Chapter Text
Waves lap at his feet in gentle caresses like a parent waking a child from slumber. That’s how Namjoon feels actually—like he’s being woken from a dream. Except in that dream there had been no color or sound or feeling. There hadn’t been anything.
Now there was. He was.
Sunlight warmed his skin and lit up the back of his eyelids. It felt nice. The soft sand at his back felt like an embrace, pulling him in and wrapping him in soft, wet, grainy comfort. Namjoon could lay here forever and want for nothing else. That was how he felt in this moment.
“By Poseidon’s trident! Do the gods wan’ta still this old man’s wrinkled heart? Eh? Oi! Boy or whatever ye are! Ye al’right? Or ‘as the ocean thrown me a useless, two-legged fish?”
The gravelly voice jolted Namjoon from his blissful state, eyes fluttering open only to shut tightly at the glare of the sun. So that’s what that felt like. It wasn’t pleasant; the first experience Namjoon decided he didn’t like. Slowly, though, he opened his eyes again and let them adjust.
Blue. The ocean was hanging above him, waves of white drifting by. Nothing like what the waves he instinctively knew looked like. In fact, this “ocean” was a clearer, brighter blue than he knew the ocean to truly be.
Sky. It is the sky, Namjoon.
The water licking at his feet was speaking. The ocean. The ocean was speaking to him. He would know that voice anywhere. It was home. It was him.
“Oi! Did the ocean fail ta give ya ears, fishie?”
Namjoon turned his head to the side, felt the sand dig into his skin. His eyes landed on elderly man. His face was leathery and tanned a deep brown. His eyes were deep set and intense. His lips were wide and thin, with high cheekbones and a wide nose. His clothes were plain and unassuming. He stood beside a small fishing boat, rope hanging off the sides and what looked to be a collection of cages and nets. Namjoon wasn’t sure how he knew what to call all these things he was seeing for the first time. Maybe the ocean was helping him.
The old man was glaring at him.
Namjoon sat up, finding the motion effortless. He moved his lips, felt the pressure of air building in his lungs as he breathed in. Felt the rush as it flowed out of him.
Words didn’t come.
Namjoon reached for his throat, pressed gently against the skin there as if doing so would coerce it to form language. He knew he could do it. But it seemed his body hadn’t yet figured out how to sail this particular ship. Namjoon stared at the man with wide eyes and shook his head in an effort to convey his thoughts. The old man’s eyes narrowed and a breath passed before he sighed, trudging over to where Namjoon still sat on the edge of the shore.
“Seems the ocean be givin’ me trouble this day,” the old man grumbled. Namjoon offered an apologetic look, though he had no idea why he should feel so remorseful. The old man offered his hand, which Namjoon took gratefully. “No need ta get all puppy-like on me, fishie. The pretty lady likes her games n’ mysteries. “ He eyeballed Namjoon before swiftly guiding the young man towards his boat. He reached inside the shored vessel and pulled a rough blanket from it, draping it over Namjoon gruffly. It was then that Namjoon realized he was nude.
“N’ ‘parently this most recent mystery be a pretty thing himself. Though I dare say the mistress of the sea could’ve bothered to at least dress her sea foam child in seashells.”
Namjoon ducked his head, embarrassed. He didn’t know what he looked like save for what he could see from the chest down. He knew he had tanned skin and toned, lean muscle. Two legs, two arms. He was taller than the old man. Much taller, though Namjoon felt small, like a toddler, under that sharp gaze.
“Well, fishie,” the man said abruptly. Namjoon looked up. The old man had turned to stand at one end of the boat and was staring at Namjoon expectantly. “Make yerself useful and ‘elp me get this damn thing inland before your pretty, blue mother decides to give the fishes a new house.”
The command made Namjoon move quickly. He reached for the other end of the boat, lifted on the old man’s count, and helped carry it into the forested borders that sat on the edge of the beach. He observed the old man and how he secured the boat to a tree with rope and weights. Watched as the old man tucked his nets and cages into a chest that sat next to the tree, locked it. He turned to Namjoon, dusting off his hands and nodding toward a dirt path a few yards off to the side.
“Let’s get a move on, fishie. The missus won’ be none too pleased ‘bout me skimping on today’s catch, but something tells me she’ll forgive me when I show you off.” There was an amused lift to the man’s lips that confused Namjoon, but he said nothing—couldn’t. He simply nodded and followed when the old man made for the path.
They walked in relative silence, the old man, Namjoon noted, not seeming to be a conversationalist. That was fine with him. He was finding that the silence was somewhat peaceful. His attention drifted to the tall canopies of vivid greens, the beiges and dark browns of bark, the patches of vegetation that burst from the dark earth now that there was no sand to suffocate it. Colorful birds flew overhead singing tunes Namjoon tried to copy. A shaky whistle shot out and the old man whipped his head around to stare at Namjoon with rounded eyes. Namjoon pursed his lips, worried he’d upset the old man, but he only chuckled and turned back around.
Namjoon whistled under his breath the rest of the walk.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the sun hadn’t moved much so Namjoon didn’t think they had been walking for too long when a break in the trees ahead of them appeared. He could make out voices and footfalls and animals. No ocean, though. He couldn’t hear the ocean anymore and the realization both frightened and confused him.
The old man didn’t pause or slow his steps as he broke through the trees. Namjoon nearly stopped in his tracks. The village was teeming with people and animals. Wooden and thatched-roofed homes were scattered haphazardly, but each was beautiful with bright yellows and reds and blues and greens coloring doors and, for some, the entire house. There were paths leading in every direction, disappearing around corners and over small hills.
People looked toward the old man and raised their hands in greeting only to pause and stare once they caught sight of Namjoon. Their eyes were wide, many confused, others excited, and a smaller portion concerned. The old man paid them no mind and made for an orange painted house at the end of the main road. Namjoon kept his gaze down as he trailed the old man up the short steps and through the front door.
“Nima!” he called out in a gruff voice. “We’ve a guest in need of your cookin’ n’ a set of garments—the latter bein’ more pressin’.”
A shuffling could be heard from a room off to the side followed by the clang of metal and wood. Ears ringing, Namjoon ran his hands over the shells of his ears.
From the doorway trudged an older woman, silver streaks running through curly brown hair that framed a round, scowling face. Glaring at the old man like a rat that had crawled across her doorstep, she faltered at the sight of Namjoon, draped in nothing but a raggedy blanket. Nima—Namjoon assumed that was her name—shifted her attitude almost immediately from fearsome punisher to maternal as she rushed over to the young man.
“What is all this, Micah,” Nima demanded with a harshness that contradicted the gentle way she cradled Namjoon’s face and tilted it from side to side as if searching for injuries. Micah simply offered a shrug, though Namjoon noted how he kept a fair distance between him and the woman, eyes hooded and cautious.
“How in the Seven Seas should I know?” He drawled. The old man pointed accusingly at Namjoon who couldn’t keep from staring between the two, confused and fascinated. “The lad was thrown at me with little warning, Nima dear.”
“You were s’posed to be out fishin’ you miserable creature,” she argued. “How does a pretty, sweet thing like this get ‘thrown at you’ in the middle of the ocean?”
“That’s ta thing, Nima dear! The ocean herself tossed this fishie my way.”
“Oh did she now?” By now, Nima had dragged Namjoon over to a hearth that housed a boiling pot of water and rags. She sat him in a wooden chair nearby and hurried over to a large chest. She rustled through it as she spoke with Micah. “I s’pose she also told you to sell this ‘fishie’ off instead o’ the catches you don’t have in yer hands, eh?”
“Nima dear, I would’na lie to you. Swear on my blessed mother’s grave, Fortuna rest her soul. This here boy,” he pointed at Namjoon, “formed from the very seafoam that coats these waters.”
Nima’s head shot up at that, eyes wide, jaw slack.
“What? You can’t be serious, Micah love?”
A look of satisfaction crossed the older man’s face. He nodded roughly.
“As serious as that there fishie’s face has been since he opened his eyes.”
Nima turned to Namjoon, arms piled high with an assortment of colorful cloths. The young man’s eyes fixated on the material, the vivid colors, and odd shapes. His attention was dragged, though, as Nima approached him, gestured him towards another door that led further into the house. Namjoon looked at her quizzically. The older woman smiled so sweetly Namjoon couldn’t help but smile back. For some reason that sent Nima stumbling and blinking as if she’d been hit by a fierce wind. Behind her, Micah chuckled. Namjoon titled his head in confusion.
“Quite a beauty the ocean crafted, eh?”
“Aye,” Nima agreed dazedly. “That she did. Quite a catch, I’d say.”
“Might very well break the hearts of every man and woman on this island if he learned the power of those craters, right Nima dear?”
“Aye to that, Micah love. Aye to that.” Nima, as if snapping out of a spell, shook her head and ushered Namjoon from his chair and past the doorway she’d gestured at earlier. It led to what Namjoon’s mind supplied as being a bedroom.
In one corner, a small wooden frame held a bed of straw compacted into a large sack the length just short of Namjoon’s height. Patchwork quilts were draped across it, neatly covering the bed in an array of colors. Next to the bed a crate acting as a nightstand stood vigilant, a small gas lamp sitting atop it. Namjoon observed the rust around the metal base, the green of mold creeping from the bottom of the crate. A chest sat on the opposite side of the room, a lock firmly latching it shut. Dust coated the surface of everything in the room—and what was in the room was very scarce.
Nima patted his hand apologetically as if she could sense Namjoon’s curiosity and concern.
“I know it’s a bit of a mess,” Nima said softly as she gazed around the room. “But bear with me. I’ll get it spick and span for you by sundown. Swear it on Fortuna herself.”
Namjoon stood stock still, watched from the entryway as Nima made her way to the bed, smacked the quilts with a weathered hand, sending dust flying. When she seemed satisfied with her work, she set the pile of cloth down atop the blankets. Namjoon leaned forward curiously; Nima took notice and smiled encouragingly. The young man slowly approached, tucking the blanket tighter around his naked form despite feeling just a tad suffocated by the material.
Nima pulled a brown cloth from the pile and held it up to Namjoon’s waste, humming in contemplation. Her brows furrowed as she released a sigh of dismay.
“I s’pose these’ll do for now. I’ll hafta make a trip to the market next the merchant ships come passin’ this way. Mayhaps we can get some quality cloth in hefty sums to make you a decent set of garments, eh? Set the whole island a’talking.”
No sound came from Namjoon’s mouth despite the air pushing out of his lungs. He deflated, wrinkled his brows in apology. Nima patted his exposed hands with a comforting hand.
“Now now, little goldfish,” she said, “no need ta push yerself. The words’ll come ta ya when the time’s right. You just worry ‘bout makin’ sure these trousers and shirt fit, hm?”
With a hesitant nod, Namjoon smiled softly. Wrapping his hands around the proffered garments, he watched Nima close the bedroom door behind her, instructing him to come out when he was dressed properly.
In the sudden silence, Namjoon looked around him, back to the door, down to the clothes gripped tightly between his fingers. It was challenge to say the least, figuring out how to fit the cloth over his sensitive skin. He was certain the long cloth with two long funnels and one large opening on top was supposed to go on top of his torso, but after finding himself nearly strangled by the contraption, he’d decided to try it on his legs. That worked much better.
Trousers. That’s what Nima had called them.
Namjoon glanced at the red, flowing cotton cloth that had fallen to the floor during his earlier struggles. He glanced down at his body, at the revealed skin above the trousers. Decided that perhaps this particular article went around his upper half and was pleased to find he was right when it settled against his arms and stomach far more naturally than the trousers had.
The clothes were a tight fit. The trousers barely reached his ankles, and the shirt hugged a bit too snugly in places he was certain they shouldn’t. The fabric was scratchy and felt like dry sand against his skin. Namjoon wasn’t sure he liked clothes, but Nima and Micah had been alarmed at his exposed body and somewhere in the back of his mind Namjoon knew he didn’t want to cause them more trouble. So he kept the clothes on.
“Ah look at that! I have an eye for these things, didn’na tell you Micah love?”
“Aye, ya sure did, Nima dear. An eye for wrappin’ fishies for preservin’ from the harsh sun.”
“Oh hush you grumpy old creature, you!”
“Was a compliment, dear! Compliment!”
Watching the old couple bicker back and forth, Namjoon felt something warm form in his belly, bubble in his chest, and shoot up his throat. A deep, throaty sound rumbled in his chest as Namjoon forced air from his lungs in the hopes of pushing out the strange but pleasant sensation.
Nima and Micah stared at him, wide-eyed. The rumble in Namjoon’s chest halted, replaced by something heavy and dark and unpleasant. He ducked his head, avoiding their stares.
“Oh by the power of Fortuna, the ocean must have been feelin’ quite lovely when she made you.”
Namjoon lifted his head to find Nima staring at him in wonder and joy. Next to her a light glittered in Micah’s eyes that made Namjoon relax.
“No need ta drown man or woman in water when they can fill their lungs to bursting on a laugh like that.” He reached out to pat Namjoon’s arm playfully. “You sure the ocean ain’t made a siren of you?”
Namjoon shook his head adamantly. Paused. Realized somewhere in the back of his mind that while he didn’t know what he was exactly, he knew for certain he was not a siren.
Micah simply shrugged, unbothered by how Namjoon was both unusually knowledgeable and innocently naive.
“Well, does’na matter, I s’pose. Yer here an’ that’s all that matters, eh?”
“Come, child,” Nima called. “Let’s get a meal in ya, shall we?” She paused in her setting of the table and glanced up at Namjoon with wide eyes. “You do eat? Vegetables, meat, fish an’ all that?”
Humming thoughtfully, Namjoon searched his mind for the answer. The words should mean nothing to him, but he knew what Nima was asking and found his stomach rumbling with anticipation. He supposed that answered her question. With a bob of his head, Namjoon padded over to Nima and Micah, reaching for the plates they were moving from counter to table.
“Oh dear, ya don’ need ta do that.”
“Yer the guest,” Micah agreed gruffly. “None of that now.” But when he made to take the plates from Namjoon’s hands, the young man shook his head and lifted the dishes out of Micha’s reach. Micah glowered, but Namjoon ignored it, setting the plates out the way he observed the couple doing.
Nima chuckled. “Stubborn as you, Micah love.”
Micah grumbled something unintelligible, but made no further effort to stop the young man. With the dishes laid out, Nima brought a steaming pot of stew and set it on a cloth in the middle of the table. She gestured at an empty chair.
“‘Ave a seat, dear.”
Namjoon did as told, feeling the hard wood press into his back. With curious eyes, he took in the creamy liquid that bubbled from the lingering heat. Inside the iron body he could make out what his brain supplied as vegetables, meat, and—
A horrified gasp escaped his lips. Namjoon pulled as far away from the pot as the chair would allow him.
“By Fortuna, what is it dear?” Nima asked midway through serving him a bowl, alarmed.
But Namjoon, who already found it difficult to form words already, now found it impossible. His eyes never left the pot. Nima and Micah followed his gaze. Their furrowed brows shot up in understanding. Micah was the first to jump from the table, reaching for the pot lid on the counter.
The echo of the pot lid covering the stew bounced off the wooden walls. Nima’s hands covered her beet red face. Micah eyed Namjoon cautiously.
“You alright, lad?”
Was he? The stampeding of his heart fell heavily in his ears. Goosebumps riddled his skin. His breaths came out in swift, painful gasps.
Terror, his mind supplied. Namjoon was terrified.
Somewhere past the blood rushing in his head, Namjoon heard Micah sigh. A heavy hand on his shoulder pulled his attention up and away from the carcasses of his brethren. He met Micah’s knowing eyes.
“Fish,” Namjoon croaked. He didn’t miss the way the couple’s eyes widen then fall with a sad understanding. Namjoon wished he understood too.
“Why?”
“Because,” Micah answered without hesitation, “we humans need to eat. Ya might not realize yet, but we live on an island. Ain’t much here as far as land critters. So we turn to the sea for our survival.”
“Survival?”
Micah nodded. “That’s right. We can’t live off veggies and fruit alone. There’s not enough on the island to feed our village. Gotta turn to the fish, ask their forgiveness, but carry on.” The old man chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Bet this wasn’t what the sea had in mind for yer first day o’ life, eh?”
No, Namjoon thought. He couldn’t imagine what the ocean thought, but he could understand this much. He could feel the words bubble up his throat, but this time they didn’t die upon hitting the air.
“No…” he croaked out. “She…gives life…and…ta-takes it. She…gave me life. A-and you…fish…so you can…live.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” Namjoon replied. Firmly this time. While he could no longer hear the ocean as he did at the beach, he could recall her emotions. How deep in her depths were whirlpools of joy and sorrow and understanding and patience and—
“Love. She loves you.”
Micah grinned, eyes crinkling until crow’s feet appeared at their corners. “A child ‘o the sea tellin’ us land folk his Mother loves us even as we hunt her kin. Yer sure yer not jus’ sayin’ that to ease our elderly hearts?”
“No.” Namjoon shook his head. He hadn’t been awake long, but of this he was certain. “She loves all of you. Sea…’folk’…land folk. Even when you have to…hunt to survive. She knows you’ll always come back to her.”
Yes, the sea knew the cost of life. She mourned just as much as she rejoiced. She was a conundrum that none, not even Namjoon could hope to solve. Of this other fact, he was certain.
“I’ll try it.”
“What?” Nima startled. Namjoon gestured to the pot on the counter, still steaming with lingering heat.
“The stew.”
“Oh!” A look of surprise followed by concern flitted across the elderly woman’s face. “Yer sure, dearie? We have some leftover chicken pot pie from yesterday if yer stomach’s not up to it.”
“Really?” Namjoon perked up.
Micah cackled, clapping Namjoon’s shoulder roughly, but with affection.
“Don’ be forcin’ yerself to do what you don’ wan’, fishie. We two may love to eat the critters o’ the sea, but that don’ mean every human has the same sentiment. You don’ ‘ave to either.”
“I’ll go heat up the pie.”
“Nonsense, Nima darling,” Micah gestured for his wife to remain seated. Instead, he made his way to a corner of the small kitchen and proceeded to whip out a cloth-covered tin. “I’ll prepare the fishie a meal. You jus’ dig in.”
“Well what a gentleman,” Nima cooed. She whispered loudly to Namjoon. “We should have guests over more often if he acts like this.”
“What’s that s’pose ta mean? I ‘elp out everyday, mind you!”
“Of course, Micah love, of course.”
Namjoon felt the warm tumble of laughter once more, but unlike before, he didn’t stop. It felt too good. And the warm gazes cast his way was as comforting as the lap of waves he’d felt upon his first breaths.
With food set out for everyone, the trio dug in. At first, Namjoon simply listened to the two as they described the island they lived on. Not very big, but home to a tight-knit community consisting primarily of fisherman, weavers, and the handful of farmers who cultivated the land and tended to the livestock. because of their isolated position in the vast ocean, visitors were far and few between. Nonetheless, all had been friendly and eager to trade.
“If you wan’,” Micah started after cleaning his bowl, “I can teach ya ‘bout our way o’ life. ‘Elp you get on yer feet.”
“You…you would teach me?” Namjoon asked uncertainly.
“‘Course,” the old man replied gruffly. “The sea threw ya at me. Might as well take responsibility.”
“What he means to say, dearie,” Nima chimed in, “is that we’d be delighted to offer our home to you. For as long as you’d like.”
“But,” Namjoon trailed off, confused, “I’m…not your kin?”
“Gah! Kin don’ mean anythin’ more than who ya accept into yer circle.” Micah stared at the young man, searching his eyes. Namjoon stared back and saw the way the elderly man’s brown eyes softened just so. “We don’ ‘ave kids of our own. And I’m sure the sea is a type o’ kin to you. But you…well, yer welcome to be kin to Nima and myself if that’s what yer fish heart desires.”
“The choice is yours, dearest.” A small, withered hand laid itself gently over Namjoon’s larger, smoother one. He stared down at it. Took in the liver spots, the wrinkles, the leathery texture. It was warm and soft and gentle. He remembered the sun on his skin upon waking up. He looked back up to the hopeful eyes of the waiting couple.
“I’d like that. I want to be…your kin.”
As thought there were knife hovering over a taut rope, it snipped at the tension that Namjoon only just then realized had permeated the cabin. Suddenly, the air was clear and crisp, the candle flames brighter, the food more savory, the electricity along Namjoon’s skin less agitated. Micah and Nima smiled brightly at him to which Namjoon returned it with a dimpled one of his own. Micah clapped his hands.
“In that case,” he started, “can’t go ‘round callin’ ya ‘fishie’ at all hours o’ the day, now can we?”
Namjoon blushed. “Oh.”
Micah’s lips twitched. “Ay. ‘Oh.’”
“You’ve been talkin’ ta us fear quite a bit now,” Nima said. “The sea must ‘ave given you language when she made you. Did she give ya anythin’ else? A name? Do na worry if she didn’t. We can give ya one.”
“Namjoon.”
“‘Namjoon?’” The couple mimicked. He nodded.
“That’s my name. Namjoon.”
“Well, Namjoon,” Nima smiled. “Welcome to our little island.”
With each passing day, Namjoon discovered more about himself and the world. Every morning, before the sun showed itself, he and Micah would make their way to the beach. The elderly man taught the sea child how to cast nets in the ocean, how to weave cages and arrange them in the rocky alcoves where sea and land met. Namjoon learned how to reel in catches, how to sail a small boat. His only fault, Micah proclaimed, was that he was clumsy.
“The sea may ‘ave given you legs,” he’d say, “but not the grace ta keep ya upright.”
“I think she made me too tall,” Namjoon would whine as he stumbled over debris on the ground or large crates, or the nets he was trying to cast. He’d sulk at his messes only to be met with the usual scoff.
“She made ya just fine,” Micah would say, eyes focused on the horizon. “Ya just ‘aven’t figured out how ta sail yer ship is all.”
They’d leave it at that, with Micah insisting he use his ‘“fish powers” to help make their job go faster. That was something Namjoon had learned early on. He had powers. Humans didn’t have powers.
Taking off his shirt, he’d dive into the ocean, arms overhead, back arched, toes pointed to the sky. The sun would dim and waver as Namjoon let the water surround him, welcome him. The children of the village often told him that swimming in the ocean was both enjoyable and terrifying. Fun because they could feel waves carry them out to sea. They could wonder at all the fish beneath the surface. Terrifying because of all its unknowns and the ocean’s untamable power.
Namjoon understood to a certain extent he supposed. Unknowns were scary. Those first few weeks of his life had shown him that. The howls in the night from lonesome dogs, the banging of shutters from fierce winds, and groaning of trees from heavy storms. The whispers of the curious villagers that eventually morphed into shouted greetings much like the ones Micah and Nima received.
The ocean, though, did not scare him.
It listened to him.
Micah needs fish today. Can you please change the currents to help him?
Hardly a breath had passed when Namjoon felt the gentle currents alter their course. And with it, he saw schools of snappers, groupers, and other large assortments of fish coming from each path. Thanks to the busyness of the ocean around it, the seabed was disturbed and flounder fluttered about in their discontent.
Surrounded by fish and coral and seaweed, Namjoon grinned to himself. What was there to be afraid of? This ocean made of shades of blue as deep as sapphires to translucent as turquoise. These sea creatures as large as islands to small as his pinkie. This was home.
It is not your home, Namjoon.
It is, the young man stubbornly shot back.
You are meant for more. This is only your beginning.
No. This is my life. I’ll live out my life here.
It will be a sad life if you do…
The ocean went silent once more. Namjoon glared at his surroundings. How many times would the ocean have this argument with him? Yes, he’d meant to only learn from the elderly couple and stay in the village just until he’d learned to survive. He couldn’t deny the curiosity that pulled him to the shore every evening. That made him stare out onto the horizon, as if to hoping to catch a glimpse of all the lands those ships had set sail from.
With each visit came captivating tales of adventure, gold, kings and queens, rebellions, and new nations. Each crew wore different clothes, some of rough wool and leather boots; others adorned in vibrant silks and soft cottons. Some came with jewels and textiles, while many more came with exotic foods and animals. Some spoke the tongue of the people of the village, making trade simple and easy. More still spoke in tongues unknown, filling Namjoon with delight as he worked to discern the meaning of each sound. He’d discovered his knack for language in this way.
In all that time, though, Namjoon had not come across someone like himself. He had known he was different the moment Micah proclaimed humans weren’t born as adults as Namjoon had been. They were not fashioned from sea foam. They didn’t have ocean-blue hair that shone in the sun.
He could recall each crew’s shock when they discovered he was not human. The village hadn’t thought to hide it. They only ever received kind guests across the sea who stared in awe at Namjoon’s unique appearance. They’d reach out to brush rough fingers against his head only for him to recoil. Namjoon didn’t enjoy the touch of strangers. They’d ask him questions about his connection to the sea; he’d answer as best he could, but he knew so little of himself that it proved difficult. The ocean made a point to keep her silence whenever he asked.
The ocean listened to him, but only when it was at her convenience much to Namjoon’s ire.
But she was always quick to tell Namjoon this wasn’t where he belonged despite all the humans around him assuring him of just the opposite.
Tired of his thoughts swirling like a whirlpool, Namjoon swam toward the surface. His lungs held the breath of the land, but under the water, gills had formed to help him breathe, a thing coating of scales along his forearms and calves to help him swim swift and smooth. Above the water, his gills receded, lungs filling with salty air. Brushing back the wet royal blue of his hair, Namjoon turned to Micah who was patiently waiting with net in hand.
“Throw the net!”
With a nod, Micah tossed one end of the net across the water to Namjoon. He grabbed a fistful of the threaded rope and dove back under the water. Careful not to startle the schools of fish, Namjoon made his way to the bed bottom before circling the array of fishes. The net fanned out behind him forming a barrier between Micah’s vessel and the rest of the ocean, sealing off the fishes’ escape. Surveying his work, Namjoon nodded to himself and made his way back to the boat. He fumbled over the side, pulling the net’s edge alongside himself.
“Alright,” Namjoon huffed, “We’re good. Pull!”
“Look who’s grown confident ‘nough to give me orders,” Micah joked, following Namjoon’s command.
“Confident ‘nough to bring you three boat-loads of fish to trade with the approaching ship.”
“Hahaha, right you are,” the old man conceded. “”Nough talkin’! Pull fishie, pull!”
The two groaned as they put all their strength into pulling their haul into their boat. They wouldn’t be able to fit their large catch in the vessel entirely, but if they could just wind the corners to the iron hitches Namjoon had had the local blacksmith install on the boat, Namjoon could push the boat to shore and the rest of the work would be smooth sailing.
After a mighty struggle that left the two men winded, they managed to tie the corners of the net to each hitch. The boat tilted precariously but did not capsize.
“Yer up, fishie.”
Namjoon nodded and dove back into the water. Putting himself at the stern of the boat and just in front of the net, he braced both hands against its wooden hull and kicked his feet in a steady but powerful rhythm. Slowly, the boat made its way back to shore with the help of Namjoon’s strength and Micah’s steering. The moment Namjoon felt sand brush against his skin he gather his feet beneath him and stood up on the shore. Micah jumped out of the boat and helped the young man push the boat rest of the way to shore. Gasping for breath, the two turned to their day’s catch. Micah whistled.
“I say this more oft that I should,” Micah hummed in approval, “but what ya lack in grace, the sea gifted you in brains.”
“You’re givin’ me too much credit, Micah,” Namjoon said, scratching at the back of his neck. The old man shook his head.
“Not at all. No one’d ‘ave thought to build them doo-hickeys—“
“Hitches.”
“Ye, them things, onto a boat as wee as mine.” Micah threw his head back and cackled to the sky. “Just look at them fishies! ‘Aven’t heard a peep out Nima dear ‘bout our bad luck since ya bubbled yer way out of the ocean and into our lives.”
“I think that has more ta do with ya actually working these days,” Namjoon mumbled.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Micah eyed him warily, but seemed to let Namjoon’s comment pass as he made his way to the net of flopping fish.
“Eh, ne’er ya ind all that. ‘Elp me sort these little fellas.” He caught sight of the goliaths. “Actually, you handle them beasts. Might break a bone if I try my luck with them things.”
“Pretty certain yer stronger than me,” Namjoon joked. He reach for the goliaths anyway. Micah scoffed.
“Look at this old man, Joonie boy. These bones are hollow. Ya want me ta snap like a twig? Nima’s be left to drag me around.”
“She’d just toss ya in the sea.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
By the time the two men had finished sorting their catch, gutting, descaling, and smoking the lot they planned to sell the next day, the sun had set below the horizon ages prior. Their only light was that of the campfire along the shore. Namjoon watched with hooded eyes the smoke billow into the sky, melting into the gray blue that was the clouds and stars.
“There’s goin’ to be a storm soon.”
“The ocean tell ya that?”
“Mm.”
Namjoon sat just out of the fire’s warmth, preferring to be within touching distance of the ocean instead. He had been skimming his fingers along the surface when she murmured the warning to him, but something in his stomach churned at her words.
“What is it?” Micah asked, eyes fixed on him. Namjoon could see the fire reflected in his eyes. “She tell ya somethin’ else?”
“No…”
“Then what?”
“I…I don’t know…”
Namjoon truly didn’t know what was making him feel much like the fish that had been caught in his net earlier. Something about the way the ocean had said it had sent shivers up Namjoon’s spine.
A storm is on the way…Prepare for change…
No. Namjoon didn’t like it at all.
The village was bustling the following day as news of the approaching ship made its rounds. It had been spotted just a few days prior and had yet to dock at their shores. It wasn’t unusual for ships to stay in international waters, especially if they weren’t certain the people of the land were friendly or hostile. A small vessel had docked the day before with a handful of men who seemed friendly enough. Namjoon remembered how rough and stern they had looked. More so than any other visitors he’d seen.
He felt a heaviness in his stomach he couldn’t place.
“What’re ya doin’, Namjoon? Our goods won’ be ready if ya keep yer head in the clouds like ya are.”
“Don’t be so rough on the boy,” Nima chastised Micah even as she cast a worried glance at the young man in question. She’d been like this since last night.
Micah must have told her about what the ocean said, Namjoon thought. He’d kept his eyes to the sky all day, but the gray clouds of last night had dissipated. The ocean was never wrong, though.
Namjoon wanted to vomit.
“Joonie dear,” Nima came up beside him, laying gentle hands on his back, “What is it? You’ve been strange since yesterday. Was it the fishin’? I know how much ya dislike it. I keep tellin’ ya ya can stop whenever ya like. Don’ pay no mind to Micah love. That’s his job anyway. Ya can help me in the kitchen, hm?”
“No…” Namjoon shook his head. “It ain’t that. I just…I don’t know. I feel weird.”
Noticing the concerned gaze of the elderly couple Namjoon shook his head and offered a smile he was sure didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“‘M fine, Nima. Swear. Think it might be the heat. It’s been pretty hot these last few days.”
“If yer sure,” Nima trailed off. Her small, round eyes took him in. “You’ll tell me if yer not feelin’ right?” Namjoon nodded. She patted his arm, appeased. “Alright, then.”
A twinge in his chest made Namjoon wince. He didn’t like fibbing. Especially not to Nima.
Shaking his head, Namjoon carried on with the task at hand. Soon, the main road that led all the way to the small port was littered with trading stalls. Each had an assortment of goods ranging from fruits to vegetables to livestock to fish. Others had textiles of plain color. Some had hand-carved figurines or furniture. Everyone was waiting.
All that was left were the guests.
The sun was sitting high in the sky when one of their came running through the trees from the beach.
“They’re comin’! There’s a lot o’ them! Hope ye got yer knickknacks ready!”
“We’ve been ready all day!”
“They takin’ a leak or somethin’?”
“If that leak were the ocean ‘erself.”
Namjoon listened to the clamoring around him. His fingers fiddled with a small pendant around his neck. He pulled the leather strap it was fastened to to admire the pearl a color as deep blue as his hair. He’d had since the day after his creation, the ocean placing it in his hands and claiming it was rightfully his. He rarely wore it, worried it would break or he’d lose it. Today, though, Namjoon needed the comfort of the gentle warmth it emitted.
The shake of the trees and excited shouts drew Namjoon’s attention up and toward the path that led to the island’s small port. The ground shook slightly, the leaves rustling with agitation. A large group of men burst from the brush, donning strange garb and even stranger objects. Namjoon frowned.
He recalled seeing these strange, elongated metals once before. A naval ship they had proclaimed themselves. Hunters of a type of sailors the very opposite of themselves. They had also brandished knives as long as their legs.
Swords. They were swords.
What had those naval officers called the men they were hunting? The name escaped Namjoon even as his heart raced and he curled in on himself, hoping to stay out of this group’s sight.
One of the men looked up. He locked eyes with Namjoon. Grinned a shark’s grin. His eyes dead as the fish lined in Micah’s stall.
“Found ya.”
Namjoon flinched. The word slapped him as hard as the man’s hand slammed against their table.
“Pirates,” Namjoon whispered.
“Aye,” the man responded. “So yer not as stupid as ye look. Good. I ain’t one to coddle a child.”
The man was large and broad-shouldered. He stood taller and wider than even Namjoon, and the man’s knee-length coat and bulky leather boots only served to make him appear more intimidating. His hair was long and unruly, his beard much the same way. Underneath all that hair was a haggard, scarred face. Namjoon could make out the crow’s feet around the man’s deepset eyes.
He wore a belt with little pouches adorning it. From the belt hung two swords of considerable length tucked safely in their sheaths.
“Like ‘em?” The man asked, noticing Namjoon’s line of sight. With no hesitation, the man pulled one of the swords from its home to show it off to the gathered crowd.
To Namjoon’s horror the villagers voiced their awe and fascination to the display having only seen such weapons once before. Beside him, Nima and Micah said nothing. He couldn’t be sure since his eyes were on the man before him, but Namjoon thought the couple was watching him.
“These ‘ere swords are my life’s blood,” the man boasted. He stared at Namjoon, a dark light in his eyes. “They’re what I use to git ta job done. Git what I want.” A pause. The man tilted his head in an almost friendly manner if not for the menacing tone of his voice. “Ye know what I want, don’cha?”
Before Namjoon could summon the courage to reply, a body stepped in front of him, blocking him from view.
Micah.
“Why, trade o’ course!” Micah laughed. It sounded carefree, unworried. But Namjoon could see the slight tremor in the old man’s legs, the way he held himself like too tight knot.
Nima sidled up beside Namjoon, placing small, careful hands on the young man’s shoulders. She squeezed him reassuringly. Namjoon released a small breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“Trade?” The pirate asked. Then he laughed, but there was no amusement to be found in it. “Aye, I s’pose yer right. I came to trade.”
“Good, good,” Micah nodded. He waved at the stalls. “We got plenty of goods waiting here for ya and yer crew. What do ya need? Clothes? Taemin’s shop is bursting at the seams with it! Goats? Well, Irma’s got ya covered. Best livestock in all the seven seas, on Fortuna I swear it. Fruits? Best to avoid that scurvy I hear so much ‘bout. Vege—“
“Fish.”
Micah paled.
By now, the once excited villagers sensing something amiss, had gone silent. They observed the exchange with furrowed brows.
“Fish?” Micah mirrored dazedly.
“Aye. Fish.” The man smiled. His crew laughed. The sound crawled along Namjoon’s skin.
That seemed to jolt Micah back into the moment as he smiled widely and waved at the many baskets of fish splayed out before the crowd.
“Fish. Right. Well, look no further! Just hauled these beauties in yesterday. Won’ find delicacies like these anywhere else!”
“Oh, I’m sure. But,” the man interrupted Micah’s rambling, “I’m not interested in these fish.” Dead eyes looked over Micah’s shoulder and landed on Namjoon. “I’m lookin’ fer that fish.”
“He ain’t no fish,” Nima shot back coldly. Her grip on Namjoon tightened. “He’s a boy. Jus’ like you n’ me, he’s human.”
“That’s not what I ‘eard,” the man said casually. His eyes never left Namjoon. “I ‘eard there was boy in these part o’ the waters who was fashioned from the sea ‘erself. A pretty fish with hair blue as the sea. A special fish. Looks human, but can do all the things a fish can. Isn’ that right, fishie?”
“Nothing like that ‘ere,” Nima said. “Must be mistaken.”
“Don’ look like that to me,” the man hummed. “‘Is hair do look mighty similar to the rumors I ‘eard so much ‘bout.”
“Blue hair doesn’ mean special powers. He’s a boy. Nothing more.”
Never more than in this moment did Namjoon wish that were true. He watched in silence as the pirates surrounded the villagers, some licking their lips, leering. Thirsting for violence. Fear kept him silent despite knowing he should say something. Anything. But his throat constricted, refusing to let him speak. To help his island.
“I’m na playing games no more.” The smile was gone from the man’s face. All signs of hospitality that had been even minutely present wiped from his expression. “I know what ye are fishie. And if ye don’ want me n’ my crew ta burn this island ta the ground? Ye’ll do what I say n’ come along.”
“No!”
“Someone shut that damn woman’s mouth!”
As someone reached out to silence Nima, Namjoon shot to his feet.
“I’ll go with you!”
The hand stopped. All eyes locked on him, but Namjoon’s gaze was focused on the pirate in front of him.
“I-I’ll go. Just don’t hurt ‘em.”
The man smiled once more. He sheathed his sword. “That’s a good fishie.”
The hand reaching for Nima receded, albeit reluctantly. Nima and Micah stared at Namjoon in horror.
“No no no no!! Not out child. Not him!” Nima cried.
“Namjoon, my boy,” Micah warbled, reaching for Namjoon, cradling the taller man’s cheeks in his wrinkled hands. “Ya-ya don’ ‘ave to do this. They’ll as soon as kill ya as sell ya off. Don’ go. We’ll keep ya safe. Jus-jus’ don’ go.”
Wrapping his hands around Micah’s, Namjoon smiled. Namjoon had never seen the old man cry, but tears were drenching his leathery cheeks, pooling in the soil at their feet. Behind them, Nima sobbed something fierce.
A storm, indeed, Namjoon thought wryly to himself.
“Don’t worry, Micah,” he reassured out loud. “I’ll be okay. You all will be too. I promise. I won’ let anyone hurt ya.”
“But what ‘bout you?!” Nima cried. “Who’s gonna protect my baby boy? That’s our job! The ocean gave ya ta us! We’re s’pose to keep ya safe!”
“Ya did,” Namjoon said. He pulled her in and bumped their noses together. “Ya protected me for these past few years. Now it’s my turn to do the same.”
Micah and Nima gripped Namjoon tightly. Despite being a whole head shorter than him, they managed to make him feel secure and safe even with the eyes of the pirates upon them.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Ye’ll always ‘ave a ‘ome ere,” Micah whispered. “Don’ ya dare forget that, ya hear?”
“Yeah.”
“Hate ta break up such a ‘touchin’’ farewell,” the pirate sneered, “but there’s money to be had, lands to be pilfered. I ain’t the chivalrous sort. Yer lucky ya got this much.”
Namjoon was the first to pull away. He stared heavily at the pirate.
“Give me yer word. Ya won’t hurt these people.”
“On Fortuna, herself.”
Namjoon scanned the man’s features for any hint of deceit, but the man remained as mocking as before. He sighed. Namjoon would just have to trust these pirates to have some sliver of honor.
“Git movin!” One of the crew shoved the blue-haired man in the direction of the port. Namjoon obeyed.
The walk to the ship was short, but every step was agony. He could hear the distant wails of Nima and Micah fade the further he from the village he walked. He didn’t want this. Not the goodbyes.
Not like this, at least.
Seeing the sheer size of the ship seemed to put Namjoon’s life into perspective. While yes, he was being kidnapped by terrible humans, this ship was still taking him to the lands across the ocean. He’d finally get the explore the world. Walking up the plank walkway, Namjoon felt he was taking the first steps toward the future he’d secretly longed for. If he could escape his captors he’d have a world of opportunities before him.
If he could escape.
They loaded him onboard, but the men escorting him eyed him in confusion. They turned to the pirate that had started it all.
“Cap’n! What should we do with the fish?”
The “captain” who had been observing his crew prepare to set sail, turned narrowed eyes in their direction. It took everything in Namjoon to keep eye contact with that cold gaze. The captain smirked.
“Leave ‘im be. He won’ cause us no trouble. “Less he want ta see these waters turn red with blood. The sharks would love that wouldn’ they?”
Namjoon’s paled.
“You gave me yer word.”
“Aye, that I did.” The captain’s eyes glittered with a cold, gleaming light. He drew his sword from his scabbard, prodded the sharp tip with his thumb. A drop of blood pooled where he’d pricked his skin. Keeping eye contact with Namjoon, he licked the blood and smiled.
“But a pirate’s word does’na mean much. Did no one teach ya that?”
With a wave of his sword, the captain pointed at the island. “Leave nothin’ behind boys! Can’t ‘ave a bunch of sodden seaweeds knowin’ of our prize.”
“No! Stop!”
Namjoon tried to run after the crew, but the few that had remained pinned his arms, holding him tightly.
The captain cackled as his men, all done with their preparations with the ship, brandished their weapons and made back for the island. They ran back onto the land and disappeared into the trees. Namjoon, up until this point, had refrained from shedding a single tear. But now he let loose terrible sobs that tore his throat to shreds.
“Stop,” he begged between his choked sobs. “Please don’t! Ya gave yer word!”
“Let this be a lesson, fishie,” the captain said. “No pirate worth his salt would hold to promises that git in ta way o’ our goals. We live fer ourselves. Nothin’ more. Nothin’ less.”
The callous words struck Namjoon like knives. How could humans be so cruel? All for him? Because he was worth a few pieces of gold? Or goats? Or barrels of ale?
He’d so much good in the few years he’d been alive. From Nima and Micah, the villagers, and the many passing ships of men, women, and children that had stopped by their island. Some had been unsavory, but never cruel. Never did they see Namjoon as a commodity—an oddity, yes—or the villagers as disposable.
An indiscernible emotion coursed through Namjoon in that moment. One that he had never felt before. Not with the constant stream of love and acceptance he’d received all this time. This emotion was darker. Red coated his vision. Heat boiled his blood. His jaw clenched with the effort of controlling this feeling. Namjoon recognized this emotion. He’d seen it countless times on Nima when Micah failed to come in with a new haul of fish or didn’t clean the dishes.
Namjoon was angry.
Larger than the men holding him, Namjoon took the opportunity to throw his weight at the smallest of them. Surprised by the sudden resistance, the man didn’t have time to catch himself and toppled to the deck. The other still had a hold of him, but Namjoon put all his strength into pulling from their grasps. The captain looked on with amusement, like a parent would at a toddler throwing a tantrum.
Namjoon pulled himself to the edge of the ship just a few feet away. Hoisted one elf over the ledge.
The captain stopped smiling.
“Stop him! Don’t let ‘im git in ta water!”
Too late, though, the men fumbled before losing their on Namjoon altogether. Without sparing a backward glance, the young man flung himself overboard.
The fall was further than he’d expected. Namjoon felt the wind bite his cheeks before feeling the smack of water against his skin and clothes. Water had never hurt before, but Namjoon discovered it could if you fell from high up enough.
There was moment of disorientation before Namjoon came to his senses. The water welcomed him like an old friend, but he could feel the ocean’s urgency, waiting for him to make his request. Namjoon didn’t hesitate.
Please help the island! Those pirates will kill them!
And if I do? The ocean asked. It will not stop more of the greedy humans from coming in search of your power.
Then I’ll just ask you to step in! It’s not like ya don’t have the power!
The currents shifted at the ocean sighed. Oh Namjoon, you have much to learn.
What do ya mean?
Life must take its course. I only step in at your request when the consequences are not so severe. I may help you protect your village from this threat, but ask this request of me and I will not perform it again.
Then, Namjoon wailed, what do I do? I just want to keep them safe.
You know what you must do. But the choice is yours and yours alone.
The ocean went silent, having said its peace. Namjoon knew what it was getting at. He needed to leave. If he stayed, these pirates and more like them would continue to terrorize the villagers. And Namjoon couldn’t protect them on his own. More than that, they deserved peace. Not the fear that comes with housing a child of the sea.
Decision made, Namjoon whispered to the ocean.
Place a protective barrier around the island.
Barrier?
Yes. Make it so the currents will always cast those with ill-will away from the island. Let it only permit people with good intentions.
Very well. And the pirates atop the land now?
A tsunami. Drag ‘em out with yer waves. Don’t kill ‘em. Please?
…I shall make it so. But Namjoon, the ocean said, once I have fulfilled these requests, you must swim far and fast from here. Do not look back. Only forward. Until you come full circle.
The words were mysterious and left the sea child confused, but he nodded nonetheless. Assured of Namjoon’s vow, the sea summoned its power. Namjoon could feel the water as it pulled steadily away from the shore. Watched as the fish and mammals of the ocean scurried as swiftly as they could from the oncoming disaster. Below him, the sand swirled about and made the water murky. Namjoon himself was in a small bubble of currents, undisturbed by the tides forming around him.
Finally, the ocean unleashed its wrath.
Wave upon wave pushed past Namjoon. He lifted his head to see a dark shadow pass overhead. Beside him, the pirates’ ship rocked violently in all directions before the wall of water crashed against its hull, splintering one of the masts and ripping the railings from their perches. The crow’s nest toppled. Namjoon could make out a few humans trying their best to keep their feet planted on the ship, some holding onto ledges or cannons or the poles.
Meanwhile, on the island, Namjoon could feel the ocean’s will as it skirted trees, animals, homes, and villagers, gripping only the pirates in its hold before receding. Man after man rushed past the blue-haired sea child, legs and arms flailing in their confused panic. The ocean was careful not to drown the men, but her waves rose and fell, sending the men sprawling on the ship deck.
With one final surge, the ocean changed the tides, sending the pirate ship further and further from the island. Namjoon watched the belly of the ship grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His muscles relaxing, his heart rate slowing.
His island was safe.
Thank you.
Do not forget your promise.
I won’t.
Then go…Live…My treasure…
Namjoon needed no more encouragement. He turned away from the island, stared into the darkness of the sea below and the glittering sun shining above. With broad strokes and strong kicks, Namjoon began to swim. He didn’t know where he was going, but the renewed pounding of his heart promised him that wherever he ended up would be the start of an adventure.