"He is perfect," the Commander agrees, his voice a paternal rumble. "He will make excellent bait for the monsters."
Their laughter rises in unison, a polite chorus that grates against my ears like breaking glass.
The ambient light shifts.
The warm, golden sun of the shallow waters bleeds into a bruised, heavy violet twilight. Their laughter dies, swallowed by the sudden cold.
The towering coral reef crumbles. It dissolves into gray silt, the vibrant colors washing out into monotonous decay. The smiling mers dissolve with it, their beautiful faces turning into cold mist that vanishes into the gloom.
A shadow emerges from the dissolving reef.
It is pale, its skin mapped in the violent language of scars. It has no voice, but the water bows around its immense presence, acknowledging a power that needs no sound.
It reaches out a heavy, scarred hand.
"Come with me," the shadow conveys. The thought forms in my mind, heavy with gravity and truth. "The bright light is a lie. The dark is the only honest thing that will keep you safe."
I take the hand.
It's warm.
The first sensation is not pain, but scent. Burning ozone and something else—something impossibly rich and savory that has no business existing in the crushing darkness. Slow-simmeredfish broth and crushed algae paste, a phantom memory of a bustling reef kitchen.
My eyelids feel heavy, crusted with dried salt and sleep. They flutter open to a dim blue-green glow that pulses in a rhythmic pattern against the curved ceiling. A tiny weight rests on my chest, and I look down to see a translucent blue creature perched on my collarbone. A shrimp, clicking his small legs with precise movements as he picks a loose thread from the kelp bandage covering my shoulder. His focus is absolute, the gentle, methodical gesture settling the frantic beating of my heart.
I lie on something soft. It's large pile of old, woven fishing nets covered in what feels like silken sheeting. Not a sheet, I realize, but salvaged human sailcloth, smooth against my skin.
The shrimp scurries away as I attempt to sit up. A sharp, hot pain lances through my left shoulder, stealing the air from my gills. I collapse back onto the makeshift bed with a wet gasp.
"Be careful," a voice crackles across the room. "You will pop the new stitches."
My head turns toward the sound. A large electric eel coils inside a heavy cage of copper pipes in the exact center of the chamber. He glows with a dim, ambient amber light, looking tired but watchful.
"You're awake," the eel says with a heavy sigh of relief that manifests as a ripple of light through the water. "Good. The shark was starting to leak pure gloom all over my clean floor again. His endless brooding is always ruining the feng shui in here."
I stare at him, my mind struggling to process the impossible. "You're an eel… You can speak."
"That is an astute observation, Red Prince," the eel drawls, the words forming directly in my mind. "I am Bolt. And you are the idiot who dove into an active shark-mer swarm holding nothing but a tiny fruit knife."
I blink. The horrific memories rush back to the surface of my mind.
The forced draft, the terrifying dive, the Great White, the ultimate betrayal of my own kind.
"Kael," I whisper, my voice barely disturbing the water as my eyes search the chamber.
"The shark? Out," Bolt crackles, his glowing head nodding toward the main opening where a heavy curtain of woven kelp blocks the crushing darkness. "Hunting. You bled half the ocean into the sand, Red. The shark thinks force-feeding you until you pop will fix it."
My attention moves to my shoulder. Layers of clean fabric wrap my chest and left arm, a medicinal poultice packed underneath. The cool, soothing tingle of crushed numbing-kelp seeps into my torn skin.
"Who...?" I start, the question trailing off into a weak stream of bubbles.
"Who do you think?" Bolt's mental voice holds a dry amusement. "Your shark has hands like shovels, but he stitches like a reef artisan. Three days he hasn't left your side. Had to threaten to shock him to get him to hunt."
Three days. Lost to the crushing dark.
My eyes sweep the chaotic interior. Piles of human detritus, glowing jars of sea-glass line the walls. It's a wreck, this strange shell, yet the warmth presses against my skin like a protective charm. Safe.
I look back to the copper cage, its bars solid, the metal expertly welded shut with no visible door. The craftsmanship is brutal and permanent.
