Page 82 of Storm and Sea

You’re a freak.”

The voice hissed loudly, eager to get its words in.

But with Nyel holding him like this—like he meant something, like he was someone worth holding onto—it was easy to push it away.

He’s enough. Even if it’s only him. Nyel is enough.

Atreus didn’t trust himself to speak. With a shuddering exhale, he returned Nyel’s embrace, his massive webbed hand covering half the sireno’s petite back. They stayed like that, silent, until Nyel finally spoke.

“Oh. I’m sorry—I forgot you’re not big on hugging. I didn’t mean⁠—”

But as he tried to pull away, Atreus’s arms tightened instinctively, pinning Nyel to his chest.

Don’t let me go…not yet. Not yet.

Without hesitation, Nyel wrapped his arms around Atreus again, mindful of the sharp spines along his back, and pulled him closer—closer than they had ever been before. It was as though they’d bridged a gap. An unspoken distance neither had dared to cross until now. At that moment, it didn’t matter what separated them: their differences, their fears, or the barriers they’d built. All that remained was this closeness.

“Can I ask you something?” Atreus asked after a while.

“Anything.” Nyel pulled back just far enough for Atreus to look into those gold-flecked eyes. The side of the sireno’s face was damp where it rested against Atreus, a patch of green scales glinting on his cheek. Slowly, Atreus lifted his hand and brushed his index finger over the smooth, shimmering surface.

Nyel’s breath hitched as he repeated, “Anything.”

“Can I see you? In the sea?”

Nyel smiled at him, finally letting go. Atreus had to resist the urge to pull him back. Without preamble, Nyel dove into an oncoming wave, disappearing for a few seconds before emerging. He appeared almost silver under the moonlight, his jade scales catching the glow with every ripple of the ocean’s surface. His fins deepened into a rich azure, their edges fading into the blackened night. Nyel lifted his tail, the fins soft and elegantly curved, flowing gently with the water instead of ending in harsh barbs.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d miss this,” he said, waving his tail back and forth.

Atreus moved his tail closer, comparing the two. They were so different.

But…Nyel said he didn’t mind.

Atreus still didn’t dare let himself believe it. He half expected Nyel to flip on a dime and tell him to get away.

But he didn’t. In fact, Nyel did the opposite and moved closer, his voice going quiet.

“I wish the Sireni would take the time to get to know a halfling. The way things are, it’s… not right.”

Nyel lifted his tail, running it against Atreus’s. The smooth edge grazed his scales in a touch so fleeting it could have been an accident—if not for the way it lingered. Atreus’s breath stuttered, his body trembling at the contact. It wasn’t just a brush; it was deliberate, like the gentle pass of fingertips tracing across bare skin. The warmth pooling at the base of Atreus’s neck spread down his spine all the way to the end of his tail.

He was utterly unmoored.

“I only learned about it less than a day ago: that I’m a halfling. I knew something was wrong with me, and that’s why the Sireni drove me off as a kid. I just never knew why.”

Nyel’s tail stilled, and Atreus was left breathless at the loss of its caress. “You said they drove you off?”

“It was a long time ago.”

Nyel dropped his head, face averted. It took Atreus a moment to recognize the sound of muffled sniffling.

“Hey, don’t… don’t do that.” Atreus reached out, gently taking Nyel by the chin and tilting his face toward him. Before he could stop himself, he wiped away a tear with the back of his index finger. “I don’t like it when you do that.”

Nyel let out a hysterical sort of laugh. “What? Cry? You’ve never seen it.”

“And I never want to.”

Their eyes met, and something awakened inside him—a force as steady and timeless as the moon’s pull on the tide. The air shifted, and Atreus felt as if an invisible current coiled around his ankles, tugging him toward the sea. Radiance flickered in the space between their gazes, like fractured sunlight through cresting waves, making him blink—but the glare didn’t fade. It wasn’t light but warmth, something deep and primal pressing against his core. It was alive, shimmering with a quiet power that defied explanation because it simply... was.