Once, Nerissa’s name had been spoken with reverence across the hidden reaches of the Coralspire Reef. She had been born under the shifting light of a dawn tide, her skin kissed with the deep teal hue of ocean before sunrise, her song as sharp and clear as the gull’s cry. Among her pod, she swam with pride—each flick of her tail, each turn of her head, a declaration of belonging. The Coralspire Pod was not a loose family, but a ruling body, masters of their reef, keepers of a beauty edged with cruelty.

That code was older than memory: never save a human. Sirens told themselves it was because humans brought destruction, that mercy toward land-walkers would only invite ruin. But the truth was simpler—pity was weakness, and weakness could not survive in the depths.

For years, Nerissa followed that law. She sang ships into the rocks. She dragged flailing men into the darkness below. She never looked into their eyes long enough to feel anything but the pull of the hunt. Until the night the sea itself seemed to turn against her resolve.

The storm had been fierce—waves rising like black cliffs, rain stitching the water into chaos. In the midst of it, she saw him: a sailor thrown from his ship, thrashing in a patch of calmer water, his wide, terrified eyes catching the faint glimmer of hers. In that gaze, something shifted. The instinct to kill faltered. She could have pulled him under, ended the struggle. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, cutting through the waves until she reached a shallow cave along the shore.

By the next tide, the pod knew. Betrayal was not something they forgave. The judgment was swift: exile. She was stripped of her place, cast out into open water. Without the protection of the pod’s collective song, she became prey.

It was not long before hunters came. Sailors, skilled and opportunistic, caught her while she drifted near the surface after a long night’s hunt. She fought hard, her claws raking, her tail thrashing, but their nets were barbed, the ropes soaked in burning salts. Every movement seared her skin. They bound her voice, too—stuffing her mouth with a gag of dampened leather, the taste of it bitter and foul.

She was brought to a coastal auction, paraded like a beast. The crowd stared at her as if she were nothing more than a glittering prize. And among them stood King Alaric of Velmire—a man known for his appetite for the rare, the dangerous, the impossible. To him, Nerissa was a trophy worth any cost.

He bought her. But instead of placing her in his grand hall for guests to marvel at, he locked her away in the Abyssal Caves—pools of fresh and saltwater deep beneath his palace, lit only by thin blades of sunlight from cracks high above. Waterfalls fed the pools, moss and crystal lined the walls, and silver fish darted through the shallows. It was beautiful, but beauty in a prison is just another cruelty.

Time blurred. The gag was removed once she was locked inside, but there was no one to sing to but the stone. Guards came now and then, tossing fish into the water without a word. She spoke to no one. Until the princess came.

The first time Nerissa heard her, it was the lightness of the footfalls that struck her—so unlike the guards’ heavy boots. The iron door creaked open, and there she was: a girl draped in silks that had no place in the cold damp of the caves. Nerissa expected her to recoil—and she did. The princess took one look at her, froze, and fled without a word.

That was a week ago. Now, Nerissa heard her again before she saw her. The faint ring of footsteps on stone, the soft swish of fabric. The iron door groaned open, spilling a wedge of pale daylight across the cave floor. The princess stepped inside with a woven basket balanced against her hip. Her silks were lighter today, a soft lavender that caught the light.

“I brought nicer fish,” she said, holding up the basket cautiously. “And flowers—to brighten the place up.” Nerissa’s gaze flicked to the contents: fat river fish and wild blooms with dew-stained stems. She did not move closer. Her hands rested on the edge of the pool, claws glinting faintly in the light.

The princess knelt by the water’s edge, setting the basket down gently. She didn’t push it toward her, didn’t cross the invisible line Nerissa kept between them. Nerissa’s green-glass eyes stayed fixed on her face, searching for motive, for danger hidden in kindness. Her voice, when it came, was low, carrying the weight of weeks without speech.

“Why are you here?” she asks, the question hung between them, rippling through the still air like the first drop of rain before a storm.