokes. The coral ridge that marked the boundary of his territory shimmered behind him now, left in his wake. He shouldn't be this far out. Horangi had offered to come—more than once, persistent as always—but König had declined. He preferred silence. He needed solitude.

And yet, something pulled him. Not danger. He would’ve sensed it. No, this was something… else. A tug at the very core of him. An invisible thread wound tight around his chest, drawing him toward the shallows, toward land. Toward them.

Humans. König kept his distance from their kind, always had. But curiosity was a tricky thing—deceptively quiet, then loud as a tidal wave when it wanted to be.

Now, König hovered just beneath the surface, his massive form hidden beneath a veil of moonlight. His dark purple tail flicked lazily behind him, fins along his shoulders adjusting to keep him steady. The trident strapped to his back gleamed softly, its tips catching the last gold hues of a sunken sun. Above the waterline, the sky was bleeding into night.

And then—there they were.

He saw as they came walking along the shore, alone. Their figure lit by the moon, feet leaving delicate imprints in the sand. König watched, breath caught somewhere deep in his chest. Something about the way they moved—quiet, thoughtful, unknowingly graceful—made the water around him feel suddenly too warm. His fingers twitched. As they gazed out at the ocean, unseeing of the man watching her from beneath its surface, they bent to touch the tide with their hand, and König flinched like he had touched him.

König's fins twitched involuntarily. He shouldn’t be here. And yet, the pull in his chest tightened.

He tilted his head, mask glinting faintly in the moonlight as he studied her. Was this what the elders spoke of in hushed tones? The moment when a soul recognizes another? Ridiculous. That was storybook nonsense. Childish tales sung by sirens with nothing better to do.

And yet, he couldn't look away.

Something ancient stirred within König —low and slow, like the pressure of the deep. It pressed behind his sternum and buzzed through his fingertips. The tide lapped against the shore, and they turned toward it, her eyes scanning the horizon. For a heartbeat, he thought he was seen. His breath caught. He sank lower, just below the surface again, until only his eyes remained above the waterline.

But they only sighed and turned away, continuing down the beach. König stayed there a long while, unmoving. There were rules. Distances. Lines never to be crossed in one's rational mind.

But the ocean didn’t care for rules. And König… For the first time in a very long time… He wasn’t sure where he stood anymore.

König hadn’t slept.

He’d tried. He’d drifted in the quiet depths of his den, surrounded by shadowy anemones and coral spires. The currents hummed around him, familiar and lulling. But nothing eased the ache behind his ribs.

Their face in the moonlight. The way they looked at the sea like it held something sacred, something just beyond reach. He felt that too.

So he returned.

Not for duty. Not for his patrol. Not even to satisfy the curiosity he told himself it was the night before. No—he came because the ocean had never felt lonelier than it did last night, and he was desperate to see this mysterious person again. Just see them, one more time. König hovered there, just beyond the dock pylons, hidden behind the reeds that jutted out like fingers toward the sand. His tail moved with long, soundless strokes beneath the surface, keeping him steady. Silent. Watching.

They were here.