It should be me becoming one with the sea floor. It’s what everyone would prefer. I should be feeding the coral with my mortal flesh until the ocean dries.
But my people would never give me the honor of burying me with my family.
I should have never became king.
My oldest sibling, Queen Chlaena, was small but mighty, feared and revered by every creature in and out of the ocean, capable of killing a fleet of humans with a single release of her venom.
Yannig was an exemplary king. My brother understood how other species worked and was able to convince any foe they were one and the same. A true diplomat. The smoothest of talkers.
Me? I am nothing. A fool who can hide. A cuttlefish blending in with my surroundings. A joke of a king who still lives out of sheer desperation.
My claws dig into my palm. This is why I never visit their graves. I can barely stay upright through the regret. The grief. The exhaustion of spending every waking moment hiding from my own subjects. That is no king—that is a coward.
I should have died in the wars, a soldier meant to perish in my family’s name. Yet, I am all that remains of the royal line, the abomination amongst krakens.
One of my many long arms reaches out, threading through the coral in the hopes I may feel my sister’s soul. Chlaena died many decades ago in battle, yet not a day passes that I do not wish for her return.
The reef atop my siblings’ graves and the small patch of land near it are the only vegetation left in my territory.The Curse destroyed everything else.
I move to Yannig’s burial reef that’s diminishing as the Curse chips away at the last vestiges of sea life. My hearts twist together as I tip my head in respect. Twenty years have passed since he died fighting those who wished to take our land, and in the end, his death will be meaningless.
Even in death, rotting at the bottom of the ocean, the Witch will be the only victor. Chlaena killed the Witch after she murdered our mother and cast the Curse over our territory—a blight that poisons the water and takes all life.
I grunt from an impact to the back of my head. I whip around, chest expanding and tentacles rising, ready to strike my attacker. Vasz swings around, suddenly pawing at the sand casually, avoiding eye contact just as the offending coconut floats down to the coral beside me.
“Vasz,” I growl.
The annoying pup innocently lifts his snout, sniffing the air before digging at the sand. His big ears worked fine earlier when I asked if he wanted to go to the mainland.
Like me, Vasz is a violation of nature, a cross between three different species, another witch’s sick experiment.
The elders have never seen such a thing—hence their inclination to kill him when he was first seen with me.
Two fins line his back, elongating into a tail. If he swims close to the surface, he could be mistaken for a shark if not for his brownish-red coloring and yellow-tipped ears. From the side, his four legs are visible, his body shaped like a dog with his shoulders and knees. White suckers dot the back of his front legs and along his chest and stomach. His face is somewhere between a shark and canine, with the yellow coloring of the native octopus species around his eyes, ears, and feet.
Able to walk on land and cross the sea, he’s a hunter far more intelligent than any I’ve ever encountered. He is one of the few lesser beings krakens can properly communicate with. My only companion.
A tentacle wraps around the offending coconut to crush it into pieces. His head whips my way, and he bares his sharp teeth at me for desecrating his precious toy.
Serves him right.
It’s rare for the currents to carry such fruit this deep into my territory. They are aplenty on the mainland—much to Vasz’s utter joy and my displeasure. I can’t stand it. My den is littered with husks.
I hold his stare, crushing the coconut until it splinters in my grip. He snaps his maw at me, and I release it. The last time I didn’t heed the crazy mutt’s warning, I almost lost a limb, and I’m rather fond of my limbs. Regrowing one is much too tedious.
Sand clouds around me as I shoot upward, siphoning water before contracting the muscles in my tentacles to blast it. I propel forward without waiting for Vasz to follow.
“Wanker,” I catch him muttering, scurrying for his toy. The human tongue is rubbing off on him.
I scowl, leaving him behind. I may be faster than the creature, but there is nowhere I can go where he won’t sniff me out.
An odd sensation starts in my chest. It’s the barest tug, like an itch. I head toward the mainland to hunt, reverting to my instincts. Scents. Changes in temperature. The flow of tides. As I pass empty homes and deserted seas, the only color comes from the offerings of the Sea Goddess, Edea. The quiet festers, burrowing deeper into my bones.
My territory used to be revered. We were attacked from all sides because others wanted our bountiful lands for themselves. Many sentries died protecting our land from those who wished to take it. My siblings led many into battle. But after the Curse, the attacks slowly lessened until eventually, they stopped altogether. All that remains is waste from the humans and the husk of our once-bountiful lands. I can’t remember the last time I had to fight creatures off at the border.
Why would anyone want unviable land? Land that leaves its people starved and sick from the poor water quality.
The Kingdom of Aletia. That’s the official name. Now, it is known as the Dead Lands.
