The docks had always been a battleground for Orion and Ra, a place where only the ruthless survived. They didn’t work jobs or rely on luck—they took what they wanted. Pickpocketing, robbing, and ambushing lone gang members for food and valuables had become their way of life. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was survival.

  Tonight, however, was different.

  As they moved through the shadows of the port, something caught Orion’s eye. A cluster of sailors huddled around a large ship, their voices loud with excitement. The usual drunken brawls and rowdy laughter were absent—these men were celebrating something specific.

  Orion nudged Ra, nodding toward the gathering. "They’re happy about something. Could be worth looking into."

  Ra smirked. "Or worth taking. Let’s find out."

  They moved carefully, slipping between crates and stacks of cargo, keeping to the darkness. As they drew closer, Orion caught a glimpse of what—or who—the sailors were gawking at.

  In the center of the group was a boy around their age. He had dark blue hair that clung to his skin like seaweed, and his body had an eerie, almost translucent hue under the lantern light. His eyes—strikingly deep blue, like the depths of the ocean—darted from face to face, filled with unspoken fear. Thick ropes bound his wrists, and he struggled weakly, though it was clear he was exhausted.

  Orion’s gut twisted. He had heard of the Aquarians, the rare people who lived beneath the sea. Legends spoke of their connection to The Aqua Sun, the enigmatic ruler of the depths. But Aquarians never willingly ventured to the surface. If this boy had been captured, it meant something had gone terribly wrong.

  One of the sailors grinned, grabbing a fistful of the boy’s hair and forcing his head up. "Look at this prize! Rare as they come. Some noble or collector will pay a fortune for him."

  The others chuckled, their voices thick with greed.

  Ra’s expression darkened. "They’re going to sell him."

  Orion’s jaw clenched. He had seen enough suffering in his life. He knew what happened to kids sold to the highest bidder. He didn’t need to think twice. "We’re taking him."

  Ra grinned. "Good. Let’s do it when they least expect it."

  They waited, watching as the sailors drank and celebrated late into the night. When most had either passed out or stumbled away, Orion and Ra made their move.

  The ship was quiet, creaking gently with the tide as Orion and Ra climbed aboard. They moved through the shadows with practiced ease, navigating their way to the lower decks where prisoners were usually kept. The stench of damp wood and stale rum clung to the air as they crept forward.

  When they reached the hold, Orion pressed his ear to the door. Faint breathing. Someone was inside.

  He picked the lock quickly, the mechanism clicking softly. As the door swung open, they saw the Aquarian boy huddled in the corner, his wrists still bound. His dark blue eyes flickered up to them in shock.

  Orion crouched in front of him. "We’re here to help."

  The boy hesitated, eyes darting between them. "Why?"

  Ra pulled out his knife and cut the ropes. "Because you don’t belong here. Now come on, before those bastards wake up."

  The boy hesitated only a moment longer before nodding. "My name is Nerpheus."

  "Orion," Orion said, helping him to his feet. "And this is Ra. We need to move. Now."

  They crept back toward the deck, but just as they reached the main corridor, two sailors appeared from the shadows, one holding a dagger, the other a wooden club.

  "Sneaky little rats," one of them sneered, rolling his shoulders. "Thought you could just waltz in here and take what you want?"

  Ra smirked. "That’s exactly what we thought."

  The sailor lunged with his dagger, but Ra moved like a blur. He caught the man's wrist, twisted it violently, and with a sickening snap, the dagger clattered to the floor as the sailor howled in pain. Ra drove his knee into the man’s gut, doubling him over before grabbing the dagger and ramming it under his chin. Blood spurted, and the sailor gurgled as he collapsed.

  The second sailor swung his club at Orion’s head, but Orion ducked, his golden eyes flashing with focus. Moving with blinding speed, he swept low, his blade slicing across the man's Achilles tendons. The sailor let out a strangled scream as he dropped to his knees, unable to stand. Orion stepped behind him and drove his knife into the back of the man's neck, severing his spine.

  The bodies hit the floor. Silence followed.

  Ra wiped his blade clean on the dead sailor’s coat. "Let’s go before we have to kill the whole damn crew."

  They moved quickly, but Ra paused near the storage room, eyes gleaming with mischief. "I have an idea."

  Orion smirked. "You’re going to set it on fire, aren’t you?"

  "Damn right I am."

  Ra quickly scattered gunpowder near the barrels of oil, striking flint to set the slow-burning fuse. The moment the first flames began to catch, they bolted.

  They had just reached the docks when the explosion erupted behind them, sending splinters of wood and bursts of fire into the night sky. The ship groaned as flames consumed it, sailors scrambling in a panic.

  They didn’t stop running until they reached the alleyways, far from the chaos.

  Nerpheus was panting, eyes still wide with shock. "You… really did it."

  Orion grinned. "Told you. We don’t leave people behind."

  Nerpheus’s expression darkened after hearing Orion saying those words, his deep blue eyes flickering with something between grief and rage. He sat on the damp stone floor of the alley, arms wrapped around his knees, his gills fluttering slightly as if his body still longed for the ocean. The flames of the burning ship crackled in the distance, their glow flickering against the stone walls, but he barely noticed. His world had already burned.

  “I can’t go back,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

  Orion leaned against the wall across from him, golden eyes sharp, unwavering. His arms were crossed, his stance rigid, but there was an intensity in his stare. Ra crouched beside him, knuckles pressing into the dirt. He had no patience for hesitation.

  “Why?” Orion asked, though from the tone of his voice, it wasn’t curiosity—it was a test.

  Nerpheus exhaled slowly. “Because I’m dead to them.”

  Ra snorted, shaking his head. “That don’t mean anything if you’re still breathing.”

  Nerpheus lifted his head, staring at both of them, as if seeing them for the first time. Orion and Ra weren’t soft. They weren’t like the noble children back home in the abyssal palaces of Atlantis. These two had lived through hell and had come out stronger. Maybe that’s why he didn’t expect them to understand. But if he was going to stay with them, they needed to.

  “You think the surface world is brutal?” Nerpheus scoffed. “I always heard it was full of monsters. That humans were killers. Thieves. That the land was cruel and hopeless. But Atlantis… it’s no paradise either.”

  His fingers dug into his arms, his nails pressing into his own skin. “Mercure has ruled the ocean for thousands of years. He isn’t just a Ruler. He’s a force. A god beneath the waves. We were told that the ocean exists in balance because of his will. That his law is absolute. And of all those laws, one stands above the rest: No denizen of the deep may go to the surface. Ever.”

  His voice grew colder, hollow. “Because if they do, their entire bloodline is erased.”

  Silence. Even Ra, for all his sharp edges, didn’t have a quick remark for that.

  Nerpheus laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know what’s happening right now? The moment I disappeared, the Fishmen—the enforcers of The Aqua Sun—would’ve been sent out. They wouldn’t search for me. No, that would be pointless. They would go straight to my family. The house of Nerethis, one of the noble bloodlines of the abyss.” His voice cracked. “I doomed them.”

  Orion didn’t blink. He was still, unmoving, as if weighing Nerpheus’s words like a merchant weighing silver. Ra, however, spat to the side.

  “Bullshit,” he muttered.

  Nerpheus flinched. “What?”

  Ra’s dragon-like green eyes burned with something furious. “You’re sittin’ here like a kicked dog, actin’ like you killed ‘em yourself. Like you held the blade. But I ain’t hearin’ how it was your choice that did it.”

  Nerpheus’s jaw tightened. “It was my choice.”

  “Was it?” Orion asked, his voice even. “Explain.”

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  Nerpheus took a breath, forcing himself to stay steady. “I was swimming near one of the reefs outside my family’s estate. I shouldn’t have been that far, but… I liked the feeling of the open water. I felt free. I didn’t see the stream.”

  “The what?” Ra narrowed his eyes.

  “The current.” Nerpheus’s voice dropped lower, as if remembering it sent chills through him. “It came out of nowhere—an underwater stream, the kind that moves faster than you can react. Before I knew it, I was being pulled up—farther than I’d ever gone. The light got brighter. The water got thinner. And then—” He swallowed. “I saw the surface for the first time.”

  A pause. His voice grew almost distant. “I saw… the sky. Not the fractured glow of it through the water. I saw it. The real thing. A world without walls. No ceiling above you. Just… endless space.” His fingers twitched. “And then I saw the boat. It was floating above me. A ship, with sails like massive wings. I’d never seen anything like it. And I got curious.”

  His laugh was bitter. “I swam closer. Just for a moment. I just wanted to see it. That was all. Then I felt the net.”

  Orion nodded slowly. “So, you were caught.”

  Nerpheus gritted his teeth. “And now my family’s dead.”

  Orion exhaled through his nose. He stepped forward, crouching down so that he was eye level with Nerpheus.

  “Every choice you make has a consequence,” Orion said, voice steady, cold. “That’s the truth. No one escapes it. You swam too close to the surface, and you got caught. You made the wrong call. And now, the cost of that decision is that you lost your family.”

  Nerpheus’s fingers clenched. It felt like a punch to the gut. The bluntness. The sheer fact of it.

  Orion didn’t let up. “But here’s the thing, Nerpheus—you’re not dead. Your choice cost you something, but you can make another one right now.” He pulled a knife from his belt and flipped it in his hand. “You can choose to stay with us. You can choose to be our brother.”

  Nerpheus blinked. “What?”

  Ra grinned, already rolling up his sleeve. “You heard him.”

  Orion brought the knife to his palm and, without hesitation, dragged it across his skin. The blade left a clean, crimson line, blood welling up instantly. Ra grabbed the knife from him and did the same, his green eyes burning with something wild, something dangerous.

  They both turned to Nerpheus.

  Orion held out his bleeding palm. “You’ve got nothing left. No home. No name. No laws. But if you want, you can have us.”

  Ra held out his own hand. “We don’t make promises lightly. You wanna be one of us? Then you bleed with us.”

  Nerpheus’s mouth was dry. His heart pounded. He looked between them—their unwavering gazes, the rawness of the cuts on their palms, the absolute certainty in their eyes.

  A choice. His choice.

  His hands shook slightly as he took the knife. The blade was cool against his skin, but as he pressed it to his palm and sliced, a burning heat bloomed. Blood welled up, mixing with the sea salt still clinging to his skin. He gritted his teeth and held out his hand.

  Orion gripped it first, then Ra. Their blood mixed together, dripping onto the stone beneath them.

  Nerpheus swallowed hard, feeling something in his chest shift. Something change.

  “You’re one of us now,” Orion said, his golden eyes sharp and unyielding. “No more looking back.”

  Ra grinned. “Welcome to the family, fish boy.”

  Nerpheus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The pain in his palm was nothing compared to the weight lifting off his chest. The past couldn’t be undone. His family was gone. But for the first time, he wasn’t alone.

  And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

  The three of them stood in the alley for a moment longer, letting the gravity of the blood pact settle. The city around them was still alive, still moving, uncaring of the unspoken promises made between them.

  Finally, Ra stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Alright. We’ve got a new brother. But we ain’t got food.” He turned to Orion. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Orion smirked. “Same as always. We take what we want.”

  Nerpheus blinked. “You mean… steal?”

  Ra snorted. “What did you think we did for a living? Charity work?”

  Orion nodded toward the main street, where the kingdoms wealthier citizens strolled, oblivious. “You’ll learn fast, fish boy. We survive by being smarter, faster, and meaner than the ones who have more than us.” He glanced at Nerpheus. “You in?”

  A beat. Nerpheus looked at the two boys beside him. The surface world was cruel. Unforgiving. But at least now, he had someone to face it with.

  He grinned, sharp and defiant. “I’m in.”

  Orion smirked. “Good.”

  The three boys moved like shadows through the kingdom, sticking to the darkened alleys where the flickering lantern light couldn’t reach. The main streets of Xylodia were alive even at this late hour, the usual mix of merchants, drunks, and soldiers patrolling under the pretense of keeping order. But none of them would be looking for three orphans slipping through the cracks.

  None of them would be looking for an Aquarian.

  Nerpheus felt the weight of that fact pressing down on him with every careful step. He pulled his tattered cloak tighter around himself, feeling the cool fabric brush against the ridges of his gills. He tried to keep his head down, letting his damp, dark blue hair fall over his face. But still, his nerves were raw. Every movement felt wrong—like at any second, someone would point at him, call him out for what he was. For what he had lost.

  He had heard the stories since he was a child.

  "The surface world is cruel. It will hunt you. The moment you are seen, you are prey."

  The words of his tutors, his parents, the high lords of Atlantis whispered through his mind like ghosts. And yet, here he was, walking among humans, hidden in the filth of their streets, a fugitive in a world that was never meant to be his.

  A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts.

  Orion.

  “We’re almost there,” he murmured. His golden eyes flickered in the dim alleyway. “Keep your head down.”

  Nerpheus swallowed hard and nodded.

  Ra led the way, ducking under a collapsed wooden scaffold, slipping between the gaps of an abandoned building that reeked of mildew and rotting wood. He moved with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times. Orion followed, his steps quieter, his movements sharper. Nerpheus, despite his agility, felt awkward on land—he wasn’t used to walking this much. His body longed for the water, for the effortless movement of the currents. But there was no going back now.

  They darted through a final stretch of crumbling alleyway before reaching an old storage house near the edge of the slums. The door was hidden behind a pile of crates, stacked deliberately to look like they had been abandoned. Ra shoved them aside with little effort and slipped through the narrow opening. Orion followed.

  Nerpheus hesitated for just a second.

  Then he stepped inside.

  The hideout was small, barely more than an empty room with a few stolen crates for furniture and a single flickering lantern. The air smelled of dust, damp wood, and old smoke. In the corner, there were piles of fabric—blankets, worn clothes, and whatever else they had scrounged up to make a place to sleep. It wasn’t much.

  But it was something.

  Ra stretched, cracking his neck. “Well, that was fun,” he said, flopping down onto one of the crates. He grinned at Nerpheus. “Welcome home, fish boy.”

  Orion ignored him, rummaging through one of the sacks in the corner. He pulled out a rough, dark-colored cloak and tossed it toward Nerpheus. “Here. Wear this when we go out. You can’t be seen like you are.”

  Nerpheus caught it, feeling the roughness of the fabric between his fingers. It wasn’t like the flowing silks of The Aqua Sun. It was coarse, made for blending in, not for comfort. Still, he nodded. “Thank you.”

  Orion sat down on the crate across from him, resting his arms on his knees. His golden eyes studied Nerpheus for a long moment before he spoke. “Get some rest. We start early.”

  Ra snorted. “What, we got jobs now?”

  Orion smirked. “If by jobs you mean stealing from the people who won’t miss it, then yeah.”

  Nerpheus hesitated, still clutching the cloak. The weight of the day settled over him—his capture, his escape, the blood pact, the fact that he could never go home. The reality of it all pressed against his chest like a lead weight.

  He had nowhere to go.

  No home.

  No family.

  Only this.

  He moved to the far corner of the room and sat down, pulling the cloak around him. It smelled of dust and old wood, but it was warm. He laid his head against the rough fabric of the stolen blankets.

  Sleep didn’t come.

  His mind was back in the depths of the ocean, picturing his family, his home—the glowing reefs, the great halls of his noble house, the shifting bioluminescent currents that once wrapped around him like a cradle. He imagined his mother, her voice soft but firm. His father, standing tall, carrying the pride of their bloodline. His younger siblings, laughing, chasing one another through the shimmering gardens of the abyss.

  But they were gone.

  His blood had doomed them.

  His last memory of them was already written in the cold ink of death.

  He closed his eyes, willing the images away. The sounds of the surface world—the distant laughter of drunkards, the echo of footsteps in the streets, the creaking of the wooden beams above—filled the silence where his family’s voices used to be.

  Nerpheus curled his fingers into the blanket, gripping it like a lifeline.

  For the first time, he let himself cry.

  Not loudly. Not with sobs. Just quiet tears, lost in the dark, swallowed by the night.

  A choice had been made.

  A consequence had been paid.

  And now, there was only the future.

  The flames of the burning ship crackled, painting the dark waters of the docks with shades of crimson and gold. Smoke billowed into the night sky, thick and suffocating, mingling with the scent of charred wood and burning oil. The chaos had long settled, the surviving sailors having fled into the shadows of the city, leaving only the wreckage behind.

  But the night was not yet silent.

  Footsteps echoed across the wooden planks of the dock—measured, deliberate, each step carrying the weight of something far more ominous than the inferno before it. A lone figure approached, his silhouette framed against the firelight. Cloaked in darkness, his features remained unseen, but his presence alone sent waves of unease through the air.

  Beside him, the ship’s captain walked stiffly, his earlier confidence now replaced by a gnawing sense of dread. He was a man who had spent years navigating treacherous waters, both literal and political. He had dealt with slavers, warlords, and crime syndicates alike. But the man beside him? The one he had been negotiating with mere hours ago? He was something else entirely. Something far worse.

  The captain swallowed hard, glancing at the burning wreckage. "This... this wasn't supposed to happen," he stammered. "I had the boy secured. Everything was in place. When I left to meet with you, the ship was fine! I swear it!"

  The figure said nothing.

  The captain's hands were shaking. "I don’t understand. Someone must have—"

  A low, unnatural growl rumbled through the air. It didn’t come from the captain. Nor did it come from any living thing within sight.

  Shadows beneath the figure’s feet twisted and writhed, like serpents given form. The wooden planks darkened beneath him, as if the very light was being consumed. The shadows stretched and lengthened, pooling unnaturally before rising, shifting, taking shape.

  The captain stumbled back as the first head emerged—jagged, monstrous, its maw lined with serrated fangs that glistened like obsidian. A second head followed, its eyes burning with an eerie violet glow. Then a third. A fourth. The writhing mass of darkness formed into something eldritch, something no man could ever hope to understand, let alone escape.

  "Doesn't a captain go down with his ship?" The voice was smooth, yet razor-sharp, carrying the weight of an unspoken sentence.

  The captain barely had time to scream.

  The beast lunged, its multiple heads striking in unison. A sickening crunch filled the air as the first maw clamped down on his shoulder, tearing through flesh and bone like wet parchment. Another head snapped at his torso, ribs shattering beneath the force. His legs flailed, his blood painting the wooden planks as the shadowy mass dragged him down, deeper into the abyss it had created.

  The night was filled with the wet sound of tearing flesh, the crunch of breaking bone, and the guttural, echoing growls of the entity feasting upon its prey. The last thing the captain saw before darkness claimed him was a pair of black eyes, watching impassively as he was devoured.

  Then, silence.

  The writhing beast slowly receded, sinking back into the depths of the figure’s shadow, leaving behind nothing but blood-stained wood and the smoldering remains of the ship.

  The figure turned, his cloak shifting with the wind, his identity still unknown. He gazed at the destruction before him, as if calculating something, weighing unseen consequences. He did not speak. He did not move.

  Then, without another word, he vanished into the night, leaving only death and fire in his wake.