We then get ready for what is next. Stretched out endlessly before her, the water was a bottomless pit of mysteries better left undiscovered. But Seraphine was never one to take advice seriously—not even from people cloaked in legend or from old seafarers grumbling about occurrences beyond reason. Though the chilly wind was cutting her, she held the railing of her father's ship, The Horizon's Call, her eyes set on the starlit horizon.
A voice in the dark warned her; her route broke all known rules of the sea, and the deck moaned with the weight of aged wood. But the ache that throbbed in her heart made her tremble that night.
Almost a year ago, she had last seen her father's face. His weary face had smiled as he left Port Alnwick; he had embraced her heartily, his sole vow being that he would come back, no last words or a sad farewell. Now, in the nighttime stillness, she was aboard a ship whose sails lay flat, their promise long gone from sight.
A storm was coming. Holding his notepad against her very bones, she clutched it against her breast. Every page she had scoured since his leaving revealed only vague allusions to "deep tides," "unknown reefs," and "strange things beneath the hull." To everyone else, they were disregarded as the ramblings of a lunatic, but to her, they were everything—the sole hints to a fate too terrible for her brain to completely grasp.
Seraphine.
She leaped. Turning, she saw Old Man Harlow—a retired sailor who had seen her father's ship come back without him—standing in front of her, warning her against this trip. Though he did not quite subscribe to the legend, he had seen the strange scars on her father's body, proof of something unfathomable. He was also the first to call her the now-loathed "mermaid."
Harlow, what is it? She inquired calmly.
His face was serious, a patchwork of worn bones and dried sea glass evocative of a child's play. His eyes downcast, he gave her a little, worn charm and said, "I came to give you this for protection." The water seemed to want what it wanted in many different ways.
She tucked the item into her pocket. Harlow's worry was almost infectious despite her skepticism in charms or curses.
She said gently, "Thanks." I will be cautious.
Watching the waves softly wash across the hull as Harlow's footsteps faded down the pier, she remained still. Under the rolling waves and in the strange quiet, the reality of her father's death seemed far away. Still, Seraphine had a strange excitement despite the perilous and lonely path ahead—as if she were finally prepared to find something much more than herself.
Well before daybreak, she had departed the shore. Rising like a gory orange eye above the sea, the sun created lengthy shadows on the glistening surface and highlighted the crests of distant waves. Her heart was a peculiar combination of dread and excitement as she looked alternately at the compass and the vast ocean, guided by skillful hands at the helm.
The first few days went quite quietly. Charts, navigation, and noting her whereabouts on her father's ancient maps kept her occupied. But night after night, the loneliness bore on her. Alone with only the creaking ship for company, her thoughts started to drift—seeing people in the water or hearing voices in the dark.
On the fourth night, something took place.
A large pull on the starboard side of the ship shocked Seraphine awake. She got up right away, took her father's lantern, and headed toward the balcony. The ship stopped as if ordered by an invisible power. Half-expecting to see a rock or some other impediment, she flashed the light down.
The water below, however, was clean and empty but for her fishing net, now tight with something pulling her down into depths she had never known.
Heart racing, Seraphine felt resistance beneath her fingers as the net was raised, weighted with saltwater, and she cautiously turned the winch. The net exposed a shape—a man-like figure changed into a monster—causing her to gasp. His face was scarred, and moonlight glinted on it.
Though he had human traits, they were more angular and acute, with odd markings on his neck and limbs. A long, muscular tail caught the feeble light in lieu of legs; its silver and dark blue scales sparkled like jewels.
Seraphine's gaze fixed on him. Her heart skipped a beat, and her thoughts raced with the impossibility of it all. Here in her net lay a fabled creature—one that was not supposed to exist. Still, she was neither delusional nor delirious. Eyes shut, scarcely breathing, his chest rising and falling in short, controlled breaths.
Though many questions danced in her head, one concern overshadowed them all: he was dying.
She pulled him free without thinking, her hands sensing the chilly, coarse surface of his flesh. Dragging him onto the deck, she saw his eyes pop open to show an intense, ocean-blue stare that caught her. Peering at her with a combination of anger and terror, his chest heaved.
Who... who are you? She said, her voice almost inaudible.
When he started to speak, just a strangled sound came out. Though feeble, he held her wrist tightly with his hand. She wanted to go, but his look made her pay attention.
At last, in a hoarse, almost inaudible voice, he said, "Do you know what you did?"
The gravity of the event hit her. She had trapped a merman and brought considerably more hazardous items into her life.
His eyes slid back, and he fell onto the deck before she could answer.
Caring for the animal—whom she eventually discovered was called Rowan—Seraphine saw the strange, glowing markings on his skin that sparkled with every movement. Though nothing could have prepared her for the reality, their significance escaped her. Having grown up listening to stories about mermen, mermaids, and sirens who seduced men to their doom, she
Rowan was genuine, breathing, and living.
Over the following three days, as Rowan gradually recovered his strength, they chatted carefully, each suspicious of the other. She discovered he had been protecting his world—a civilization tied to the sea by old promises and myths she could hardly know. He, too, had experienced grief linked to his secrets and her father's death.
Still, every tale he told brought up new questions. Seraphine quickly saw she had merely touched the surface of a great reality. Though his remarks were tinged with silence and half-truths, Rowan's love of the sea was unrelenting. He suggested an old being under the waters, watching and waiting for a mistake.
Though it was risky, she felt attracted to him; her need for knowledge drove her to look for solutions in areas where fear should remain undisturbed.
Rowan warned her one night, "They are watching." He spoke quietly and tensely. "You have aroused their curiosity; they can feel me here, even if I am far from home.
Her pulse raced as she inquired, "What do you mean?"
His eyes fixed, he said, "You will bring them upon you." Should you keep on this road, there will be no turning back. There are ancient beings—entities beyond your awareness.
Turning back was impossible for her. Her inquiries required responses; she had gone too far. Feeling the air become cooler and the waves darker, she continued.
Seraphine was pulled to the ship's edge that night as they approached what Rowan called "uncharted waters." Looking down into the void, she had a strange pull in her chest—almost as if something under the surface was calling her name.
Gasping, she looked to see Rowan beside her, his gaze both terrifying and seductive and his hold strong. Her hand was instantly grabbed. His gaze flicked to the ocean below. He said fast, "Do not look down."
Though his words made her shiver, she couldn't look away from the inky depths. There, she saw something moving—swirling in a way that defied explanation. Across the black lake, shadows twisted and writhed like snakes.
"What precisely are they?"
As he concentrated on the water, Rowan kept his hand on hers. "Ancient spirits, protectors of the deep, they are obliged to preserve your people in ignorance of the secrets of the ocean. They do not welcome trespassers.
Worry and annoyance combined, she said, "Then why did you let me catch you?"
Shame flooded Rowan, causing his jaw to tighten. I had no option. You— He hesitated, and his look softened. You were calling without knowledge. The ocean responds to people looking for its reality. His voice dropped to a whisper: "And... it often reacts in ways we could never foresee.
Though Seraphine felt as if she were being pulled into something older and worse than any story she'd ever heard, the words hung between them like an invisible thread linking their destinies.
The ship shook, its timbers creaking under a great load. Rowan's face was a mask of terror as he tightened his hold. A little rumbling from underneath emerged before she could push him farther.
"They're coming," he whispered quietly.
Gripping the railing, Seraphine watched in horror as tendrils of black water sprang from the depths—writhing and twisting like living shadow snakes. The churning water created a vortex, hurling waves against the sides of the ship, causing her pulse to race.
Rowan looked at her, his face pale. You must go right now; you have no clue what you face!
She yelled over the wave, "But I have nowhere to go!" "I want answers—I need to know what happened to my father!"
His expression softened, and a certain sadness appeared in his eyes. Some truths, Seraphine, are not worth the price. Your father could have found items in this realm beyond logic, life, and death.
Rowan drew her near, almost begging in tone. One of the black tendrils struck the hull hard, making the ship shudder abruptly and almost throwing her off her feet. If you value your life, turn back immediately!
Before she could answer, another tendril broader, thicker, and more frightening than the others draped over the deck like a living creature. Drawn by an invisible power, it gently started to fall.
In total dread, Rowan retreated, his gaze locked on the tendril. "No," he answered, quivering voice. "Their mark on you is obvious."
"Marked me?"
Turning near her, his face became pale. Drawing me from the depths has connected you to them. You have been taken by them, Seraphine; they will not stop until they have what they want.
A tendril seized her ankle as it surged toward her. She felt cold bones pulled down by a relentless gloom.
Frantic-faced Rowan moved forward and grabbed her arm. "Hold on!" he shouted, his hold slipping with the tendril's tightening.
The darkness coiled about her, pulling her toward the maelstrom of undersea turmoil below and the edge of the ship. Fighting against the draw, she raced along the deck; the tendril remained fast.
As she found herself on the verge of collapse, Rowan's commanding voice pierced the background: "Let her go!"
Her heart racing, she cried for breath and somehow stumbled away from the edge, her body shaking with dread and adrenaline. Miraculously, the tendril stopped long enough for her to draw herself back.
Rowan rushed to her side, his face a combination of concern and relief. "You have to get it, Seraphine," he whispered softly but forcefully. "This isn't just a search for answers; should you keep on this road, you'll be pulled into a domain where your species has no place.
A steely determination calming her worry, Seraphine looked at him. "I don't mind. I have to know the truth regardless of the cost.
Rowan looked at her with seriousness, his eyes full of sadness and admiration. "Then you have to be ready," he said softly, "for what lies ahead could be far worse than anything you can picture."
Though Seraphine was aware they were being watched—monitored and measured—the shadows surrounding them seemed to diminish as the tendrils pulled back into the abyss.
Horrifyingly, she saw the shadows were gone but not without their imprint left behind.
Tied to her very spirit, she saw a small, black mark—a bruise in the spiral of a shell—that pulsed quietly as if alive, looking down at her ankle where the tendril had grasped her.
What precisely is this? She said quietly, gently running her fingertips over her skin.
Rowan's face became pale and his eyes clouded. "It's a claim," he said softly. You are now one of them in their eyes.
Seraphine felt swept with a frigid dread. What does it imply?
Rowan said in a somber tone, "It means they will follow you, no matter where you go." You now live in their world, Seraphine—a world that never lets go.
A thick silence between them was the odd warmth and the unsettling pulse of the black bruise on her ankle. Though she tried to flee, a web far beyond her control ensnared her.
Rowan stabilized her with his hand on her shoulder. His voice tinged with silent resolve, he gently said, "We will face them together." "But I still need one promise from you."
Every fiber of her being concentrated, she stared at him. His eyes cold, he said, "Promise me you'll listen to my cautions." Promise me you won't allow your curiosity to push you farther into their hold.
Though her head spun, she agreed because she knew she couldn't halt the wave of fate. "I promise."
Rowan looked at her as if he could read the reality mirrored in her gaze and then nodded gravely. "Then we get ready for what is to come."
Peering once more into the black water, Seraphine's pulse raced with a strange combination of fear and excitement as she turned away. Though the darkness had stolen and marked her, she was not finished looking for solutions—there was still so much more to find.
She felt a new determination rising within her as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, gently lighting the ocean: she would confront whatever lay ahead—mysteries or monsters alike—head-on.
But the mark on her ankle throbbed again, a quiet reminder of the sadness hiding under the surface while the ship continued sailing.
And someplace below, invisible, something waited and watched.