Page 81 of Storm and Sea

Atreus’s voice went so quiet that Nyel could barely hear him over the waves.

“How can I let anyone in, when everyone before… left me?”

Abalone eyes locked with his, and Nyel witnessed the fracture inside them—a chasm stretched over a decade long and deeper than a broken heart.

A shattered spirit.

Nyel saw the resignation in those eyes. The defeat. Atreus had already accepted that Nyel would cast him out. Would leave him.

Nyel remained like a pillar of marble. Frozen, for one, two, three seconds.

He doesn’t get to decide the way I see him.

Nyel sloshed into the lapping waves, his steps unsteady as feet turned to claws. Yet his resolve remained firm as he threw his arms around Atreus’s middle. The water soaked his clothes and clung to his legs, but he didn’t care.

“You don’t get to push me out,” Nyel breathed, voice steady despite the wild beating of his heart. He buried his face in Atreus’s chest, refusing to let go. “Not this time.”

He didn’t know what to do. One moment, Nyel looked ready to bolt; the next, unwavering arms wrapped around him. Atreus flinched in shock. Never expecting this—not the embrace, not the warmth, not the refusal to walk away.

“You don’t get to push me out. Not this time.”

Atreus’s arms lifted in surprise, hesitating mid-air, and several moments passed before he allowed them to descend. He held Nyel’s petite human form to his middle, hardly believing this was real.

“I’m not going to run away.” Nyel pulled back enough to stare up at him. “I’m not going to do that. So get that idea out of your head.”

Atreus couldn’t swallow, couldn’t feel the waves lapping at his ankles. All he felt were warm arms and the solid pressure of Nyel’s body against his.

When was the last time anyone held him like this? Touched him? He couldn’t remember.

“I was wrong,” Nyel continued, and it seemed the words couldn’t come out fast enough once he started. “I was so stupid and wrong and…. I’m sorry. I don’t care what you look like. I don’t care who your parents were. It’s all so freakin stupid.”

Atreus realized with a start that Nyel was close to tears.

“There is nothing wrong with the way you are, Atreus. Nothing. I’m so glad I got to meet you, to see the real you before I saw the color of your scales.”

His breaths were heavy, and Atreus felt their warmth on his scales.

“I’m ashamed of the way I was raised to think. I might have missed this. I might have missed you.”

Nyel shook his head, face buried in Atreus’s chest.

“I hate to think that. I hate it.” He squeezed tighter, his voice a whisper nearly swallowed by the waves. “I’m so glad I got to meet you.”

This was the last place Atreus ever imagined he’d find himself tonight, with Nyel squeezing him like he might melt into the sea, begging for his forgiveness.

“Y-you’re…” He cleared his throat. “You’re not scared? You don’t think I’m dangerous?”

The memory of Nyel’s mother flashed behind his eyes—the revulsion on her face, the way she shielded her son from him. From a monster.

Nyel shook his head, face still buried in Atreus’s torn shirt.

“No. You’re not dangerous. You’re kind and generous to a fault and so damn down on yourself-—” he took a shuddering breath. “It’s my fault. Mine and all the Sireni. I’m so sorry.”

Atreus didn’t know that a few select words were all it would take to evaporate years of pain and self-loathing. Of course, it didn’t all go away, but a significant weight in his chest eased.

“It’s just one sireno.

The rest of them will never accept you.