Page 102 of Storm and Sea

With the day free and Marina shooing them out of her ‘creative space,’ they found themselves walking aimlessly down the beach. The docks were upsettingly quiet. No tolling bells or hollering men. No ‘Bongonrio’s’ called in greeting. Only the gulls cawed above, and even they seemed irritated with the break in routine.

Then an idea struck him.

“Hey, do you wanna go for a swim? Maybe check on the lighthouse?” Atreus offered.

Nyel tilted his head to the side, eyebrows scrunched. “How have we never done that before?”

“Well… I was doing my best to stay out of the water in front of you,” Atreus admitted.

“Oh, right.” Nyel grabbed his wrist, dragging him to a private stretch of the beach covered with large black boulders. “There’s no need for that anymore. Let’s go for a swim. My skin’s been feeling itchy all over.”

Atreus felt it, too—the call of the sea after many days on land.

They ducked behind the black stones and, when they were sure nobody was around, kicked off their shoes. Atreus removed his shirt since his barbs would destroy anything on his back. Luckily, both their pants were altered to accommodate the tails.

Nyel dove into the water, jade scales shimmering to life as his thick, curved tail beckoned Atreus forward. “Come on!”

Atreus walked to the water’s edge but stopped suddenly as if he’d reached the end of a leash.

What if it was a fluke? What if the night was dark enough that he didn’t get a good look? What if he changes his mind?

Panic coursed through Atreus.

“Get away. Don’t show yourself.

He’ll be disgusted with you.

Half-breed.”

It didn’t just speak—it taunted, each syllable carefully chosen to unravel him further.

Atreus was convinced this was no ordinary voice. It was a demon. A curse. A punishment for his existence, a living reminder of everything that made him unworthy. The Skraith knew this, and it reveled in it, fanning the flames of his panic with every venomous word.

Atreus’s heart raced, pounding against his eardrums so forcefully it felt like they might burst, flooding his brain with blood—drowning him in the very essence that marked him as a mistake.

He couldn’t breathe; the air stuck in his lungs like sap. His vision tunneled to a single point of surf. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t…

“Atreus?” He hardly registered the tight grip on his wrist, pulling him to the present. “Atreus, breathe. It’s okay.”

A gentle hand ran up and down his spine, encouraging the blood to flow, the nerves to fire, and the lungs to expand.

“There you go. You got this.”

Another hand rested on his chest as it rose.

“Breath in. And out. In. Out.”

The gentle pressure on his chest guided his steady breathing, helping him focus on the flow of oxygen in his lungs. It took several breaths before Atreus realized the hand on his chest—and the one gliding up and down his spine—were webbed.

The smooth scales on the palm of Nyel’s hand were soft, cool to the touch, and…

Atreus could only describe it as a salve—a soothing balm for a wound split open, bleeding freely. Normally, the blind panic would have left him paralyzed for hours. Yet now, all it took was a touch—Nyel’s touch—to calm him.

“You with me?” Nyel asked, and Atreus looked at him. The sireno boy he’d met all those years ago. Jade scales. Black-tipped fins.

He’s beautiful.

Atreus cleared his throat, shaking the buzz from his head.