I hesitated when I moved to my legs—still unsteady, still alien. Warm water on this new skin felt strange, too sensitive, and I flinched before I could stop myself. It felt like discovering a part of myself I’d never known, each stroke both grounding and disorienting. The herbs’ scent—earthy and bitter—filled the air, mingling with salt still clinging to my hair.
When I felt somewhat clean, I reached for the clothes Alaric had brought. They were coarse and ill-fitting—the linen shirt far too large, the breeches stiff and unfamiliar—but better than nothing.
Dressing proved slower than expected. The fabric fought me at every turn, and the buttons—small, stubborn things—no doubt designed by someone who hated mortals. I fumbled with them, fingers clumsy and uncooperative, hissing out in quiet frustration as I tried again. And again.
Eventually, I managed something passable. My movements were awkward as I adjusted to the limitations of this new form, the weight of fabric unfamiliar against my skin. By the time I finished, I leaned heavily on the desk, exhaustion pressing down like a tide I couldn’t quite outrun.
My mind drifted to my mother’s stories about humans. Their greed. Their cruelty. Hunting mermaids for scales, tears—anything they could harvest for power or wealth. Humans have always been painted as monsters, dangerous and unrelenting.
Still, Alaric didn’t fit the picture. He’d given me blankets. Water. Clothing.
He hadn’t hurt me, hadn’t tried to take anything from me—yet. But what did he plan to do with me? Why had he saved me? The questions churned, relentless, leaving me more shaken than the storm that had delivered me.
That’s when my eyes caught something amid the clutter—a small, jagged piece of quartz resting atop a stack of worn maps. It pulsed faintly, glow subtle but rhythmic.
A heartbeat.
The rhythm matched something deep within me—a thrum I couldn’t name. My hand hovered over it instinctively, drawn by the connection. As my fingers neared, the energy intensified, a low hum resonating in the air.
Not sound. Sensation.
Vibration slipping beneath my skin and settling there, quiet but insistent. My mark tingled, warmth barely noticeable until it aligned with the quartz’s pulse. The two beat in tandem.
Unease rose—threaded with curiosity.
The air around the artifact shimmered faintly, distorting the edges of the maps beneath it, refracting light in a way that made the room feel briefly unreal—me and the artifact locked in an unspoken exchange.
Then the quartz pulsed brighter—a sudden flare that flooded the desk with light. The thrumming deepened, urgent, vibrating through the wooden planks and up my spine.
It pulsed again—brighter. Steadier.
The ache beneath my skin eased. Just a fraction. Enough to notice.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t responding to the storm. It wasn’t responding to my magic.
It was responding tome—recognition, like something returned.
A flicker of warmth ghosted beneath my skin—subtle, then gone. The hair on my arms rose.
The glow dimmed, the rhythm settling back into its steady beat.
I stared at it a long moment, heart still racing, unsure what I’d just witnessed.
Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Careful not to stumble, I stepped away from the desk. Alone now, I needed to think—and more than that, I needed to act. I scanned the quarters, pausing at every drawer, every cabinet, every seam in the wooden walls.
I was searching for something—anything—that could get me out.
A hatch. A porthole. A vent. A loose board. Somewhere I could slip through without Alaric or his crew noticing.
But the room was solid, ship-shape, clearly cared for. Nothing obvious. Nothing easy.
Of course it wouldn’t be easy.
I moved quietly, testing latches, peering behind hanging maps, fingertips skimming the edges of furniture. All while my mind spun in frantic circles.
Had I made a mistake?
