Coral drifted back, shoulders stiff. "No...no," she said, shaking her head. "I'm not one of you guys. I'm just a girl who happens to breathe underwater."
The merboy scoffed, backing away. "Whoever told you that lied."
Coral frowned. "This is...some weird dream. You're lying."
He folded his arms, expression hard. "My kind are many things—murderous, alluring—but liars? Never."
Coral stared at him. "I thought your kind saves people?"
"We do," he said, grinning. "But we also drown sailors, lured ships of course, enticed young landfolk to live beneath the waves. Brought disasters...all that jazz as you humans say."
Coral's lips parted in horror.
"But," he added, "we've stopped doing that. Mostly."
"I hope so," she said with a shaky chuckle, her tone uncertain.
"But you are a mermaid," he insisted.
"I'm not!" Coral shouted, and the ship creaked, shaking slightly.
The merboy clamped a hand over her mouth. "Be quiet!" He hissed.
A low tremor followed. Coral's crystal-blue eyes darted around the wreck as hush fell over them. Above, a huge shadow eclipsed the light.
She looked up—and her eyes widened in shock, in awe with a mix of terror.
A massive creature glided past. It wasn't a shark. It wasn't a whale. Its body was long and serpentine, turquoise blue with glimmering scales that shimmered like gemstones in the gloom. Fins jutted out at odd intervals, and a giant, whale-like tail swished by like the closing curtain of a movie.
Then it was gone—its deep, guttural, otherworldly, rumble echoing through her chest and bones.
"Good job," the merboy muttered, removing his hand. "You woke up the Leviathan."
"The what?" Coral whispered, her brow knitted in worry.
"The Leviathan," the merboy murmured. "A creature older than the dinosaurs. It survived the Great Flood. While the humans you lived with were busy arguing whether the megalodon was real, my people were trying to avoid that thing. And now...you've undone centuries of careful silence."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, just as another low rumble rolled through the wreck. "I didn't even know it existed."
"It's my fault," the merboy said, gaze fixed to the seabed. "I should've hidden my things elsewhere. But in my hubris, I kept it here—thinking I was safe."
Coral looked around, panic threatening to claw up her throat. "What do we do?"
"First option: we die," he said flatly, arching a brow."
She blinked. "Second, less deadly option?" She asked.
"We stay down here," he paused. "...and die slower."
Coral threw up her hands. "Okay, you're really bad at the whole optimism thing."
He smirked slightly, a bit wry. "Third option: we escape."
A fresh tremor rolled through the ship. Bits of wood creaked and dusted down from above.
"But we'd have to move fast," he added. "And you're at a disadvantage—you don't have a tail."
"I don't need one," Coral shot back. "I'm the best surfer/swimmer in all of Peral City."
"Impressive," the merboy muttered.
Until recently," she admitted, "when I lost to my rival...Doris Triche."
He blinked. "You're joking."
"I wish."
He gave a dry look. "Then you'll have to do better. Because when it catches you...you'll wish it hadn't."
The duo burst from the wreckage just as another deep rumble rattled the remains behind them.
The merboy glanced back—eyes wide—then bolted forward. Coral chased after him, lungs burning, heart pounding in her chest like a war drum.
What if it could feel vibrations?
I should've asked.
Mentally berating herself, she pushed harder, gripping the blue ceramic shard tightly in her hand.
Something small zipped past her face
She screamed.
Then blinked.
A baby squid—just a paralarvae—fluttered ahead, its tiny body pulsing with curiosity
"Aww," she whispered, her panic briefly forgotten.
A thunderous roar tore through the canyon. The hatchling scattered, trailing a puff of ink.
Coral swallowed hard, dread icing her veins.
The merboy swiveled mid-swim, eyes blazing in shock and fury.
Sorry, Coral mouthed.
Then she saw it as she turned.
The Leviathan.
Its shadow engulfed the seafloor, its gaping maw stretched wide—an ancient hunger reborn.
Crap.
Crap! Crap!
She rocketed forward, ignoring the piercing roar behind her.
I'm so close.
She jolted suddenly.
A hand grabbed her—his hand.
The merboy nodded once, solemn and urgent, before propelling forward with a fierce new burst of speed.
The Leviathan surged behind them, jaws open, dragging the sea with it in a monstrous suction.
Coral's limbs trembled.
The pull of the current dragged at her body, tugged at her grip—
Her fingers slipped.
He caught her wrist just in time.
"Don't let me go," she cried, clutching at his arm like a lifeline.
His eyes flickered to her—unreadable—torn between instinct and intention.
Then—he kicked harder.
The current tore at them, ripping the fabric of her wetsuit.
But they broke free.
They shot from the canyon's mouth and crashed onto the sandy seabed just as the Leviathan's jaws snapped shut behind them with a shuddering boom.
They tumbled in silence.
Coral coughed, blinking, her ginger hair swirling around her in the dark water. She turned just in time to glimpse the creature's massive underbelly—shimmering with yellow and pink hues—as it vanished into the abyss.
She turned back to the merboy, her grin wide and breathless as she picked up the shard.
"Thanks for not letting go."
"Don't' thank me," he said, pulling his tail close. "I was going to."
Coral chuckled softly, tapping the shard's polished surface. "Ouch. After all the time we've spent together?"
"Yes," he said without flinching. "But...the pain of losing a child is worse than losing one's parents. So I didn't."
Her smile faded. She drifted a little closer, her tone quiet. "You're an orphan?"
He gave a small nod, eyes distant. They shimmered with tears but he blinked them away.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he murmured. "After a hundred years, the pain doesn't sting the same."
She blinked. "You're a hundred years old?"
"No," he replied, calmly. "I'm seventeen actually."
Her mouth dropped. "Woah. I'm sorry for your loss."
He nodded sadly, a small smile slightly touched his face.
"Wait? How long do mermaids live?"
"Three hundred years, give or take," he said. "Some live to a thousand."
"Woah..." she whispered, eyes wide.
"I'm actually still a teenager," he added, glancing at her. "By human standards. To mermaids, I'm old enough."
"That's cool," she nodded quickly. "How's...immortality?"
"Awful," he replied flatly, then pivoted . "But you admit you're a mermaid?"
Coral groaned. "Let that go. I'm not a mermaid."
"You probably are," the merboy muttered, rising off the seabed. "Let's get you back to the surface, human."
"Coral," she corrected as she drifted upward. "Coral Ocean."
"Well then, Coral Ocean," he said, extending a hand. "Shall we?"
As they made their way towards Pearl Beach, Coral clung to his arm, her mind spinning:
What if I am a mermaid?
What if...I really am a hundred and sixty years old?
Their heads broke the surface. The sound of her name echoed across the beach.
"Coral!" A man yelled, pacing the shore.
"Coral!" A woman called, her voice cracking.
"Oh crap," Coral muttered. "My parents! I completely forgot about them."
"Come on," the merboy urged, pulling her towards the pier.
They ducked underneath its shadow. There, hidden in the lull of the waves, silence stretched between them.
"What do I do?" She whispered.
"You resurface—splash, wave, panic a little," he said, voice low. "In the confusion, I disappear. This never happened, we never met."
She bowed slightly, solemn. "But...what's your name?"
"Caspian."
Nodding, Coral took a breath and swam out from under the pier.
"Help!" she shouted, flailing a little. "I can't swim!"
Shouts erupted. Footsteps pounded the wooden planks.
A man tossed off his shirt and dove into the sea. His strokes were strong, practiced—he reached Coral quickly.
Under the pier, Caspian watched with a small, wistful smile, then disappeared beneath the waves.
The swimmer hauled Coral back to shore, guiding her to the shallows. At the same time, Mr. and Mrs. Ocean, led by two older boys, sprinted across the sand. Mrs. Ocean reached her fist, collapsing into her daughter with a sob. Not caring that her dress gets soiled.
"Coral..." she wept, voice raw. "We thought the worse.
Guilt swelled in Coral's chest, squeezing her ribs.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, hugging her tightly.
Mr. Ocean arrived next, breathless. "We're just glad you're safe," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder before turning to the man who helped. "Thank you."
"Just doing my job, sir," the man said with a grin.
As her mother rocked her gently, Coral let herself sway with the rhythm of the waves—safe, warm but no longer the same.