Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Water Logged

Song List:
Viva La Vida by Coldplay
Tenerife Sea by Ed Sheeran
Mariners Apartment Complex by Lana del Rey

This was his mother’s doing. Orm didn’t know if he should be grateful or resentful. The surface world was not his place. And yet here he was….

She’d thought it a good idea: for her second son to learn about the world in which her first had been raised. To bridge the gap between realms. But he was a King. Born and bred. And this man…this…Tom Curry was an infidel of the most egregious form. A defiler of his race. It was nauseating to be in his presence. And yet…his mother, Atlanna, delivered safely from the watery deep, and his brother Arthur, had released him from his cell in the crushing abyss and cast him to land. To live alongside Tom Curry, the lighthouse keeper, as a lesson.

They hoped to condition him. To desensitize him to the atrocious earth-dwelling heathens. It would not work. He knew this with irrevocable certainty. But he humored their efforts. For it meant he had more room to move, to live, and to breathe in the wake of his imprisonment. Anything was better than the cell. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

It was menial, his existence. They’d sequestered him in a small cottage. A shack, really. On the outskirts of the lighthouse property. There was enough space for a bed, a meager kitchen, and a shamefully small bathing chamber. But it was better than his cell, so he didn’t complain.

All of his days looked the same. He would rise with the sun, find Tom Curry, who would dispatch him with a list of tedious chores, and follow their instructions, albeit begrudgingly. He’d grown quite familiar with carpentry, landscaping, stone masonry, and other general forms of labor. Peasant work. Yet it was what duty demanded of him. He had failed. His father had been wrong. His mother had survived. And it was Arthur she had chosen over him, her true-born Atlantean son. Arthur, the bastard, who had taken up the crown and usurped him from his birthright.

Bitter did not begin to describe the feeling that burned through his veins.

But what choice did he have? He was a prisoner. And though he did not have his kingdom anymore, his mother had been restored. And this was what she wished, which perplexed him to no avail. So to please her, he remained passive in his detention even if it was unbearable.

Three months he’d spent on the surface. Three of the hottest, most miserable months of his life. He wasn’t used to the feel of the sun beating down on him from above. He was used to the cold….but summer was breaking, or so they had told him, and cooler weather was on the horizon.

“Finish unloading the rest of the wood, and you can be done for the day,” Tom announced, gesturing in the direction of the shack. Orm didn’t respond. He rarely spoke to the man unless it was absolutely necessary. He didn’t enjoy offering him the respect of acknowledgment.

Tom receded into the house, leaving Orm to his own devices, as usual. A relief, to say the least. Orm greatly valued his alone time. It offered the opportunity for introspection. Dissection of the events that had unfolded during his time as King and Oceanmaster. So many things he had been so certain of. So many choices he had made that had been…

“Hello,” A voice interrupted his inner diatribe, and he looked up crossly. “You must be Orm,” A woman stood before him. A long main of brown hair spilled over her shoulders as she studiously looked him over. She wore a black turtleneck and a dark grey vest as she stood, with her hands in her pockets, beside her truck, looking at him expectantly.

Orm frowned. There were very few people who knew his name beyond the water’s edge—this one he hadn’t yet encountered.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” She smiled. “I’m a friend of the family’s….”

“Reyna!” Tom’s voice boomed from the porch as he barreled down the steps. Wrapping her up in a big bear hug, he spun her slightly, laughing all the while. The woman smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck, returning the gesture. “What took you so long?” The lighthouse keeper asked as he set her back down on her feet.

“Flight got delayed. I missed the late ferry, so I crashed with some friends on the mainland. Ended up spending the morning there, just visiting.”

“Ah, well, glad to have you back, kid.” He patted her shoulder.

“I brought your favorites,” She smiled, pulling the passenger side door open and retrieving two large grocery bags.

“Budweiser and lasagna?” He asked excitedly, rubbing his hands together.

“And peanut butter cookies.”

“Excellent,” He grinned, snatching the bags and heading back into the house. “Come on then, better get inside before it starts to rain.”

“Will you be joining us for dinner?” She asked Orm, who had continued stacking wood as he listened to the exchange. Thunder boomed in the distance, and she looked uneasily up at the sky.

“No,” He answered firmly.

“Don’t mind him, Reyn. He likes being wet and miserable.” Tom called over his shoulder as he disappeared through the doorway.

“Do you?” She quirked an eyebrow, smiling politely.

Orm paused in his task to glare at her but otherwise remained silent.

Despite his best efforts to communicate his derision for the land dweller, she seemed nonplussed by his ire. “Right, well, it was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see you around….” She offered, following Tom into the house.

The growing thunder did precede rain—a downpour, as they called it. Dark clouds hovered above, shrouding the sun as it died in the sky. He was soaked by the time he finished with the wood pile. Snatching up a few logs, he made his way up to the house to drop them off in the kitchen by the wood stove, as he usually did. As his captor preferred. He didn’t bother to slough off the water as he meandered through the house, tracking mud and leaving puddles in his wake.

Tom was already snoring on the couch, the TV quietly narrating the point system of some unfamiliar sporting event. Reyna was in the kitchen, humming softly as she dried plates and glasses. The remnants of dinner were scattered across the counter all around her.

At his arrival, she looked up and smiled slightly but remained silent. No doubt catching on that he was not one for small conversations, much less with a peasant. It was beneath him to converse with her. He was a King. And she was nothing….

His stomach growled loudly, interrupting the silence and humbling him.

“You should eat,” She advised, setting down the dish she was drying and making him a plate.

“I do not consume meat,” He growled. Betrayed by his body and embarrassed in front of this….

“Well, lucky for you, there’s no meat in this lasagna. It’s vegetarian. But don’t tell Tom.” She turned quickly, looking at him with pleading eyes. “He wouldn’t touch it if he knew. I sneak a lot of vegetarian meals for him. It’s better for his health. And the environment.” She added, setting the plate down in front of him. “Please.”

His stomach growled again, and he cast her scrutinizing glance, allowing his eyes to wander over her alabaster face. Resigned, he grunted his agreement, offering her a curt nod before reluctantly taking up the fork and shoveling the food into his mouth with little preamble.

Pacified, she resumed her task. Returning the dishes to their respective cabinets and drawers. As she worked, Orm made quick work of the meal. It was surprisingly good for common food.

“Tom said you’re staying in the old smuggler’s shack?” She asked, sealing the top onto a glass container full of the remaining food.

“Yes,” He drawled, making his way back toward the door.

“Wet and miserable, indeed,” She mused, staring out in the rain, concern etched upon her brow.

Orm frowned. Why was she acting as though she cared?

“Come on, I’ll drop you off. I’m heading that way anyway.”

“That is not necessary….”

“Nonsense,” She declared, thrusting the glass container into his hand. Heading for the living room, she tossed a blanket over Tom before snatching up her now-empty reusable grocery bags and approached the door. “Oh! I almost forgot…” She started, returning to the kitchen and snatching up a second container.

Orm stood by the door, clutching the lasagna, feeling….awkward….

A ridiculous phenomenon. One he was unaccustomed to experiencing.

She brushed by him, hurrying down the steps in the rain and hopping into her truck. He followed suit. Climbing into the passenger’s side without a word. He should have set the container down on the counter and left. It wasn’t that long of a walk. And he was already soaked….

Seeming relaxed in the silence, Reyna threw the truck in reverse and pulled out of the driveway, heading farther down the dirt-strewn Lighthouse Lane. Potholes littered the path, causing them to bump along as they went. The drive lasted all but five minutes as Reyna made her way slowly through the pounding rain. She pulled up as close to the shack entrance as possible. An effort at kindness, he presumed. However, he couldn’t fathom why she bothered.

“Have a good night,” She called after him as he wordlessly exited the vehicle. He turned back to set the container down on the seat. “Oh, no…that’s for you.” She revealed, throwing the car in reverse. “In case you get hungry again.” She smiled.

He frowned.

“Thank you,” He nodded, turning on his heel and marching toward the house. As he closed the door, her headlights disappeared as she made her way back up the bumpy lane.

He sat at the table, prying the lid off and digging into the food. He would never have admitted to her that he was still hungry or that the meal she had prepared, even cold, was better than anything he would have been able to scrounge up from the meager fixings in his shack. He ate slowly, savoring the foreign textures and taste. Depositing the dish in the sink, he decided to try one of the round deserts in the second container. They were sweet and pleasurable on his tongue. Finishing the treat, he washed the dishes and left them out to dry so as to return them to her. Then he frowned. He’d enjoyed the meal entirely too much. Since when did a simple meal become such a great kindness to him? It was ludicrous. Pathetic….

Irritated, he stripped his wet clothing and snatched up one of the few Atlantean tomes he had been allowed to keep. He had read this one before, many times. It was one of his favorites. One of his father’s favorites. However, tonight, he could not focus on the words. Water dripped loudly from the ceiling, steadily collecting in the buckets Tom had laid out to catch the flow. He didn’t mind the dampness, but his keeper had expressed the need for collection to prevent further damage. It was laughable how dilapidated the shack was—the contrast from his chambers at the palace to this decrepit place. But his preferences were no longer taken under consideration.

He had failed.

Atlantis had a new King.

The ocean continued to boil.

The humans continued their pollution.

Everything had changed.

And nothing had changed.

He often wondered what would happen to him now. They had sent him here for rehabilitation purposes. To calm his rage against the surface world and his half-brother. But what if that fire could not be tamed? Three months had passed, and yet he remained unchanged. How long would they humor his ill will? How long would they dedicate to his reconstruction?

He didn’t believe his mother, Atlanna, would ever give up. But what of Arthur?

There was still much he did not know about the prophesized King who carried Atlan’s trident. Who commanded the trench and communed with the Karathen, legend of old….

Orm was conflicted.

Every myth, every legend he had learned in his youth, now pointed to Arthur. Arthur. Of all…

There was no fighting it. Which meant he had to find a way to fit into this new world, the new Atlantis. Or remain a prisoner on this island forever.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Plain Sailing

Song List:
Melody by Kate Earl
Fire in the Water by Feist
If We Were Made of Water by Banks

Orm was laying a new path around the lighthouse, pressing wide, thin stones into the ground. Slate, Tom had called it. The earth was muddy and wet from the rain the night before, and it stuck to everything. He was covered in muck, but he did not complain. He never complained. It was shameful to do so. Even though this work was so far beneath him. Or it had been, once.

He hadn’t seen the female since the night before. But with her arrival, Tom had spent most of the day off-site, leaving Orm on his own. There was no concern for his escape. If he fled the island, if he so much as touched the salt water, Arthur would track him down, lock him up, and throw away the key. The purpose of this exercise was to build trust. So Orm had to stay until they decided otherwise.

He missed Atlantis desperately. He missed the water even more so. He hated dwelling on the surface. It was against his nature. But what could he do? If he ever wanted to see Atlantis again, he had to obey. He had to work. So, as most days went, he was left with a list of chores with only his thoughts to keep him company.

The sun climbed higher in the sky as he put the path together. It was simple work. And he would admit, it was sort of rewarding to see the finished product. To see what he had built with his own two hands. Hands that were accustomed to wielding his father’s trident, now long gone, or meting out justice via hand-to-hand combat. Destruction had come so naturally to him, a warrior. But now that time was done. His trident had been shattered by Atlan’s. His army and crown stolen. So great was the weight of all his losses he did not know how he would ever recover from the shame of it all.

Turning to collect another piece of slate, Orm paused in his pursuit.

A creature sat before him. A hairy brown mongrel with mismatched eyes stared at him, wiggling its butt with its tongue hanging out of its mouth. Orm cocked his head to the side, surveying the ridiculous creature. A dog…must be…

It took his lack of movement as a sign of invitation, and it approached him, padding along the freshly laid path to his side. Knees in the dirt, Orm was well within the creature’s reach as it sniffed his hand and lapped at his face. At first, Orm resisted, pushing the dog away. But its fur was soft, and its attention was…sweet.

“I think she likes you,” A familiar voice observed—a female voice.

Reyna stood at the end of the path, smiling at him again as though she were happy to see him. She was carrying a large cardboard box as she meandered up the stairs. “Don’t feel too special, though. She likes everyone,” She teased. “Come on, Stella.”

Tom pulled in, parking his truck behind Reyna’s. As he emerged, he scowled at Orm. “Do they not teach chivalry to Atlantean royalty? Help her with the bags,” He demanded.

Orm bristled as his honor was called into question.

“It’s all right, Tom, I’ve got it.” Reyna protested, rushing back down the stairs.

Dropping the stone, Orm stormed to the side of the truck and roughly grasped the bags before she could retrieve them. Brushing by her, he stared straight ahead as he marched into the house, not acknowledging either of the land dwellers as he passed.

“You know, you really shouldn’t nettle him. Don’t you have any sympathy?” She accosted the lighthouse keeper, her hands on her hips. Orm could see them through the glass reflection on the door above.

“Nope,” He quipped, grasping another large cardboard box. “Is this the last of it?”

Reyna shook her head in exasperation. “Yeah, I couldn’t find the photo album you mentioned. But the rest of it is there. I hope she likes it.”

“She’ll love it.” Tom smiled at her. “She’ll love you too. Don’t worry.” Their voices faded as Orm entered the house. But he could still hear the conversation carrying on as he set the bags down on the counter. “…Why don’t you go inside and get started? I’ll take this to the shop and get it cleaned up….”

The dog, Stella, sat on the couch, staring at him. Orm paused, frowning at the strange creature as Reyna emerged. “Thank you—” She began, but her appreciation was cut off as she slipped, stepping on a bit of mud Orm had tracked through the house.

Reacting instinctually, Orm snatched her waist, pulling her against him before she could fall back down the narrow steps. Her hands pressed flat against his chest, and she blinked up at him, seeming for the first time to be shaken by his presence.

That’s better.

Most beings should feel as she did now when they stood before him. But his pleasure quickly turned to irritation once more as her lips quirked, and she blushed. “Um, thank you….I wasn’t paying attention….” She admitted, laughing softly at her blunder.

He released her, silently cursing himself for deigning to help the land dweller again. Her opinion meant nothing. Tom Curry’s opinion meant nothing. So, why, then, did he feel so conflicted?

Reyn rushed off toward the kitchen, settling in to make dinner.

“Hey, Stella girl,” Tom greeted the pup, patting her on the head amicably. “You should go get washed up. Dinner’s at five.”

Orm opened his mouth to protest.

“I don’t want to hear it. It was not my idea. She insisted.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “So if you’re gonna be rude to someone, save it for her. Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

Orm glowered but did as he was told.

——

Reyna busied herself in the kitchen, wiping down the counter and clearing the space to make room for the task at hand. She loved cooking for Tom. Loved it even more when Arthur was here too. So rarely was her little family all together these days. The past few years had been hard on Tom as Arthur toured the world. Avoiding his birthright, avoiding both of his homes. Tom had grown lonely, especially after Reyna had gone off to the mainland for college. She hadn’t planned to stay away so long. But after undergrad, she’d begun pursuing her Ph.D. in Marine Biology. It had been the goal all along to settle on this island. To come back and study the wildlife that teemed all around it. To try and make a difference. But more and more frequently, she was called away on humanitarian missions.

School was important. But what good would earning her degree do when the world was on fire? She couldn’t resist the call. In her most recent endeavor, she’d volunteered for a wildlife sanctuary in Florida, tagging Manatees and tracking their reproductive habits. The sweet, docile creatures were encroaching on extinction. Despite not having any natural predators, they had still landed on the endangered species list because of humans. It had been honorable work, but in the grand scheme of things, her involvement helped very little. She was only one person. And the whole world needed to change if there was to be any true chance of undoing all the damage her species had wrought upon it. In the end, she’d packed up and left. Growing concerned for her pseudo-father figure after discovering he was living with the former King of Atlantis after he attempted to murder Arthur, who had always been something of an older brother to her.

After her parents died when she was twelve, Arther and Tom had taken her in. They had become the island's band of misfits, so to speak—just the three of them. Neither man nor boy had been prepared for what it would be like to take care of a girl, but eventually, they had figured it out.

Tom and her father had been best friends since they were children, and though Arthur was much older, the two of them had followed suit. He’d cared for and protected Reyn as though she were of his own blood.

Atlanna and her mother had also shared a strong bond before she had been born. As a child, she’d heard many stories about the mysterious ocean queen—both from her mother and Tom. She felt like she already knew her.

It was strange now, preparing to meet the woman she had only ever dreamt of. The mother of her best friend. The missing piece of their family. She was far more nervous about meeting her than she had been to meet Orm.

Curiously, she didn’t harbor any ill will toward the tyrant. In fact, she sort of agreed with him. Though, Tom would hate to hear that. Likely, so would Arthur.

The rest of the night rolled by easily. Orm begrudgingly joined them, barely speaking during the meal. Silent and impassive, he finished his plate, and as he rose to leave, Tom requested he help clean up while he snagged a beer and parked it on the couch in front of the TV. Orm had gritted his teeth but obeyed.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure you’re tired.” Reyna offered.

This only seemed to irritate him more, for he stiffened and began scrubbing the dishes with renewed fervor.

Sighing at the large, stoic hulk of a man angrily scrubbing Tom’s flatware, she did the only thing she could think of and packed the leftovers for him to take.

This time he didn’t try to argue, nor did she offer him a ride home as he abruptly strode out the door and marched off down the dirt road toward his abode.

Despite the months he had spent ashore, Tom had yet to crack him. That much she could see. The Atlantean was still rife with anger. Riddled with loathing for the surface world. The gap had yet to be bridged. And soon, Arthur and Atlanna would return, likely expecting results….

She worried for Tom. Worried for Arthur even more. Orm was connected to it all now. Which meant it was best to patch things up. But how to convince him to bury the hatchet? She didn’t know. She wasn’t royalty. She wasn’t a politician. She didn’t know how to navigate the strange world he had come from. She could hardly imagine what it looked like. Though secretly, she longed to see it. So, as the three awaited the inevitable arrival of Arthur, Atlanna, and Mera, Princess of Xebel, Arthur’s right-hand woman, she made it her top priority to shower Orm with kindness—an easy feat for her as she really didn’t need to do anything differently….

And what else could she do?

The days rolled by seamlessly. Tom and Reyna re-opened her family home, slowly tackling the gardens that had grown out of control while she was away over the summer. Orm continued working on various projects assigned by Tom along the coast. Reyna continued to cook for the two men, usually three or four nights a week. And it seemed as if, against his will, Orm was growing accustomed to the new rituals, helping her to bring her grocery bags in each evening and silently cleaning the kitchen alongside her after they’d finished. He seemed to enjoy her cooking, too, despite himself. And though she hadn’t managed much conversation with him, Stella had successfully gotten the man to smile late one evening as she attacked the ocean’s waves most ferociously. It lightened Reyna’s heart to see the progress, even if it was minute.

It was a quiet existence. One she welcomed after spending so much time in busy Florida. And it felt good to be back home…back in the loop, especially after so much had changed so rapidly.

But even in the quiet, Reyna grew anxious as they approached Arthur and Atlanna’s return date. The two had been in Atlantis, repairing the fractured bonds among the kingdoms and laying out the groundwork for a new foundation as Arthur took up the mantle of King. It was unsettling for Reyn. She’d always known what Arthur was. But now that his time had come, it was odd to think of her goofy, bumbley childhood friend as true royalty. Atlanna had lived in this house once before and had loved Tom and her parents. This life would not be unfamiliar to her. But what would Mera think? How drastic a change it must be to go from an underwater palace to a tiny lighthouse….

Setting down the dish she was drying, she felt emboldened.

“You must miss it very much. I can’t imagine this place compares, even in the slightest, to your home.”

“It does not.”

“What’s it like?” She asked without thinking, absentmindedly wiping another dinner plate dry as she dreamed of foreign lands.

Orm stopped his washing, staring out through the dark window before him. “Atlantis is a beacon of light amidst the crushing darkness that swells about this world. Her beauty is unparalleled. Her might, incomparable. Imagine a wealth of knowledge, the likes of which you have never seen….” He halted, remembering himself.

“Hmm,” She purred, despite herself. She’d indulged alongside Tom this time, cracking a bottle of Pinot Noir, and it left her feeling pliant and euphoric. “I do,” She admitted. “Quite often,” She set the plate down. “Worlds within worlds,” She murmured, peering up at the moon out the window. “If only I could breathe underwater….” She glanced back at him and smiled sadly. “But alas, nature does love her cruel irony.”

Orm frowned, searching her face.

“There’s enough left for you again tonight,” She stated, brushing by him, taking a page out of his book on detachment.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Baited and Bogged

Song List:
Lovely by Billie Eilish & Khalid
Rolling in On a Burning Tire by The Dead Weather
The Worst by Jhene Aiko
Only If for a Night by Florence + The Machine

The morning of Atlanna and Arthur’s return, Tom showed up at her house to drop off some more plants for the garden beds, whistling as though he were walking on sunshine. The two had spent the day before preparing the bedrooms and cleaning the Curry house, readying it for company. Reyna had made one of Arthur’s favorites. Ravioli from scratch, paired with homemade Italian bread, pressed sugar cookies, and, of course, beer. She had also acquired two bottles of a summery Sauvignon Blanc that she hoped would pair well with the meal. Though she didn’t know what Atlanteans preferred, Orm certainly hadn’t hinted at anything, she hoped it would be a hit.

Cooking was an art to her, a hobby. Her mother had gone to culinary school. Had obsessed over her recipes, carefully cultivating them in a secret journal Reyna had inherited after her passing. She’d wanted to open her own restaurant on the island. But the dream never came to fruition…

Cooking made Reyna feel close to her. And she definitely wanted to invoke her mother’s memory when meeting her best friend. Reyna wondered if Atlanna would recognize the food…

To further emblemize the connection, she decided to use her mother’s favorite cake plate to carry the pressed cookies she had made. So rarely did she have the opportunity to bring it about, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to dust it off.

It was a deep crimson color, beautiful and rich. A serving tray from the 80s, it was ruby red and thick. She’d place the cookies on its flat surface, covering them with a towel before readying them for transportation. Packing everything together in her truck, she prepared for the inevitable. With a big sigh, she coaxed Stella into the backseat and gathered herself for departure.

——

Orm had been given the day off to prepare. A preposterous presumption. He didn’t need any extra time to prepare. He had only what they had given him. So he was, naturally, as prepared as they desired him to be. He wore their clothes, he worked their jobs, and he lived within their accommodations. There was no preparing. There was only this….

Begrudgingly, he donned the shabby dark brown flannel Tom Curry had gifted him alongside the jeans. He hated the clothing here. But he would oblige. Today was one for concessions. And he needed to look as though he enjoyed them. So he wore the clothes and did not complain. Making his way toward the house, he arrived at precisely the same time as his mother and half-brother. Bitter and sweet. There was no sign of Mera.

Atlanna embraced him, kissing his cheek and cupping his face in her palms. “You look well, my darling,” She breathed, gazing into his eyes. “I hope you are enjoying it here.” Her eyes were shining from the sea as she gazed up at him in wonderment. Arthur disappeared into the house, careening up the steps like a wild animal. Though the noise grated at his nerves, he focused on what was right in front of him.

Seeing her again was still so new…

It made him feel….

Internally shaking himself, he offered her a curt nod. What else could he say to her? He was not meant for this world…But staring into her eyes, he felt he would do anything to make her happy.

Tom came barreling down the steps loudly and without the least bit of respectability. But his mother brightened at the sight of him, brushing by Orm to embrace the man as a lover would.

It sickened him.

Though he was meant to remain impassive, he could not help but glare over his shoulder. Alone, the odd man out, he was full of anger. Used to having armies and advisors available at a whim, he had not yet grown accustomed to the isolation.

He had just turned away from the house when her truck pulled into the drive.

Despite himself, he felt a subtle twinge of relief. Finally, a being of some sense had arrived. As she parked, he made his way over to the truck to help her with the bags as he always did, when everything went south.

As Reyna exited the vehicle, Stella hopped out behind her, and she smiled at him. His shoulders steadied. He told himself it was the dog that helped him relax. The dog was kind and sweet. The dog made him feel…better…about his current circumstances. The dog treated him like….

Suddenly, Arthur emerged out of nowhere. All brawn and no grace, he snatched Reyna up off the ground, spinning her around in his arms. She laughed loudly, returning his embrace and burying her face in his shoulder as he spun her.

Orm’s mood soured instantly.

Stella ignored Arthur, coming over to greet Orm. But Orm, having halted, did not even offer the dog a cursory glance as she sat beside him.

Perhaps it wasn’t the dog….

“Reyny!” He exclaimed, setting her down. “Where the hell have you been?” He demanded.

“Here,” She grinned. “I’m the responsible one, remember? I’ve been here feeding the old geezer and keeping an eye on things.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re the rogue. Off galavanting the seven seas.” She tsked.

He ignored her jibe, leaning through the car door to take the bags. “What did ya make anyway? I’m starving!”

“Your least favorites. Boiled liver, cabbage, and non-alcoholic beer!”

“Now I know your lying,” He grinned, snagging the bags with one arm and wrapping the other around Reyna, planting an aggressive kiss on her cheek. She beamed up at him, smiling joyously. She didn’t even notice Orm as they made their way up the steps to the house, which further embittered him.

Stella yipped at his side, looking up at him expectantly.

He glanced down at the creature, unamused, but patted her head before following them into the house.

——

Arthur’s arm was wrapped around her. Thank God. She needed his steadying presence. She was so nervous….

“Atlanna,” Tom relinquished her hands to come stand next to Reyn. “This is Reyna Avenell, Finn and Luna’s daughter.”

The Atlantean queen held out her hands as she approached, and Reyna met her embrace. “Oh, you look just like her,” She observed sadly, reaching up to touch her cheek.

“Thank you,” She smiled shyly.

“I’m so sorry, my darling. For your loss.”

Reyna nodded demurely.

“But I am glad you had Arthur and Tom. And I am glad they had you. For surely they would have been lost on their own,” She smiled.

“Oh, yes,” Reyn agreed, returning her smile. Atlanna’s gaze was piercing as she seemed to look into Reyna’s very soul. Absorbing every detail that she could. “It is truly wonderful to meet you. I heard so many stories about you growing up.”

“And I, you. I loved your mother as though she were my sister. Though I miss her deeply, I am thrilled to know her daughter.”

Reyna felt herself blush. “Yes,” She nodded, relinquishing Atlanna’s hands. “Well, I best go get started.”

Slipping away into the kitchen, she unpacked the bags Arthur had carried in for her. She needed a moment alone to think, to process. She placed the bottles of wine in the fridge, set a large pot of water to boil, and set the cookies out on the counter. One step at a time. Unemotional. As she moved through her tasks, she centered herself.

Not long after she had begun, Arthur entered the kitchen. “Beer is in the fridge,” She informed him. “Be sure to get your father one as well, and Orm. Though I do not believe he enjoys the flavor, the gesture would be well received.” She advised, carefully placing the handmade ravioli into the pot.

Arthur huffed. “Are you kidding? The ‘gesture’ would be completely lost on him. No need to waste good beer.”

Affixing him with a sinister glare, Arthur only shrugged. “You’re really not that scary, Reyn. I have my own personal sea monster, ya know?”

“Sea monster?” She asked, disbelieving.

“Oh yeah, helluva beast. Just ask Orm.” Arthur conceded as his half-brother entered the kitchen. “It’s a legendary creature. But it only talks to me. So.” He held up his arms in a grand shrug before receding.

“Is he serious?” She asked, looking alarmed.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Orm drawled, glowering after his half-brother.

“Oh. Huh.” She frowned, returning to her ministrations.

——

“May I assist you?” He asked, scrutinizing her.

“What?” She looked up, surprised.
“May I assist you…in any way?” He elaborated.

“Um…you—you could set the table?” She offered.

He nodded and began gathering the plates.

Dinner came together rather quickly. It didn’t take long for the meal to finish cooking, and Reyna, as usual, had taken care of everything. Orm, desperately needing to escape the nauseating diatribe that thrived between his mother and her second family, had sought refuge in the kitchen, and Reyna had obliged, though unwittingly.

Helping her set out the meal had been a welcome reprieve from the entrapping conversation that only baited him in the other room. There was so much Arthur didn’t know, and his mother had been gone so long that it was hard not to snap at the two as they discussed Atlantis’s fate and future. But that conversation could only be avoided for so long….

Dinner itself was fine. Arthur stuffed his face, shoveling food into his mouth like a harridan. Tom was much the same. His mother was more demure, as he would have expected from one of her station. But after the meal? As Reyna began to collect plates, Orm rose out of his chair to follow suit. To escape….

But he was too late.

Arthur commented on the relationship between Atlantis and the land dwellers. One that translated, to Orm, as an act of indifference. He was not doing enough to save the seas. And with that knowledge, his vision turned red with rage. Throwing the plate in his hand across the room, he heard it shatter as he roared at his half-brother. “How do you expect to enact any change when you cater to the flaccid rule of greedy men? The ocean boils, and you seek peace?” He spat, disgusted. “How can you sit here and claim to be a King yet do nothing to protect your people?”

Arthur rose out of his chair, ready to meet the challenge. “I fight for Atlantis. But a war with the surface would mean desolation for us all. We must negotiate peace now so we can work together to save the planet!”

“There is no peace with the surface!”

“Orm, please….” His mother reached out her hand, halting him. He was seething, he was angry, and Arthur was the same. The two glared at each…

“Reyna,” Tom’s voice broke the discord. “I’m so sorry.”

Orm turned.

Reyna was looking down at the shattered remains of the glass he had thrown, holding her hands over her heart. Confused, he furrowed his brow, observing Tom as he moved to comfort her.

“It’s all right,” She shook him off. But there were tears in her eyes.

“Oh, no, Reyna,” Arthur murmured, moving around the table to join his father.

“It was your mother’s….” Tom glanced at Orm accusingly. But Reyna didn’t look up. She simply gazed at the glass, wide-eyed with shock.

“I think I’m just going to step outside for a moment,” She informed the group, abruptly turning on her heel and vacating the premises.

“Oh, dear,” Atlanna fretted, peering at the shattered ruby glass. “You couldn’t have known,” She reminded Orm. But it did not matter. He could not take it back. And of all the people that stood before him, she had been the only one among them he hadn’t wanted to hurt.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: Naiad

Song List:
How You Remind Me by Nickelback
Ghost of Mine by Kailee Morgue
Power by Ellie Goulding
Do I Wanna Know? By Arctic Monkeys
I Belong to You by Muse

Reyn stood on the shore of the Atlantic, staring up at the moon, evaluating the distress in her heart, picking it apart little by little. The deconstruction was necessary. Without it, she’d crumble. She knew she ought to return to the house. Knew it was the polite and proper thing—but she just couldn’t. So instead, she lingered on the sand, breathing deeply of the sea air, missing her mother.

“My intent was not malicious,” His voice broke against the night, interrupting her stupor. “At least, not toward you.”

“I know,” She murmured, closing her eyes.

“I hurt you,” He surmised, standing beside her.

She didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t have known the significance of the glass. It was such a simple thing. Trifling, really….and yet….

“It belonged to my mother, it was one of her favorites.” She shared, returning her gaze to the sky. “And she’s dead. Not trapped somewhere, waiting to be rescued, but gone. Completely.” She couldn’t look at him, her eyes would be too accusing. “It was just a plate. But it was hers. And there aren’t many things of hers left.”

“I understand your meaning,” He conceded somberly. “And I regret causing you harm.”

“A difficult concession…for a King. I’m sure,” She murmured.

His lip twitched. “Perhaps.”

“May I admit something to you?” She asked, staring up at the stars scattered over the sea alongside him. Feeling, not for the first time, so lost. So unsure of the world and herself and her place in it. Alone. “If I had access to the kind of power you held…I—I believe I would have done the same as you. Life is so fragile and precious. And humans are so foolish. We waste…everything. Time, love, beauty, land, and sea….There will be no collective mass movement to save Earth. We will always be at odds. Someone has to step up. To intervene. I would choose to preserve life over morality. After all, it is a concept we created.”

He stilled in the moonlight, listening silently.

“At what point do we begin to hold ourselves accountable for what we’ve done to our world? We do not deserve mercy. We have not earned the right to hide behind the premise of morality. For when have we ever shown it to our planet?” She stopped suddenly; both horrified with herself and the world. She shouldn’t be saying these things, especially not to him. Grasping, she did her best to salvage her message, turning it back in a direction that seemed less like an instigation and more like a personal take. “I do not know how Arthur does it. I feel….I am full of rage. This planet burns, and so do I.” She dared a glance at him and found that he was staring straight at her. His gaze piercing. “I only mean, I do not blame you for how you acted just now.” She admitted. “Sometimes I feel so hopeless I think I will drown.”

——

He could not admit to her that her words had stirred something in him. She was a land dweller, yet she clearly saw what he knew to be true. He’d sensed from the beginning that she was different. She was kind. And though he held no hope for her species, she had made his confinement easier. She believed what he did. “The world needs more people in possession of a mind like yours.” He admitted in return.

“Likely, it still would not be enough,” She mused, sounding defeated.

She’d departed shortly afterward, offering half-hearted wishes for his pleasant dreams. Reminding him of her station. She was a serf….a peasant…and yet….he found himself watching her every step as she walked away from him. Captivated.

He did not sleep well that night.

Nor the next.

In the days that followed their starlit encounter, it was revealed that there was a second purpose for his brother’s visit aside from the obvious. Some marriage ceremony was to take place. And Arthur, the half-breed abomination, was heavily involved. As was Reyna. It was someone essential to Tom Curry and the family: some cousin or other. Orm could not have cared less. But everyone on the island was abuzz with the event. He, himself, had been sent on more than one bizarre task, preparing the renovated barn up the street for the imminent festivities. Flowers and garlands interrupted the rustic space, along with candles, lights, and plainly put-together tablescapes.

As he strolled through the complex, heading back toward the house, he reminisced on the opulence of Atlantis—the grand revelry and celebrations he hosted in the throne room and the intimate gatherings he held in his chambers. This was nothing like the pride of his people. This was small, insignificant, and pathetic.

He longed for a different time, a different place. All in the past now.

Someday, somehow, he would take it all back. He would rejoin his people—rule over Atlantis again. He would….

Orm halted in his tracks.

Reyna was sifting through flower arrangements just ahead, outside the Curry house, wearing a splendid gown of emerald green velvet. It rested low on her shoulders, revealing her clavicle and ample bosom, and there was a slit running up almost to her hip, hinting at the long, slender, porcelain legs hidden beneath the fabric.

Her hair cascaded down her back in long rivulets of dark curls, twining around her shoulders and framing her lovely face. She wore a crown of eucalyptus and flowers, giving her an ethereal look. Her appearance struck him so greatly that he believed if there were ever a worthy deity for these landlubbers to worship, she would look something like the goddess standing before him now. Unfortunately, they were too stupid and not at all creative enough to recognize true divinity even when she walked in their midst.

“Do we really have to do this?” Arthur asked, storming through the door and breaking the spell she cast about the yard. “I mean, come on….” He gestured toward his attire, which looked smothering for his half-brother, who preferred to parade around scantily clad at best.

“Not your day, not your decision.” Reyna chimed, pinning a flower to his lapel.

“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” He countered.
“Actually, it is your circus, and Steve is one of your monkeys. So buck up.” She chastised the King. Straightening his bow tie and dismissing him with a quick pat on the cheek. “Off with you.” She’d almost turned her attention back to the flowers when suddenly, she whirled. “And no drinking until after the ceremony,” She snapped, pointing a finger at him.

“No promises.”

“Promises aren’t necessary, as it will not happen.” She added brightly, turning her back on him once again.

As Arthur retreated, Orm descended, taking a closer look at the blossoming nymph just before him. She didn’t hear him as he approached, and he used the opportunity to his advantage, sweeping his gaze over her curves. Perfectly accentuated by the dress she wore. His gaze lingered a moment on her backside, and he found himself rubbing his jaw in appreciation. All things considered, she was quite comely for a land dweller. But still, a land dweller all the same.

However, of the lot of them, she was the kindest and the easiest….the weakest link in the chain…

A sinister thought struck him.

Reyna was kind to him—even considered him a tentative friend. If he could win her good graces, perhaps he could use her to find a way off this island and back to Atlantis….

He appraised his quarry with fresh eyes.

They would believe it if he behaved as though he returned her kindness, shedding his prejudice. If he played at progress. After all, how could anyone resist such a charming creature? And if his efforts failed, what was he really losing? Reyna was the only one among them whom he could stand—a win, win, as they so called it.

“May I assist you in any way?” He asked, standing tall, executing his ploy.

Reyna, startled, seeming surprised to see him.

It was true that there was no reason for him to linger. With all the joyous happenings, his duties were few and far between on this day. But idleness, to a King, was just as demeaning as menial labor. He had this excuse ready in case she queried, prepared to mask his true intention of pulling her under his thrall.

“No, I-I don’t believe so,” She stuttered, gathering the collection of flower bouquets she’d been fussing over.

“Please….Reyna,” He’d never said her name aloud before. It caught her attention, as he knew it would.

She blinked up at him, her large green, doe eyes scrutinizing him warily. “Actually, could I ask a personal favor of you?”

Perfect.

He offered her a curt nod.

“You can certainly say no if you are uncomfortable with…well….I…never mind…”

“What?” He asked flatly. Despite his plan, he was intrigued, and this irritated him. The always unflappable Reyna seemed to be flustered. That would not do. He needed to make her trust him.

“I just have this…sort of problem….”

“Do you always fumble with your speech this way when requesting aid?” He knew he was being harsh. But she needed to get to the point.

Taking his meaning, she held her head high and faced him. “I’m receiving untoward advances from a coworker I am not interested in courting. Get the picture?” She asked saltily.

“And you’d like me to dispatch him?”

“No!” She cried, dropping the flowers and holding her hands out between them as though she meant to halt him. “No,” She repeated, shaking her head and seeming startled. “I-I merely meant to propose a…well, he’s going to be at the wedding, you see, and when I show up alone….” Her shoulders sagged. “I likely won’t get a moment of peace. And I truly want to enjoy my friends. Would you mind attending with me? To keep him at bay?”

Her question startled him, but he did his best to remain composed. It was beneath him to attend such an event. Let alone with a peasant, which made this situation entirely too perfect. He could not have planned it better himself. He was an Atlantean, and Atlantean men were always gallant. Especially royalty. None among his bloodline had ever been known to refuse a woman in distress, no matter her station.

/Sheer perfection./

“In defense of your honor, I shall attend at your side.” He said with finality.

“Really?” She seemed surprised. This irritated him, and his face must have mirrored his emotion because she quickly moved on. “Thank you, truly….I’ll grab Arthur’s old suit. It should fit you just fine. You look to be about the same size…come on, Stella,” She called to the dog, leading her up to the Curry house.

The idea of wearing his brother’s suit displeased him greatly, but he did not argue. His new plot was hatching beautifully, and he was not about to spoil it so soon as its genesis stage. No matter how ridiculous he looked.

It was nothing like he was used to. The dark colors made him look washed out. The wrists were too tight. He preferred the leave the jacket and wear the white shirt only, but Reyna insisted he looked fine, so once again, he did as she bid, following her lead. It needed to be her idea—all of it, in order for him to come out smelling like a plumeria. He did, however, offer to carry the bouquets she carted. After all, Tom Curry himself had chastised Orm for his lack of chivalry. He wanted the snub to sting.

And it did.

Arthur looked dumbstruck at the sight of Orm in his suit next to the girl he’d grown up with. Tom Curry, too, looked shocked to see the pair. Especially after Atlanna had communicated her unease with joining the celebration, opting, instead, to stay home and look after Stella. While Reyna, Poseidon protect her, stood suctioned to his side like a starfish. He had to grind his teeth to keep from smiling at the victory.

This was what they wanted.

They wanted empathy. They wanted to transform Orm—to see him shed his prejudices against the land dwellers and outgrow his prideful behavior. Now look at him, lowering himself to attend their event, blending in perfectly with their family. Reyna, smiling prettily by his side.

It was /too good/.

If he were to so much as smile, he knew he’d give himself away. He had to look uncomfortable. To mask the pleasure their discomfort brought him. The change and the growth he employed were difficult. He had to look as though he were suffering through it. It helped that this place was….eclectic. And that was him being generous.

In reality?

The ceremony was horrid.

And the spectacle that followed?

Atrocious.

The music was even worse.

He had played his part dutifully—walking in with Reyna and sitting with her at the table. He’d picked at the food and glared at the people around them. Tom and Arthur continued to glance warily in his direction, though as the night progressed, they, along with the rest of the party, descended into a stupor of alcoholic indulgence.

They fell upon each other, all of them. Stumbling and writhing on the dance floor, spilling their drinks, and guffawing with a complete lack of decorum. The women shed their shoes and parts of their attire. The men, too, loosened their shirts and neckties. Descending into nothing more than a gyrating pack of wild animals grinding up against each other with drunken abandon.

Despicable.

The only thing that made it bearable was his plan—and, if he was honest with himself, Reyna’s presence.

Whomever this man was that had been a consistent bother had not approached them thus far, and Reyna was glowing, chattering animatedly with the other serfs at the table. Much to his surprise, she seemed to enjoy the sorry exhibition, which he found odd.

The music was grating.

The rituals baffling.

The flapping land dwellers held no grace or composure.

Nearly everyone was inebriated—swept up in the throes of madness.

What could possibly be so enjoyable about such an event?

The sharp jab of her blow in his side caused Orm to glower at her impertinence. But her nervous eyes caught him off guard. The green of her velvet gown, soft to the touch, brought out their divine color. They practically glittered in the wake of the scintillating candlelight.

“Reyna—hey! Reyna!”

She looked pleadingly up at him as though she were desperate. But slowly, she turned to acknowledge the interloper, her dark curls shifting about her shoulders. Orm suddenly had the strangest urge to reach out and capture one of the silky locks between his fingers….

“Oh, hello, Bradley.”

“What are you doing still sitting!” The man exclaimed, teetering on his feet. Intoxicated. Just like all the rest of them. He wore a black suit, and his dark hair was slicked back and stiff. A piece of green vegetable was stuck in his teeth as he smiled at Reyna, who seemed to shrink beneath his gaze. The few friends she had quickly fled the table, sprinting barefoot out onto the dance floor.

“I was visiting—”

“Pretty girl like you should be out on the dance floor! Come on!”

——

Brad snagged her forearm, attempting to drag her away. Reyna stiffened under his grasp, leaning slightly toward Orm.

“I don’t believe we have been introduced.” Orm’s tone was low and menacing as his fingers encircled the man’s wrist, prying his fingers from Reyn’s dress sleeve. “I am Orm. Reyna’s escort for the evening.”

The man released his hold on Reyna, who scooted her chair closer to Orm. She had to admit it was strange seeing him in a suit after so many days in Tom and Arthur’s hand-me-down flannels and Carhartt shirts. The formal attire was unnerving.

“Orm, this is Brad. He works with me at the lab….” She informed her stolid attendant, who offered Brad a cutting glare.

‘Works with’ was a loose term. They were in completely different departments, entirely different buildings, and had little in common with their day-to-day machinations. Despite this, Brad always found ways to run into her and disrupt her work. He’d asked her out nearly a dozen times since she’d returned to the island. It wasn’t a new phenomenon, per se. She’d interned at the lab every summer through college. They’d known each other for years. He’d been sweet in his attentions at first. But after a time, Reyna had begun to dread their interactions.

“Really? You don’t seem like Reyny’s type…” Brad stated, looking Orm up and down, his expression incredulous, as though he didn’t believe it. He quirked a brow, and Reyna felt her cheeks heat at the obvious perusal of the pair.

Orm bristled but, to Reyn’s surprise, gently took her hand in his….

“I believe Brad is correct. A beautiful woman like yourself should have taken to the floor by now.” His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood, glaring menacingly at Brad, who shrank as Orm towered over him, not attempting in any way to hide his evident distaste for the adversary. “Shall we?” He drawled, turning his piercing gaze onto her.

Reyn felt frozen, though his hand was warm and steadying. Her heart fluttered, and she resisted the urge to gulp loudly from nerves. Had his eyes always been that blue?

It was at that precise moment that Reyna realized she was dancing with a devil. Arthur’s adversary. The enemy of her people….

A warrior.

A /King/.

And he had never seemed more truly menacing than he did at that moment, turning the full might of his denigration for her species against poor, unassuming Brad.

But as he pulled her from her chair and led her out toward the dance floor, his warrior’s prowess promptly vanished. A fish out of water, he glanced around nervously. “Reyna, I do not know how to move properly.” He admitted, stiffening under the scrutinizing and bewildered gazes of his half-brother and Tom. He looked nervous and uncomfortable, glancing at the door as if he sought to retreat.

It was the second time he’d used her name. And it felt…wrong….

“That’s all right, I’m actually not feeling so well. I think I’ll call it a night,” She lied, taking his hint and skirting through the crowd toward the back exit.

The night air was cool and misty. The venue was right on the water. The stars and the moon were out of sight, but the waves lapped languidly against the shore, filling the air with the smell of salt.

Orm breathed deeply as they escaped the party, and Reyn suddenly felt very small and out of place at his side. He was a King, and she was—just Reyna. A small town orphan—a nobody….

She shook her head, quietly chastising herself. And what was wrong with that exactly? She liked her island life. She liked being Reyna, independent, curious, and simple. Perhaps she’d had too much wine?

“Thank you,” She finally managed as she approached the dark forest path that led back to her family's cottage. “For rescuing me. Brad can be quite overbearing when he’s had too much to drink.”

Orm was silent but continued to walk beside her as she approached the trail.

“Well, I suppose I will see you later—”

“I will escort you home,” He said with finality.

“I’ll be fine—”

“I /will/ escort you home.” He repeated, almost growling at her.

She peeked up at him, unsettled by his ire and insistence, just in time to see a muscle tick in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, staring straight ahead into the night. It was probably best not to argue with him, though she was still tempted too. This was her home. This island was her place. A place he viewed with derision. She was more than fine….

“Reyn?” Brad stumbled through the bright doors of the renovated farmhouse, calling after her as he tripped over his feet in their direction.

Orm glowered after the man, gently but firmly grasping her arm and directing her toward the trail.

“Have a good night!” She called over her shoulder, quickly following after him.

“Hey, wait up!” He called, but they were already hurrying through the trees.

“Does that cretin know where you dwell?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“And everyone in town is as drunk as a sailor on leave…” He grumbled, trudging forward. “Best get you back quickly. Before we’re accosted once more by your flagrant admirer.”

The way he spoke, it almost sounded as though he were chastising her. As though she had done something to attract his unwanted affections.

“I have never given Brad a reason to pursue me.” She snapped, storming ahead.

“Well, perhaps you should have selected a less revealing garment—”

Reyna rounded on Orm, prepared to slap him. He must have seen the fire in her eyes, for he fell silent, his lips forming a grim line upon his face.

“I didn’t choose the dress. The bride did. And it would not matter if I had walked naked across the sand before him. Unless I gave consent, he has no right to me. Perhaps things are different where you are from, but up here, no means NO. And a woman should not have to say it more than once!”

His lips parted, making a ‘puh’ sound at her words, while his brows narrowed.

Orm Marius, the former King of Atlantis and Ocean Master of the Seven Seas stared at her—dumbstruck. Reyna thought she might as well have slapped him based on his reaction. His eyes roamed over her face as though he were searching for something.

Reyna’s cheeks reddened under his scrutiny in the wake of her insolence. But she held her position. There was no turning back now.

“I think it’s time you returned to your shack, your /highness/.” She added saucily, turning on her heel and flouncing away. She didn’t know what possessed her. Perhaps, the wine was to blame, or perhaps it was simply that she liked this dress. The velvet green fabric was divine. The low neckline and long sleeves made her feel like a woodland fairy—made her feel powerful and bold. Or perhaps it was all those nights of cooking, caring, and kind words. Or that, despite his position on land dwellers, he’d protected her with his actions but then turned around and accused her with his words. She couldn’t make any sense of it. Was he an angel? Or was he a devil? An enemy or a friend?

They believed in the same things.

Hell, she even agreed with his position.

But he wanted to hurt her family….

Except, tonight, he seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being.

He grasped her arm, roughly pulling her back.

“I told you,” He snarled, staring down at her. “I’m taking you home.” It was a King’s order. But he was not the King of anything here.

“Let go of me!” Reyna protested, attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. But he was too strong, his grip too firm. She was like a fish caught on a line, helplessly ensnared.

“Don’t you ever listen?” He snapped, hauling her along the trail.

Having had enough, Reyna changed tactics, choosing instead to push the great oaf with her free hand. Shoving with all her might, she managed to budge him an inch before he caught her second wrist and—laughed.

Reyna froze, gaping up at him.

He was….laughing?

“Really, Reyna, I think you’ve had too much wine.” He was smiling as he spoke, smiling at her.

“I—I did not!” She insisted.

“I could incapacitate you in a second, and you still thought to take me on?”

Orm loosened his grip, and Reyna seized her opportunity, wrenching her hand from his grasp. Victory! She was free—

Orm snatched her waist and tossed her over his shoulder. “Orm!” She cried out, pressing her palms against his back as she attempted to break free again. He strode along the path toward her house, his braw arm trapping her legs to his chest. Reyna clutched at her flower crown, attempting to hold it in place as they went along. “Put me down!” She cried.

“This is you’re own doing, Reyna,” There was laughter in his voice as he chastised her. “Your aversion to my authority has forced me to take drastic measures.”

“What authority?” She demanded, still squirming.

Suddenly, he flipped her. She squeaked as she landed in his arms, face to face. Her right hand grasped his shoulder while her left clung to the fabric of his shirt, just over his heart.

“I may not be a King anymore. But I am still a man of honor. I will see you home safely.” He smiled softly then, allowing his amusement to reign unchecked. The lightness of his mood gave her whiplash. But he so rarely offered the gift of his smile. She felt she could not rob him of it now.

Placated, she rolled her eyes. “You could at least put me down,” She grumbled.

“I don’t think so. You haven’t quite learned your lesson just yet.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Land Locked

Song List:
Nature Boy by David Bowie
Eyes On Fire by Blue Foundation
In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins
Addicted to Love by Florence + The Machine

As Orm held Reyna in his arms, walking through the dark forest, he contemplated the fine Atlantean women he had known at court. All his life, none of them had spoken to him the way she had on this night. None of them had the gall nor the tongue to give him such a lashing with so little remorse. He found it rather thrilling….

But still, unacceptable.

He carried her the rest of the way to her family home. It was easy to find, even in the dark. He walked the trails between the properties often on his downtime and had visited the house more than once on errands for Tom Curry. It was…quaint. Perfect for a little woodland nymph like her.

The porch light glowed desperately against the night, illuminating the small house and its chaotic gardens, brimming with flowers. Music from the party drifted through the wood, contaminating the magic of her little cottage. But as he crossed the threshold with Reyna still settled in his arms, thunder rumbled overhead.

As he set her down on her feet, a gaggle of squealing women careened from the path, heading up the street. Their dresses billowed out behind them as they ran. Drunken men chased after them. All seemed delighted as they headed for cover, attempting to evade the impending summer storm. Lightning forked across the sky, threatening the tempest brewing about the island.

“You didn’t eat much at the wedding. Are you hungry?” Reyna asked, flicking on the electric lights.

Yes.

“The food was less than adequate. Unlike yours.”

She frowned. “Is that a yes?”

“I…”

The downpour interrupted them, drenching the lawn and filling the air with the sound of thunder and pattering rain. As he gazed out at the street, a few party stragglers ran by. One of them paused. Orm recognized his dark hair and greasy complexion: Brad. He gazed at the house, at Orm standing in the doorway. He took a step forward just as Orm shut him out, laying his claim.

/Reyna belongs to me now./

He needed her to get back to Atlantis—to convince Arthur and Tom Curry to gift him back his freedom. The least he could do was shut down her unwanted admirer in return.

——

She offered him food despite herself. Tossing a meager selection of raw vegetables in a glass container paired with hummus and a few cheeses, she sealed the lid, glowering in his direction. She ought to poison the hummus….or at least slip a little laxative in to teach him a lesson. Of course, she never would. Reyna wasn’t capable of such deception. Nor such cruelty. But she’d never been so manhandled before. It left her feeling…nettled.

He had no authority over her. But he /thought/ he did, which was worse. It meant he thought he could make decisions on her behalf, that he believed he knew what was best for her.

He strode confidently through the small hall, heading her off in the kitchen just in time for her to thrust the container into his hands. “I’m sure you can find your way back from here.” She informed him icily.

Orm smirked, seeming amused by her ire.

“Reyna! Hey, Reyna!” Brad called, hammering his fist against the door.

Orm shook his head. “I don’t believe I will be going anywhere tonight.”

Reyn stiffened as he returned the container to her and stalked back to the entryway.

“Look, I don’t know who you think you arrre—” Brad slurred, swaying on his feet, pointing an accusing finger at Orm. “But Reyny’s a nice girl. She doesn’ need—”

Orm snatched Brad’s collar, pulling him through the door frame. “I can assure you, I know exactly what she needs. And it’s not you.” He tossed him back out into the rain and slammed the door once again. “I don’t believe we have seen the last of him. Is there someone you could alert to come and retrieve him?”

Reyn shook her head. “All of our friends were at the wedding. If they aren’t with him now, they’re likely just as far gone.”

“As I said, I do not believe I will be going anywhere. I shall stand watch by the door until the morning.”

“That’s not necessary, Brad would never—” Brad might….

Orm raised a pitying brow. “Do not be so naive, Reyna. I offer protection. Accept it.”

He was being ridiculous. This was her home. And he was—well him. Attempting to reason with him, she tried a different angle—a battle of wits. “You say it is naive of me to reject your protection against Brad, a man I know. But what about you? There is a saying amongst my people to always choose the devil you know over the one you don’t. By your logic, wouldn’t it also be naive of me to trust you? A stranger—a man hell-bent on annihilating my people? Am I not just trading one danger for another? Are all men not the same?”

“I am a King, little nymph. You would beg me for what I have to offer well before I ever considered taking you against your will.”

Reyn did her best to stay composed, despite the brazen comment. “I highly doubt that, your highness.” Yet, as she scurried away to fetch a set of linens to make up the couch, she found that she very much so believed him.

——

Reyna’s living room was far more comfortable than the smuggler’s shack. The couch was small but soft, and the room was meticulously kept and beautifully decorated. Despite his comfort, Orm had no intention of sleeping. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling and listened to the rainfall, carefully gauging the passage of time. Brad had yet to return. But it did not matter. Being here was enough, was gallant. When Reyna told Arthur and Tom Curry how he defended her honor, it would be another small victory for Orm Marius, rightful ruler of Atlantis.

As the rain intensified, he threw off his covers and began researching his prey. Having stripped off his suit, he wore only the undershorts that the men of the land donned beneath their clothing. Stealing through the house nearly as naked as Arthur so frequently preferred to be. Unlike his half-brother, Orm did not sport a single tattoo or embellishment, nor did he approve of others seeing him in such a vulnerable state. Of course, a wife would be different if he were ever to take one. But all else should see him only as regal, as the King he was meant to be.

He spent the next hour sifting through Reyna’s belongings. Attempting to learn more about her likes and dislikes, any information that could endear her and the others to him further. Any inside knowledge to help him infiltrate their ranks and gain their trust.

There wasn’t much. He perused photo albums, discovering pictures of Reyna working at different wildlife sanctuaries around the world, smiling with animals in her arms, or dutifully attending to their needs, cleaning, healing, and caring for all manner of creatures, both of the land and sea. He found what appeared to be an old, hand-written cookbook, letters from distant relatives, books on a variety of subjects, and a number of useless artifacts—nothing of note.

Eventually, his search led him up to the second floor. To where /she/ was sleeping soundly.

There was only one bedroom and one small bathroom—nothing much to find, aside from the treasure that was /her/. He approached the doorframe, his Atlantean eyes having no trouble seeing through the darkness.

She lay on her stomach. One leg kicked up over a heap of blankets; the other stretched across the mattress. Her hair was cast in a halo of brown curls about her head. One arm covered her mouth, while the other disappeared beneath the pillows and sheets. She wore a set of fine silks—pearlescent shorts, and a slim top that barely covered her beautiful skin. It was unseemly, salacious, wanton…But why would she need to cover up in this place? This was her sanctuary. Her sleeping chamber.

A man possessed, her sleeping figure lured him deeper into the room until he stood over her, watching the slight rise and fall of her chest as she dreamed pleasantly, safe in her bed.

Safe from all but him.

He reached his hand out and trapped a brown curl between his fingers, marveling at her soft beauty. He wanted to touch more….

Blood pooled at his groin against his will, and he released the lock of dark hair, clenching his fist at his lack of control. He was no better than that cretin Brad.

Stalking quietly from the room, he returned to the couch.

Power complexes were a tricky thing. Orm had always known this. He was a King, a man of royal blood, the commander of the world’s mightiest army. Everything he ever wanted came easily to him: wealth, women, power, knowledge. This was a strange time. No longer did he possess all he had amassed as King of Atlantis, yet still, he knew these things would come. Whether or not he had been overthrown, the women of his realm would still desire him. The people, if given the choice, would still choose him. The wealth, by right, still belonged to him, and the knowledge he still possessed. He was elevated. Enlightened. There were so many things he could show the woodland nymph dozing just above him. But it was a difficult gambit to maintain. For she did not know she ought to desire it—or him. He had to lead her to that conclusion. He had to show her the way.

——

Reyna woke up the next morning to the sound of shouting.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Arthur demanded.

“I would advise you to speak softly, Reyna is still asleep,” Orm informed him acerbically.

Oh no.

Throwing the sheets aside, Reyn launched from her bed and raced from the room, sprinting down the stairs and into the living room.

Arthur was seething. His eyes were full of fire as he stood nose-to-nose with Orm, who, despite the proximity, seemed quite relaxed. He was wearing his suit pants but, otherwise, was shirtless. Reyna felt herself blush violently at the sight of the two men, suddenly realizing how this all must look to her pseudo-brother. Orm, shirtless in her home, while she slept comfortably upstairs…

“If you so much as laid a hand on her, I swear to God!”

“Arthur!” She cried, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “This really isn’t necessary…”

“You wanna explain to me what he’s doing here? Cause you’ve got about three seconds until my fists start flying.”

Orm smiled, seeming pleased with this development. “I’d like that very much, your excellency.”

“Oh, you better pray to Poseidon, little brother, 'cause I’m about to kick your ass!”

“I asked Orm to attend the wedding with me so Brad would leave me alone!” Reyna shouted over the fountain of testosterone flooding the room.

“Brad? Brad Hinckley is bothering you?” Arthur frowned, disbelieving.

She nodded.

“And you didn’t think to ask me for help on this? I’ve known Brad since we were kids. I could knock some sense into him, no problem!”

“You were a little busy drinking yourself under the table, /brother/. Can you truly blame her for seeking aid elsewhere?” Orm sneered.

“Keep your mouth shut, Brad’s a good dude. He would never—”

“Drunkenly stalk Reyna back to her home and bang his fists on her door in the middle of the night in search of her company?”

That shut him up. Arthur blinked, looking between the two of them. “Uh…”

“He stayed because I was afraid he would come back. Brad has been a problem for a while now, Arthur. He’s not the boy you used to know. He’s a lonely man now.” She informed him.

“One who happens to have his lecherous eyes on Reyn.” Orm used her nickname as though they were familiar. Arthur bristled.

“He slept on the couch and kept an eye out after walking me home. That’s all.”

“Well, she also made me dinner.” He added smugly.

Reyna glowered at him but did not argue. It was an overstatement, but disagreeing with him now would only raise suspicions.

After a moment, Arthur seemed to accept their story. “I’m gonna talk to Brad, find out his side of the story.”

“Good,” Orm exclaimed. “I think you should. Someone needs to diffuse the situation. Else I fear I may be sleeping on Reyna’s couch indefinitely. Or perhaps, I should mete out justice the Atlantean way…”

“All right, that’s enough, lads.” Tom emerged, ever the voice of reason. “Thank you, Orm, for looking after Reyna. But your services are no longer required. Best get back to the house. There is much to do today. Arthur and I will take it from here.”

Orm clenched his fists but nodded dutifully to his superior. Casting his eyes down as he snatched his white shirt and jacket, he headed toward the door. But as he brushed by Reyna, his eyes met hers, and they promised something sinister as he departed.

“Reyna, what’s all this about Brad? Why haven’t you said anything until now?” Tom asked.

Her shoulders slumped. “I—I’ve said no so many times. I just kept hoping he’d give up, but yesterday, I just—I wanted a day where I didn’t have to worry about it. And Orm asked if there was anything he could help me with, and it just struck me, so I told him about Brad. He didn’t seem too happy with the request, but he agreed to go, and it worked at first. However, I—I fear his presence only made things worse. Brad became…possessive, forcing Orm to step in. If he hadn’t been here, I shudder to think what might have happened. I think I’m a little scared…” She admitted.

Tom pulled her in for a hug. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I wish you had come to me sooner. We could have saved you some trouble. Maybe you should come and stay with us for a little while. Until we figure all of this out.”

“Actually, I think I have a better idea…”

——

“We’re moving you out of the smuggler’s shack,” Tom informed him as he hauled bags of stone for the new drip edge around the lighthouse. He rested a fresh bag on his shoulder, carrying it to where the new line was fated to lay. As the bag fell heavily to the ground, he surveyed Tom with what he hoped was a skeptical look before returning to the truck to retrieve another.

“See, I talked to Brad, and he denied everything you and Reyna said.”

Orm stiffened, releasing the plastic and turning to face him. Did this peasant think to question his integrity?

“I know.” Tom conceded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “This is a small island. Word travels fast. It makes sense that he would try to cover his tracks. Brad’s an islander. He grew up here. A lotta folks will go to bat for him if push comes to shove.”

Orm stepped forward, enraged—

“Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do at this point. He hasn’t really done anything wrong. And it’s yours and Reyna’s word against his.”

“Do you not believe we would—”

“I do believe you, son. I believe my Reyna, first and foremost. She’s not one to launch a complaint like that without due cause. I’m just glad you were there to prevent something worse from happening. Don’t know what I would have done…don’t even wanna think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been there, in her corner, lookin’ out for her.”

Orm’s rage dissipated.

“The smuggler’s shack is—we shouldn’t have put you there to begin with. For that, I apologize. I—Reyna wasn’t here, and I didn’t know you well. Didn’t want you staying at the house. But now, you’ve got some options. You can stay at the shack if you’d like, or you can stay at the house if you’d like. But Reyna has a carriage house on her property. Her parents used to rent it out to travelers. It’s been empty for a time, but it’s enough for one person, and it’s in much better shape than the shack.”

And?

“The choice is yours, but it would be nice knowing there was another person on the property looking out for her, especially with Brad lurking about.”

Orm was silent, regarding the man with apprehension.

“Just something to think about….” He offered, striding away. “But for the record, Reyna has already prepped the space for you.” He called over his shoulder.

Orm’s lips quirked in a smile. Of course, she had…

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Red Dusk

Song List:
Let Me Down Slowly by Alec Benjamin
Demons by Imagine Dragons
I Will Not Bow by Breaking Benjamin
Headstrong by Trapt
Monsters by Shinedown

Orm strode up to the house, carting his pack and the jacket Tom had gifted him. Having already seen positive results from his ploy, he felt, for the first time in months, hopeful. This progress was a victory, and his boon? Nicer accommodations and closer proximity to the object of his fascination and the subject of his stratagem.

Stella raced down the garden path, jumping up to greet him with a joyous yip and a soft lick as he approached the front steps. The door was open, so he let himself in, exuding an air of familiarity and entitlement—one befitting a King.

If he kept up his ruse, there was more success to be had. Arthur was returning to Atlantis, but his mother planned to take time off to spend with Tom Curry and take measure of Orm’s evolution. They were meant to have one last dinner together before his departure. Then, the bastard would go, and Orm might find a bit of peace, along with some time to reacquaint himself with his mother. If he could get a moment alone with her, perhaps he could convince her to see reason. To see that he was the better choice, the pure blood, the true born Atlantean warrior. He knew what was best for his people. For the world. If they would only step aside and allow him to do what was necessary….

But he knew it would not be that easy.

Charm had never been his strong suit. But then again, it had never been necessary. As King, he did not need to be charming. He needed to be powerful, strong, and commanding. However, now, he would need to find a way to employ that quality, attracting his fate, tempting Reyna, and enticing his mother to free him.

Having been promised to Mera at a young age, he’d never bothered at learning the art of seducing women. His wife had been selected for him, and if he needed to slake his desire, he had a selection of inconsequentials to choose from—women of loose morals and pliant legs. Though betrothed, he was still a man with needs and desires of his own.

That was probably the most dangerous aspect of his plan. He needed to befriend Reyna, trick her into trusting him, perhaps sway her heart toward him, but he could /never/ touch her. If he besmirched her honor in any way, not even his mother could save him from Arthur’s wrath. This he knew with utmost certainty. So how to tread that line? How to keep her on his hook and lure her to him while withholding physical affection? He could weaponize Arthur’s prejudice against him. But then she might entreat the harridan to allow them to be together, which would only end in disaster. It would either harken Arthur’s rage or imprison Orm in an entirely different cage, tethering him to this island forever. On second thought, perhaps Arthur would be amenable to such a pairing…

There was much to consider.

Still scheming, he entered the house. Reyna was in the living room, reading as soft piano music played in the background. She snapped her book closed as he cleared his throat, stowing it away under a pillow before rising to her feet.

Orm narrowed his eyes. Odd. But telling…

/What are you hiding, little nymph?/

“Don’t stop on my account.” He purred, raking his gaze over her attire. She wore a cropped grey T-shirt and dark sweatpants. Her mid-drift was showing, offering him a view of her navel and slim waist. Inappropriate garb for addressing a King. “It’s nice to know that at least some of you people actually read.” He added sneeringly, not wanting to be too obvious in his curiosity. He’d uncover what she was reading later and why exactly she had attempted to hide it.

She folded her hands behind her back and looked down at the floor, blushing. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a fluff piece.” She revealed shyly, skirting around him without meeting his eyes. “It’s this way. Um, I don’t know if Tom told you, but it’s the barn. Renovated into an in-law suite by the previous owners. It’s small, but it’ll do the trick. I should tell you it’s attached to the main house. We can keep the door open or keep it blocked off…”

“Probably best we keep the door open for now, with your rogue admirer on the loose.”

“Right.” She blushed again.

“Are you always so easily affected by male attention?”

The color in her face deepened, and she glanced away, seeming embarrassed. “Only when they're overly forward. Or rude.” She snapped, him clearly being the latter.

Orm smirked, playing with that line. “You are correct, I have yet to thank you for rescuing me from the dreadful lodgings your people so kindly set aside for my continued incarceration.”

Reyna’s eyes softened as pity washed over her expression.

/That’s right, little nymph, feel for me, sympathize with my plight. Offer me your comfort…./

“I’m sorry, I should have offered sooner, but you make me a little nervous.” She admitted.

“As I should. I am a King.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Mhmm.”

Line lost.

“Well, your /highness/,” She addressed him sarcastically. “The kitchen is stocked. There are fresh linens in the loft and hot water available in the shower. You should clean up before dinner. You smell like a rotting fish.”

Orm blinked, caught off guard by her comment. In all his days, no one had ever likened him to a rotting fish. Nor did he think he had ever been accused of foul smell. Collecting himself, he sought the line again. “Is there a place where I might deposit my soiled clothing so I do not spread my filth throughout your charming home?”

/Come on little nymph, bite for me again. Take the bait…./

“The laundry room is just through there….”

——

Orm dropped his jacket and bag and pulled his shirt over his head. Entering the small room to which Reyna had gestured. As he emerged from the doorway, he caught her bewildered expression before sauntering out of the room, offering her a full view of his rippling pectorals and muscled arms.

/Oh my…./

Reyna bit her lip.

/Look away, Reyn, look away…/

Shamelessly, she did not. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared into the carriage house without gracing her so much as a second glance.

She exhaled slowly, shaking her head. Reyna was never one to give in to her base desires. But it had been quite a while since she’d last had a man in her life, and the pickens were slim on the island. She rubbed her clavicle, attempting to calm her raging hormones as she made her way back to the living room, intent on retrieving and then once again hiding the romance novel she had been devouring when Orm had walked through the door, audacity on and in full. He hadn’t even bothered to knock. Then again, they were roommates now…so she supposed he didn’t really have to.

Rushing up the steps, she stashed her book beneath her pillows and began dressing for dinner. She settled on a soft, over-large white sweater and black leggings paired with black combat-styled boots. Pinning her hair up with a claw clip, she surveyed her reflection. Comfortable, yet stylish. The perfect ensemble for a family dinner.

Stella watched her with riveted eyes from the bed, panting and smiling all the while.

“What are you looking at, crazy girl?” She asked, patting her head and planting a kiss on her nose. As she looked up, she noted the time. “Oh, shoot, we’re gonna be late!” She whispered, calling to the dog as she raced down the stairs. Orm was waiting in the kitchen, staring out the window with a look of revulsion. “What is it?” Reyna asked, concerned.

“The aligerous creatures are squawking loudly. It is disturbing to my ears.”

“Aligerous—do you mean the songbirds?” She asked, looking out the window alongside him. “Oh, crows. Yes, I supposed their call can be quite grating. They’re very intelligent creatures, though.”

“Your interpretation of ‘very intelligent’ vastly differs from mine.”

/Oh, this is going to be fun…./

Reyna twirled her fingers around a loose curl, feeling the full weight of her decision. Perhaps she had been rash in offering to house him. Tom had found him to be insufferable. And Reyna was beginning to see why.

“Okay,” She said slowly, turning away from him. “We’d better get going.”

Orm was silent on the ride over to the Curry house. Reyna could understand why. There were many different facets to consider when it came to Orm’s feelings: his resurrected mother and her favor of Arthur and her second family over his father, the conflicting politics, Arthur usurping the throne, Orm’s imprisonment….the list went on and on.

She was beginning to feel that this dinner was a recipe for disaster, but Atlanna had insisted. Desiring to have her two sons together with her for one night, her family in its entirety, before Arthur’s departure. No one wanted the brothers to make amends more than Atlanna, though, for the safety of her family, Reyna, too, hoped for the best.

As she parked, Stella wagged her tail excitedly in the back seat. Orm’s expression remained impassive as he exited the vehicle, but Reyna grew nervous. Twirling a lock of hair absent-mindedly between her fingers, she followed his lead up the stairs. Thinking of everything that could go wrong….

Orm halted in his tracks, and Reyna, not watching where she was going, ran smack into him. “Oof,” she shook her head, startled. Orm glanced over his shoulder, offering her a stern look, before turning his attention back to the room. She peaked around him just in time to see what had caught his eye….

“Mera.”

“Orm.”

“Arthur!” The King shouted his own name, smiling broadly as he spoofed on the tense reunion. Mera glowered at him. “And Reyna!” He exclaimed as she sidled around Orm. “You know, we already have a door, little brother. No need to stand in for it.” He commented, slapping Orm’s arm before enveloping Reyna in a bear hug. She caught sight of his killing glare as Arthur tossed her into the fray. “Mera, this is my little sis, Reyna.”

“I’m adopted, I swear.” She revealed, swatting his hand away as he attempted to mess up her hair.

Mera’s expression transformed from one of annoyance to amusement, and she laughed musically. “It is pleasant to meet you, Reyna. I have heard a great deal about you.” She held her hand out for a shake but retracted it before Reyna could meet the gesture.

“No, Mera, you’re supposed to shake it. Like this,” Arthur grasped her hand in his and demonstrated.

“Oh, I see.” She offered Reyna her hand again. Now it was her turn to laugh.

“It is nice to meet you as well, Mera. I look forward to hearing more about the sea and your life at Atlantis. It truly seems like a fantastical place.”

“Oh, well, you should come see it sometime,” Mera suggested, smiling brightly.

“Really? Is that even possible?” Excitement bloomed in her chest at the thought. No one had told her that was a possibility!

“Ah, I don’t know about that,” Arthur said, interrupting her reverie.

“Why not?” Mera and Reyna asked in unison.

“It’s too dangerous,” Arthur informed them, rubbing the back of his head. “Maybe when things are more settled….”

“Why would it be dangerous, brother?” Orm asked. “Is Atlantis not safe for land dwellers? Are her people not settled under their new rule?”

“Actually, it’s the depth I’m concerned about. Reyna is a purebred landlubber. The journey would probably kill her. We’d have to do some test runs to ensure it was safe, and right now, there are far more pressing things to deal with.”

“Oh,” Reyna stuttered, looking between the two men. She hadn’t thought of that. Though Arthur had carefully avoided Orm’s calculated questions, answering honestly but evasively, the former King was not appeased. Orm’s jaw clenched, and his blue eyes were murderous as he glared at his older brother.

Mera stepped forward threateningly, reading his body language. Orm smiled slightly, clearly welcoming the challenge.

“Oh good, we’re all here now!” Atlanna chimed, floating into the room. Her long, silver hair trailed down her back. It was a strange contrast to the Carhartt button-up and denim jeans she wore. Tom followed after her.

“Hey, Reyny,” He crossed the room, hugging her with one arm and kissing the side of her head while Atlanna greeted her youngest son. Reyna watched as Orm’s eyes roved over her face, taking in every detail.

The high-pitched wail of the kitchen timer interrupted their reunion, bringing them back to the present.

“Oh, that’s the fish!” Atlanna exclaimed, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Orm made to follow her, but Tom stopped him. “Now, let’s get something straight. This dinner means a lot to your mother. I want everyone in this room to be on their best behavior. For tonight, no politics. No grudges. No fighting. For Atlanna.”

Arthur nodded. “For Mum.”

Mera canted her head, conveying her agreement.

“Can you do that, son?” Tom asked Orm.

“I am not your son,” Orm growled.

“It’s a figure of speech,” Tom revealed, sipping his beer. “Reyna, can you—handle him?”

Orm bristled, and Reyna blushed. Handle him? “Not likely.”

Orm’s piercing ocean eyes settled on her, but she looked away.

——

Reyna would not meet his gaze. He knew why.

His rage was palpable. Intoxicating. His wrath in chains. Imprisoned. And they wanted him to keep quiet?

The skies burned. The ocean boiled. Atlantean children were set to inherit a deadly world—a sea filled with the waste of the land dwellers, poisoned waters, and scorching tides. How could he do nothing?

He ground his teeth as Tom Curry and the others receded. But he could not will his feet to move toward the table. He could not bear to dine with so many useless, flaccid—

A gentle hand alighted on his arm, calling him back….

“You are used to immediate responses to your will. When you see injustice, you seek to correct it. You seek a clear path. But think of what it is you hope to achieve. What good will provoking him do? It will only alienate you and push him further from your perspective.” Her green eyes were beseeching as she gazed up at him, enrapturing. “Why is it you are here?” She asked.

“It is a punishment.”

“No,” She smiled. “It is to learn. To discover the same thing your mother did. To learn what they both already know. To co-exist.”

“To co-exist,” He repeated, playing with the line again. Her eyes captured his, and he felt his fingers entwining with hers. He wanted to touch her….

Reyna stepped back, releasing his hold. “Try to practice patience,” She advised. “Subtlety is an art, and it would do a world of good to practice. You might find more success in your endeavors with it in your arsenal.”

She backed into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the entryway.

He tilted his head to the side. Who, exactly, was hunting who?

His prey had placated him. But it did not anger him. Rather, he found her train of thought to be highly intelligent. And fairly—helpful….

Slowly, he joined the rest of the party at the table, sitting between his mother and Reyna. He cast her a sidelong glance, and she smiled encouragingly. He frowned. He was supposed to be enthralling her, not the other way around…

“All right, everyone, dig in!”

The food was favorable. Comparable to some of the dishes he used to dine on in Atlantis. Yet hybridized to accommodate the land dwellers.

Arthur and Mera chattered about the weather while Atlanna regaled stories of her and Tom’s recent adventures. Reyna remained silent, soaking it all in. Orm found himself glancing at her repeatedly, gauging her reaction to certain tellings. She seemed happy.

He knew her mother, Luna Avenell, had been a friend to Atlanna. And that she, along with Reyna’s father, had died years ago, leaving Reyna’s fate in the hands of Tom Curry. But aside from that, he did not know much else about her history. He reasoned it would be advantageous to inquire of her, to ask her about her childhood. She might find that charming, caring even. Sometime when they were alone. When they could engage in intimate conversation controlled solely by him.

“I am so sad to see you go, my darling,” Atlanna murmured to Arthur as they stood in the doorway.

Dinner was finished. The plates had been cleared. Reyna was chatting quietly with Mera as his mother and brother said their farewells. Orm eavesdropped, unable to help himself.

“Well, the Lost Kingdom ain’t gonna find itself.”

“The Lost Kingdom,” Orm exclaimed, surprised. “You waste your time chasing fairy tales while our planet encroaches upon a mass extinction?”

Atlanna reached a hand out to console him, but he brushed her aside.

“Well, it’s relevant…”

Orm was disgusted. This was what they had been working towards all this time? Not tending to the existing population that he ruled. Not attempting to save the seven seas or negotiate peace and action with the land dwellers, but—the Lost Kingdom? It was too much. It was heinous—a gross misuse and abuse of power. “My,” Orm hissed. “How far the crown has fallen.”

“Be careful, little brother, you forget your place.”

“As you forget yours. You swore to serve the throne—to protect the people of Atlantis. Yet here you are, already seeking to expand your empire. Leaving your people to fend for themselves in the wake of your ignorance!”

“What would you know of it? You have no idea what’s happening in the world right now—”

“You’ve made sure of that, haven’t you, or at least you’ve tried. But it doesn’t matter. Without any present context, I would still do a better job than you.”

Arthur swung first.

That was all that mattered.

Orm launched into action, snatching him by the collar of his shirt and shoving him through the door. They flew down the stairs, locked in combat, heading toward the shore. The two grappled with each other, both teeming with rage and resentment. Fists flew as they battled in the sand, drawing blood and bargaining in childhood traumas—opposing lessons and differing opinions.

Orm could hear his mother calling for them to stop, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He wanted blood. Retribution for all he had lost. He threw Arthur to the ground and rounded his fist back to pummel his face as a blast of salt water assaulted him, knocking him to the wayside.

Mera stood on the shore, commanding the seas to separate them. But Arthur was as wild as he was and would not be stopped. He tackled Orm and laid into him with the ferocity of a man possessed, bloodying his face and bruising his skin. Blow after blow, he landed without an ounce of mercy to spare until Mera and Atlanna dragged him away.

“You should have killed me!” Orm roared, soaked in fury and spewing his rage like a creature of the Ring of Fire.

Then he saw her…

Reyna’s hands covered her mouth as she beheld him, and her eyes were full of—fear.

It was too much.

Turning on his heel, he stormed across the sand—intent on putting as much distance between himself and the Curry family as possible.

——

“Orm!” Reyna raced down the steps, chasing after the blood-soaked man when Arthur snagged her arm.

“Don’t. He’s unstable. He needs to cool off.”

“He’s not unstable, Arthur. He cares about his people and about this planet. He wants to help, and you’ve imprisoned him. How did you expect him to behave? Did you think he would be grateful? That he would see you as anything other than a threat?”

“Reyna….” He warned, glaring down at her with his amber eyes.

“Why did you bring him here if you were only going to subject him to physical labor?” She asked, shaking her head. “Don’t you want him to love the land? Don’t you want him to evolve?” She asked incredulously. “All you’ve shown him is pain. You have not allowed him to fall in love with the surface world.”

“Oh, and you think you can do better?”

“I know I can.”

“She’s right, Arthur.” Atlanna intervened. “What we are doing now is not working. We aren’t reaching him. And we must. We must learn to bridge this gap. For if we cannot win Orm, we cannot win the people of Atlantis. He is but one man. But he exemplifies the minds of his people. We must find a way to show him what you and I know to be true.”

Arthur frowned at his mother. Then looked back to Reyna. “I don’t trust him.”

“I know. But I do.”

He released her arm, his eyes full of emotion. “Be safe, sis.”

She smiled slightly, then nodded before taking off down the beach after him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Shallows

Song List:
Speak Up by POP ETC
Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish
Silhouette by Ellie Goulding and Active Child
I’m With You by Avril Lavigne

He could hear her labored breathing as she caught up to him, but he was beyond reproach.

“Orm, wait—”

He did not. Nor did he deign to acknowledge the urchin as she scrambled over the sand behind him.

/Go away, little nymph, before I do something I’ll regret…/

He clenched his fists. The surest way to hurt Arthur would be to seize one he loved…

Grinding his teeth, he brushed her aside as she attempted to block his path. But she was persistent, jumping in front of him again and flattening her palms against his chest, skidding in the sand. “Just—wait—a second—” She demanded, huffing with frustration. Her dark curls fell around her face, framing her emerald eyes as she glared at him.

“What do you want, Reyna?” He snapped.

“To go for a ride.…”

——

Reyna led Orm toward the town dock, about a quarter mile up the beach from the lighthouse.

The former King was on edge, stalking after her and utterly brimming with rancor. She knew what he thought of her—she was beneath him. The same as all land dwellers. The same as Arthur and Tom Curry. Though she seemed to amuse him, and he tolerated her better than the others, he still regarded her as unworthy of his time or attention, which was a problem. A big one. Considering he was supposed to be unlearning the prejudice he inherited from his father.

He seemed to have made some progress, but only with her, and it was minuscule at best. But then again, Tom and Arthur kept Orm on such a tight leash that it was a wonder he’d even made it that far. It gave her hope—and an idea.

She was breaking the rules. But it didn’t matter. This would work. She /knew/ it would work. It /had/ to work. Pulling her keys out of her pocket, she selected the set for Tom’s fishing boat.

“Come on,” She called over her shoulder as she hurried down the wooden dock, gesturing for Orm to follow.

His eyes widened excitedly as he glanced at the soft waves lapping against the shore. “This goes against the terms of my detention.” He informed her.

“I know.”

“I could escape,” He warned her.

“Sure,” She agreed. “But Arthur would find you, and you’d spoil your chances at making a difference. Or does that not matter to you anymore?” She asked poignantly. “I also don’t think you would be informing me of that possibility if you actually planned to do so. You would simply go along quietly, would you not?” She countered. Still, it was a risk. She glanced back uneasily, attempting to read him.

Purple and blue bruises were already blooming along his cut jaw and under his eye. Dried blood dripped from his nose and the corner of his mouth. His blonde hair was tussled and sandy as he glared down at her fiercely. But he did not argue with her. Tension rolled off him in waves as he gazed out to sea, no doubt hungry for the home he so longed to see…

Reyna climbed onto the boat and approached the steering wheel, waiting for him to follow. Hesitantly, he obliged, staring at the red September sunset as it sank in the sky. They didn’t have much daylight left. But Reyna hoped it would be enough for what she had planned. Revving the engine to life, she pushed the throttle, and they took off toward open water.

——

Wind rushed, and water sprayed as they raced along. Orm closed his eyes, allowing the salty smell of the ocean to envelop him. Leaning over the side of the craft, he dipped his fingers beneath the surf, desperate for a touch…a taste…a—

The boat slowed, and he opened his eyes.

They’d only been riding for about fifteen minutes before Reyna began steering them toward a crescent-shaped sandy cove nestled along the coast of a small island. A cluster of seals raised their heads to inspect them as they approached while gulls and seabirds cried out overhead, alerting the lands and skies to their arrival. The sun burned as it sank, casting a pink glow across the sands and sea.

Nirvana.

Reyna shut off the engine and dropped the small anchor. The wind tussled her hair as she worked. He observed her every movement with suspicion. Why had she brought him here? What did she hope to achieve? Certainly not to free him, though, if he chose to flee, there was nothing she could do to stop him.

/Kings don’t flee./ He chastised himself, feeling a twinge of shame. This is where his destiny had led him. He would not run from it. No matter how it enraged him. After all, he’d agreed to these terms for his mother, with the hope that he would somehow find his way back to his rightful place on the throne.

He was Ocean Master. He was the Sea. It belonged to him…

He dove.

Without permission or preamble.

The sweet chill of the Atlantic wrapped him up in her icy embrace. A symphony of sensations he had long craved sang against his skin as his lungs filled with salt water. Down into the depths, he sank, taking in the sight of the bioluminescence all around him. Large crabs and lobsters, schools of fish, and seals swam in the murky abyss.

Life.

Home.

Ocean….

Imbibed with the strength and might of the seven seas, he felt instantly invigorated—restored to his former glory. Though he did not carry his trident or bear his armor, he was mighty. He was King!

Reyna had been a fool to bring him here. She had marooned herself on the open seas. Her boat could not escape him, and Arthur would never reach them in time if he decided to take her, hold her hostage in exchange for the crown. There were so many ways in which he could use her to his advantage, so many bases he could drag her to that Arthur knew nothing about. They’d be helpless but to surrender. And Orm was not alone. He still had allies. His people would rally behind him, the pure blood, the one true heir! Whether or not Atlan had chosen Arthur, whether or not he commanded the Trench or wielded the legendary trident….

Or convened with the Karathen.

Or held the support of their mother and Mera, the kingdoms of Xebel and the Fisherman….

Orm sighed, and his shoulders sagged.

He could not.

All of the teachings of his people pointed to Arthur. /To Arthur./

It was heresy to reject them. It was blasphemous to reject /him/. Yet it vexed Orm so deeply he felt his blood boiling in his veins—willing things to be different.

Why hadn’t it been him?

He clenched his fists, burned by Atlantis, betrayed by his ancestors. Then a thought struck him…

Maybe it still could be him….

Maybe this was all a test….

/Subtlety is an art, and it would do a world of good to practice. You might find more success in your endeavors with it in your arsenal./

His lips twisted into a sinister smile. /Oh, little nymph, you are far more valuable than you appear./

Atlan was teaching him a lesson. Orm was a fool to think it would be easy. He knew better than anyone that leading was hard, and you could not become the greatest without ample effort. Everything had come naturally to him all his life. It had inflated his ego. He could admit that. But now—now, he needed to evolve.

Glancing back up toward the surface, he took in the sight of Reyna’s shadow as she peered into the water after him—a veil between worlds. No doubt, concerned that he had fled.

Rising through the water, he studied her lovely face as her eyes roamed across the dark surface. But she could not see through the depths as he could. She leaned over the boat, reaching her hand down to touch the surface, and Orm smiled.

The surface dwellers told legends of sirens and selkies, mermaids, and nymphs—beautiful women of the water who would steal men away into the depths, rescuing them from their menial lives with their ethereal beauty and enchanting song. But Atlanteans knew the truth. Men were as rigid and unchanging as wood. Unable to adjust, to progress. No, in Atlantean lore, it was the /women/ they stole from the surface. Never the men. They held no value. But the women of the land were as malleable and fluid as water, able to harbor life in the ocean of their wombs, able to transform under the thrall of Atlantean dominance.

In ancient times, many a highborn Atlantean had stolen a bride from the surface world. Often, it was easier than dealing with the political hoops one had to swim through to acquire a highborn Atlantean woman in marriage. And the land dwellers, once they transitioned, were easier to manage. However, his ancestors had disbanded the practice centuries ago as their population swelled and the world modernized, polluting the seas. Disscontempt was rife, and violence followed in the wake of these transitions. It became dangerous to house a former land dweller. Many sought to punish them for the wrongs they wrought upon the water.

But perhaps it was time to bring back the old tradition…

What would Arthur think if Orm claimed Reyna as his own? If he followed in their mother's footsteps and finished what they had started.

If Atlan’s will was a union between land and sea, he could provide one more pure than Atlanna or Arthur ever could. He could do it better, for he was not afraid to make the hard decisions. He would not waste time chasing after the Lost Kingdom, no. He would protect Atlantis. Protect the seas and the future of their race. He could unite the land and the sea—he could be worthy of Atlan’s trident….

——

Reyna gazed down at the water, searching for movement beneath the soft waves. But she saw nothing. Had he truly gone? She leaned forward, intent on getting a closer look when suddenly, he emerged. His nose nearly brushed against hers as she shot back, startled by the sight of his piercing blue eyes and arrogant smile.

“Feel better, then?” She asked, stifling a sigh of relief. She hadn’t actually believed he’d run. Not really….

“Do you swim, Reyna Avenell?”

Heart racing, she smiled at her success. His rage had dissipated, and his mood was calmer. “Only in the shallows.” She informed him. “I’ve always harbored a very healthy respect for deep waters. And I would never deign to swim in the presence of an Atlantean King, I’d only make a fool of myself.”

“Even Arthur?” He asked.

She laughed. “Yes, Orm. Even Arthur. He’s tortured me far too many times in the past.”

“I would not treat you so harshly, little nymph.”

Little nymph. He’d called her that once before. It gave her goosebumps. As his eyes captured hers, she felt herself leaning toward the water, actually considering joining him. His mouth slanted in a fell grin, and her pulse quickened as her mind rebelled against his pull. But his eyes were so blue, so deep….

Entranced, her hand dipped below the water's surface, and Orm’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, slowly pulling her further….

A jolt of fear coursed through her, like the feeling of falling in a dream, snapping her out of her stupor. She blinked, quickly yanking her hand from the water and rubbing her temple, attempting to shake off whatever spell had befallen her.

The water was cold as frost. It wasn’t safe….

“I couldn’t,” She stammered, finding her voice once again. “My lips would turn blue in an instant.”

“What?”

“The water is too cold, I would freeze.” She revealed.

“A pity,” He murmured, gazing up at her with a look so scorching it felt like a touch.

Orm disappeared beneath the surface again, swimming under the boat. Reyna raced to the other side, following his movements, but he was gone again. She sighed, abandoning her attempt to keep watch. Instead, she flipped on the boat speaker, and Speak Up by POP ETC flooded the air. She leaned back, gazing at the sun as it kissed the horizon. Suddenly, a giant splash of water sprayed up over the side of the boat. Reyna barely had enough time to cover her head as the burst soaked her sweater. Gasping against the cold, she whipped around to see Orm smiling wickedly from the water. He laughed at the sight of her bewildered expression, and as she attempted to squeeze some of the water from the sodden fabric, she, too, laughed.

“That was not very gallant, your highness.” She chided, shaking her hands.

“It is your people who claim that chivalry is dead,” He countered, smirking.

“Even still, one assumes more courtesy of a King.”

“Well, I am no longer a King. Which means I am no longer beholden to my former valor.” He surmised, sending another splash her way. This time, Reyna embraced his assault, charging toward the edge of the boat and splashing him in return.

“Retaliation is futile, land dweller, I breathe water—”

She splashed him again mid-sentence, and he narrowed his eyes, no doubt plotting his revenge. But a cloud passed over the sun, dimming the light, and Reyna looked up nervously.

“What is it?” Orm asked, sensing her unease.

“The sun has nearly set,” She observed. “We’d better get back. It will be dark soon, and it’s not safe to navigate then.”

“I can navigate if you’d like. I’ll be able to see.” He revealed.

Logically, she knew Atlanteans were different. Their eyes were accustomed to seeing in the dark, while their bodies could withstand extreme temperatures and pressures. But still, it was strange.

“Oh, well, do you know how to drive?”

He did not.

But that didn’t stop them.

——

They spent the next half an hour on the boat, Reyna teaching Orm how to operate the controls and steer them back to shore. Even in the dark, he could make out the small expanse of dock from whence they had come. He followed her direction, picking up the machinism easily. The controls were rudimentary, and he was a fast learner. Trained from an early age to use far more complex modes of transportation than this. But though juvenile, the boat was…enjoyable. The star-speckled sky was magnificent to behold. The wind caressed his skin, and the water smelled euphoric.

Somehow, Reyna had known exactly what he needed. She’d reinvigorated him. He felt strong, energized, committed to the task at hand. He may not have known what Atlan’s plan was. But he knew the direction in which fate was pushing Atlantis.

/Your father taught you that there were two worlds. He was wrong. The land and the sea are one./

He turned back to look at Reyna, gazing up at the stars in wonder. Beautiful in a way he had never known. A falling star painted the sky with its dazzling trail, and she pointed overhead. “Did you see it?” She exclaimed. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She mused, resting her arms on the side of the boat and sighing in ecstasy.

/Easily excited, aren’t you, little nymph? Oh, the things I could show you…./

“Yes,” He murmured, staring at her. “It is.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Cold Snap

Song List:
This Love (Will Be Your Downfall) by Ellie Goulding
Blue by Madison Beer
Long and Lost by Florence + The Machine

By the time they arrived back at the dock, Reyna had fallen asleep. As Orm approached her, he noted that her lips had, in fact, turned a shade of blue. Alighting his palm upon her arm, he felt the temperature of her skin—ice cold. “Reyna?” He shook her slightly, concerned.

“Hm?”

“Your lips are as you said.”

“What now?” She asked, shivering.

“They have turned blue. Are you unwell?”

She sat up quickly, shivering slightly. “Oh, I—I’ll be fine. Just need a w-warm sh-shower.” She informed him.

Orm frowned. Were land dwellers truly so fragile that a mere splash of water could affect them so? Pathetic. So weak, and yet their effect on the planet was so far-reaching. How did such a breed of humanity accomplish such feats?

He turned, watching her approach the edge of the boat. His irritation born anew.

But, wracked with tremors, Reyna slipped as she stepped off the boat and onto the dock. “Whoops,” She murmured, righting herself.

But it was enough.

Orm clenched his fists, reacting instinctually, like the gallant royal he was raised to be. It was both duty and guilt that dictated his next movements. Never mind his derision toward her species, he could not tolerate her suffering. Never had he been responsible for a woman’s physical ailment. It was intolerable.

Reaching for her waist, he quickly lifted her off the ground and into his arms.

Reyna squirmed weakly in protest, but she was shivering so violently that it was no use. “A-again with the-the l-lifting—Whooaaa,” She sighed, relaxing against him. “You-you’re r-really warmmm…” Her eyes slid closed as she pressed her cheek to the sodden fabric of his shirt.

He scowled down at her, perturbed by her familiarity. It was one thing to accept his assistance. It was another thing entirely to—to…

Water clung to the tips of her long, dark lashes, and her curls, heavy with salt water, morphed into long waves, framing her pale face. The color of her lips was intriguing, now nearly purple from the cold. His grip tightened instinctually as he stared down at her.

/Atlan help me….what is happening?/

A mere hour ago, he had been plotting to steal her away to the watery deep. To hold her hostage for the crown. But looking down on her serene face, he knew with the utmost certainty that he could never hurt the creature he carried in his arms. She’d only ever been kind to him. Only ever acted to ease his suffering.

He had been surrounded by enemies, trapped on the surface world, and forced to give up all he held dear. But Reyna? She had made the weight of his failure a little easier to bear. And he had plotted against her—unwittingly harmed her…

Orm quickly strode off in the direction of the cottage. It wasn’t far from here—barely a five-minute walk. He hurried along the trail through the woods, heading for the street that would lead to Reyna’s home. He did his best not to jostle her too much along the way. At one point, she nuzzled her face against him, clutching the fabric of his shirt in her small hand. Desperate for warmth.

It did something strange and constricting to his chest.

He didn’t like it.

It made him…feel.…

Uncomfortable.

Finally, the cottage came into view, and he bound up the steps. But as his fingers gripped the knob, he found the door was locked.

“Reyna,” He murmured in her ear. “Where is the key?”

“Hmm?” She blinked up at him, bleary-eyed.

“We are back at the house. The door is locked.”

Reyna looked around, seeming dazed. Glancing up at Orm, she seemed to realize her predicament.

“You’re lips are no longer purple.” He noted, gazing down at her.

She stiffened. “Yeah, well, you’re…extremely warm,” She exclaimed, pushing against his chest.

He dropped her.

The second she was released from his grasp, she began to shiver with renewed fervor. “Good grief,” She exclaimed, shaking like a leaf.

“The keys?” He asked, raising a quizzical brow.

“Yes, yeah….I have those….” She pulled them from her pocket. But as she fixed the house key to the lock, her fingers trembled so she could not slip the shaft into the hole. Orm frowned down at her, his concern renewed, then steadied her hand with his. As their skin touched, she sighed softly, then jerked her hand away. “Sorry,” She stammered, clutching her fist, still shaking. “I’m v-very cold.”

As they entered the house, Reyna raced up the steps toward the second-floor bathroom. Locking the door behind her, she immediately turned on the shower.

Orm stood at the bottom of the stairs, noting her flustered demeanor. So far, his ploy was working. Reyna was unnerved by his presence—as she should have been from the beginning. But though he had her under his thrall, she consistently responded in an opposing manner to what he would have expected. Most females, yes, would have sighed at his touch, but they certainly would not have recoiled from it as she did.

/Nor would they continue to hold my fascination as she does./

This was Atlan’s doing.

As Orm gazed up the stairs, the last pieces of his plan fell into place. He knew what he had to do.

——

/Seven missed calls./

From TOM.

“Shit,” Reyna hissed, snatching up the device and turning her back to the vanity. She sat on the ground with her knees pressed up, quickly dialing him back.

“Reyna? What happened? I’ve been trying to reach you for nearly an hour!” Tom shouted over the phone. “You have no idea how worried I’ve been.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m fine. Really. Everything is fine.”

“Where did you guys disappear off to?”

“Don’t be angry,” She warned him.

“Reyna,” He growled, /angry/.

She sighed. “I took Orm out on the boat. To Sunset Cove.”

“Reyna.” She could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Do you have any idea what kind of danger you put yourself in by taking him off island? What kind of danger you put Arthur in?”

“Tom, Arthur is already in danger. If Mera and Atlanna hadn’t gotten involved on the beach, they likely would have killed each other!” She hissed into the phone. “What you’re doing is not working. We have to try a different approach, a more compassionate approach! Do you think you’re the only one that wants to keep Arthur safe? No. So do I, and winning Orm is essential to that endeavor. He knows more about Atlantis than anyone. He knows what Arthur is up against. He has a wealth of knowledge we could all benefit from. If he were to…see things our way and…accept Arthur as King…he could help keep him safer than we ever could. Plus, it would be one less enemy to worry about.”

Tom sighed. “I admire your optimism, Reyna, but I don’t see Orm switching sides anytime soon.”

“Have you said that to Atlanna?”

“Not in so many words,” He admitted.

“She hasn’t given up. Neither have I.”

“So, what is it you are proposing, Reyn storm?”

She chewed her lip. She hadn’t exactly contrived a fully formed proposal. But she did have a rough idea of what they could try. “You let him off at four daily, and I get his evenings. I’ll play tour guide. Show him the island and all of its treasures. Autumn is right around the corner. No one can resist that. He’ll be sympathetic to the land in no time.”

Tom sighed again. “I’ll talk to Atlanna.”

“She’ll agree.”

“Fine,” He conceded. “But be careful. He’s taken an interest in you. That is as much a good thing as it is a bad one. Perhaps having him move into the carriage house was not smart.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a man, Reyn—one who’s been without women for a while and is used to getting what he wants when he wants it.”

/I am a King, little nymph. You would beg me for what I have to offer well before I ever considered taking you against your will./

“I believe he is too proud for what you are insinuating.”

“You think no man has ever misconstrued a woman’s actions in favor of his desire? Perception Reyna. It’s all relative. Just think of Brad, and you’ve got the picture.”

Maybe he was right….

She glanced toward the bathroom door, feeling slightly nauseous. Had she thrown herself to the wolves? 

Yes.

Did she have a choice?

No.

When it came to her family, she did not compromise. She’d already lost too much. She wouldn’t lose them, too.

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: Freshwater Fernweh

Song List:
Queen of Peace by Florence + The Machine
Medusa by Kailee Morgue
Wish I Stayed by Ellie Goulding

Reyna was sitting in the backseat of her parents’ car as they bumped along the dirt road, headed for home. The night was dark and cold, the road slick from rain. She rested her head against the window, tired. She saw her mother in the front seat, smiling at her father as he reached across the center console to hold her hand. They stared into each others’ eyes, full of love—

The car lurched as something heavy struck Reyna’s door, knocking them off the road. Her father slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. The car flipped, tumbling down the steep incline toward the cliff.

Reyna’s hair floated up around her head as her mother screamed, and the airbags detonated. Then they were falling. The sickening sensation filled her stomach, consuming her completely. But she did not scream. They slammed against the surf, and everything slowed. Her mother fell silent. Her father stilled. Water overcame the windows, swallowing them as they sank lower and lower….

The glass began to crack.

“Momma?” Reyna called weakly.

But her parents did not move. Slumped in their seats, her father’s head rested against the steering wheel. His eyes were open, and there was blood dripping from his temple.

Metal groaned as pressure built, and water began spurting through the doors, filling the vehicle. Reyna strained against her seat belt, but she was trapped, and her head hurt….

Suddenly, a window burst, then another, and another, and the car flooded with salt water. Reyna barely had time to panic as the cold enveloped her. Numbing her body against the pain and fear.

She was dying. Drowning. Following her parents in death as they sank to the bottom of the ocean….

Time fractured as her lungs filled and her limbs floated. Darkness shrouded her sight as her vision tunneled and her memories fragmented.

Strong arms grasped her.

Her back hit the ground.

Someone was punching her chest over and over and over…..

She coughed, retching water as she struggled to breathe.

“Reyna!” A familiar voice cried.

She cracked open her eyes.

Arthur Curry was staring down at her, panting and terrified. His amber eyes were brimming with fear, and his dark curls were soaked with water.

“Reyna, can you hear me?”

“Arthur?”

Reyna surged up out of bed, clutching at her chest. Stella was beside her, whining softly and licking her hand.

“Good girl, good girl,” She murmured, stroking her fur. Reyna laid back down, and Stella climbed onto her chest, pressing her weight down over her pounding heart. She rested her nose near Reyna’s neck and settled in. Reyn ran her fingers through the dog’s silky fur, working to calm her breathing.

Stella was the second therapy dog Reyna had acquired over the years. However, as she got older, she needed less assistance. The nightmares were still common enough. The memory of the car crash, her parents’ deaths, and her near drowning still plagued her. Likely, it would for the rest of her life. The panic attacks were few and far between. She hadn’t fainted in years. Though, when she was young, spells of anxiety would possess her so that they would render her utterly useless. Eating away at hours and days of her young life.

Tapping the screen of her phone, she checked the time. Three in the morning. Too late for a glass of wine but too early to get up for work. She sighed. Sleep would not return for some time. She needed a distraction.

Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the romance novel she’d read nearly a dozen times. It was her favorite. And it did the trick when she needed to relax…or release….

She could always lose herself in these types of books. Let the world and her worries disappear as she dreamt of love, life, and rugged men harboring unhealthy obsessions with the women they coveted…

——

“You’re done for the day,” Tom informed him.

Orm hesitated. This was the fourth day in a row that Tom Curry had released him early.

“Go on, I’m sure Reyna’s got the afternoon all mapped out.”

And the fourth day in a row that Reyna Avenell had forced him to trek across the island with her.

His little nymph thought she was so clever. Forcing him to pursue hobbies and peruse nature…

After they had returned to the cottage, their first night together had been rather uneventful. Reyna had disappeared to her chamber, and after eavesdropping on her conversation with Tom, Orm had done the same.

It was touching—Tom Curry’s concern for his adopted daughter. But he had nothing to worry about. Orm had no intention of besmirching Reyna’s honor. And he had decided against kidnapping her for his own gain—for the time being.

Instead, he sought to collect her as an ally. To make her see his side of things. To convince her to go willingly. Already, her opinions were in line with his—her objective was synonymous with what he sought to achieve. And what was more—she desired to see Atlantis. Though Arthur refused her, he would not. Together, they could unite their two worlds. She would bind Arthur to him. If she chose Orm, Arthur would be forever compromised. Beholden through her favor, as Orm was to Arthur, through their mother’s. Irrevocably tied.

Yes, Reyna’s allegiance was everything. It was the first step. The only way for him to regain some semblance of power and autonomy. He could not move against Arthur without hurting his mother, and he could not take back what was rightfully his without challenging Arthur. His only option was to balance the scales and continue moving from there. Winning Reyna would gain their trust and allow him access to their inner circle, where he could wreak havoc, sew dissension, and slowly work to reestablish his influence. He would have to be clever, cunning, charming, and cutthroat. Undermining the bastard little by little. Until the opportunity arose to remove the welp from the throne in a peaceful transition of power. One his mother could not deny. He /was/ the rightful heir. He /could/ evolve. Atlan wanted a union between the land and sea? Orm was prepared to give him one. So, his objective was two-fold: remove Arthur from power, follow Atlan’s will.

The details would come with time. But Reyna was essential to his success.

Orm shook his head. Shamed by how far he had fallen. Depending upon the opinions of a female and a land dweller to fuel his insurrection. Yet, as he left the lighthouse, he found himself looking forward to what she had in store….

Over the course of the last few days, Reyna had led him over mountaintops and through fields of green. One evening, they watched the sun descend along the beach, and on another, they picnicked along the banks of a lily pond. The majesty of the land was on full display as the sweltering summer heat finally broke. He likened his enjoyment of these excursions to the agreeable weather. The land was more pleasing to behold when the air was not so scorching.

In the evenings, he continued his study of Reyna and her people.

She had an expansive selection of works within her home, which he devoured every night. Reading up on their culture, their biology, their nature, their politics…anything he could get his hands on. He also continued canvassing her life.

He’d discovered that the book she was hiding was highly explicit in nature—a romance. He couldn’t help but smirk as he read the most sinful passages.

/Sultry little nymph, what are you doing with such unsuitable reading material?/

Slowly, he’d slid it back beneath her pillow as she slumbered. Continuing his perusal of her personal effects. Stella had watched him carefully, tilting her head from side to side as he moved through the space, but she never made a sound.

/Trusting little beast./

Sifting through her drawers and inspecting her photographs, Reyna never stirred, not even when he brushed his fingers against her porcelain skin as if caught in a trance.

He learned much. About her, about her people, and about himself.

Mainly—it had been too long since his last lay—and he was /hungry/.

More and more frequently, he found his eyes straying to Reyna, perusing her form, dreaming of her supple lips, imagining how her body would give way to his. How she might sound in the throes of passion….

Clearly, she, too, was needing. Or else, she would not be reading such salacious material. He knew with utmost certainty that he could quench her desires, and she his. Many times over. But it was not to be born…

The last thing he found, the piece of information that ended his search, was a newspaper clipping.

| Finn and Luna Avenell Drown in Tragic Car Wreck |

/Drowned….?/

| Finn and Luna Avenell, beloved community members, are survived by their daughter Reyna Avenell, who was pulled from the wreckage late in the evening on November 9th by local hero Arthur Curry, who will accept an award for his bravery later this week.… |

Reyna….

This was a problem. He’d thought on it extensively over the past days. Though she did not seem to fear the water expressly, he knew it might pose more difficult than he originally thought to sway her to his cause. To convince her to take to the watery deep by his side as his ally. It may take more than aligning opinions to shake her allegiance. It was one thing to pull her under his dominion. To enthrall her with his power and purpose. But would it be enough—would her unrequited fascination with him be enough to spur her to arms? Or would he be forced to rely on something far more ancient and unpredictable….

“I love paddle boarding,” Reyna exclaimed happily. “I think you will, too!”

Orm did not disagree. He had tolerated every excursion they had taken thus far. Likely, this one would be equally as bearable as the rest.

Love.

A strange power to wield. Difficult to control. Incalculable in its capacity. Could he weaponize it?

Stella jumped and wiggled excitedly as Orm loaded the devices into the back of Reyna’s truck. He smiled at the ridiculous creature as she wagged her tail, dancing before him.

“Come on. Up!” Reyna told her, opening the door to the back seat.

Stella obliged, and Reyna scratched behind her ear before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“We aren’t going far. The lake is just up the way.”

Orm offered her a curt nod before joining her in the truck.

The days since Reyna’s intervention had been easier. She truly thought she was making a difference. And she was. Just not in the way she thought. Orm had never believed that the surface was an ugly place. The land was an irrevocable part of the Earth—part of his history. It was the scourge of humanity he did not like. She was not changing that. She was, however, inspiring him to believe that under the right leader, her people might evolve—rally, even. That a union between land and sea was achievable. It was what Atlan decreed. It was what his mother hoped for him to see. And it was what Reyna was slowly showing him.

“It’s about balance,” She informed him after they’d slapped their boards down upon the water. Stella sat patiently at the front of Reyna’s board as she paddled circles around Orm, who was unsteady on the rocky device. “Find your center. You’re a warrior. It shouldn’t be too hard.” She teased, grinning at him.

Orm glowered but continued trying. Stella gifted him a bark of encouragement but otherwise remained still, staring up at her master with her mismatched eyes.

They were alone on the lake as the world descended into shades of purple and yellow. Beautiful and serene. Loons called out on the breeze. The air smelled crisp, like change….

“May I swim?” He asked.

“Of course…”

——

As Orm disappeared beneath the water's surface, Reyna lowered herself into a sitting position, gazing up at the sun setting in the sky. She loved this island. It was so beautiful and dear to her. It was becoming harder and harder to leave it behind as the years rolled by. And with everything happening with her family, Tom and Arthur, Atlanna and Orm, Atlantis….it was probably best that she put down roots.

The night air was cool, touched by autumn, but still warm for this time. The leaves had already begun to turn but weren’t yet brilliant enough to captivate one's eye. Soon, fall would be in full bloom, and Reyna had no plans to leave as she usually did this time of year. She had no humanitarian missions lined up—no classes to take or exams to complete. The lab was delighted to keep her on, desperate for help, as they were always understaffed.

It seemed right to stay….

Suddenly, Orm popped up from the deep, dropping a slippery green frog onto her board. Stella cocked her head, surveying the squirming amphibian.

“What is this strange creature? They are teeming here.” He informed her, staring at it intently.

Reyna laughed softly. “It’s a frog.”

“A frog,” He repeated, staring down at the creature with a severe look. “It is very unusual."

“They are funny little things, aren’t they? Harmless but humorous. You should probably put it back where you found it.”

He nodded, snatching it up and disappearing once again.

Reyna shed her jacket, wanting to feel the wind brush against her skin. She wore black spandex shorts, a matching sports bra, and a light jacket, but it wasn’t necessary, not with all the rowing she was doing.

She stretched her arms over her head, feeling free and relaxed despite everything. Orm seemed lighter…more amenable….Her efforts seemed to paying off.

He reappeared, swimming toward her in a predatory fashion.

“Why do you never swim, Reyna Avenell?”

/Not that question…/

“I swim. In the summer. It’s too late in the season now.” It wasn’t /exactly/ a lie. She did swim in the shallows. Never deeper than her chest, though…

“This night is warm,” He countered. “This water is far warmer than the sea. Why do you not join me?”

“It may be warm for you, but it would still be quite cold for me.”

“Excuses, excuses,” He purred, his eyes flirting something sinister.

She was about to ask him what he was scheming when he disappeared again. She frowned, leaning to the side and peering into the dark waters after him.

That was a mistake.

In one fluid motion, he burst forth, grasping her wrist and yanking her into the water without hardly disturbing her board.

Reyna heard Stella yip in surprise just before he pulled her beneath the water.

She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, but their combined submersion was short-lived. As quickly as he pulled her under, he forced her back to the surface. She gasped from shock and cold, sputtering and floundering. The water was too deep….she never came out this far….

Panic threatened, and her breathing quickened. But his steady arms calmed her, encircling her waist. Frightened, she clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips and grasping his shoulders. Their noses were nearly touching….

“You are afraid of it,” He accused, his blue eyes boring into hers.

“Yes.” She released a shaky breath, petrified.

“You do not need to be,” He murmured, gazing down at her. “Not when you are with me.” His tone was low, intimate, as he captured her eyes.

“I disagree.” She whispered. “I should always be afraid of it…especially with you.”

Orm smirked. “Perhaps you are right,” His eyes traveled slowly down to her lips. He leaned forward slightly, brushing his nose against hers. “But I think I have more to fear from you than you do of the water.”

“Fear me?” She whispered uneasily.

She tightened her grip as he eased his, and he grunted as she slid lower along his hips. “How do you not know what power you wield, little nymph? To make men question all that they know in favor of your thought.”

Did she? It didn’t seem as though she held any power….

It seemed he was the one in control.

Skeptical, she gathered her courage and reached for her board. Stella yipped, leaning toward her hand as Orm reluctantly relinquished her.

Slowly, steadily, she rolled onto the device, snatching up her paddle. “It’s getting late,” She deflected. “We’d better get back to shore.”

He nodded somberly, returning to his board as well.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Down in the Doldrums

Song List:
Moon Cycle by Melanie Martinez
Between Wind and Water by Hael

Tom Curry did not let Orm off early that day. Rather, he kept him late.

Something had happened….

Orm could sense it in the air. Tom Curry was tense, and his mother would not meet his eye. He watched them warily, attempting to glean some semblance of clarity. Was it Arthur? Had something happened at Atlantis?

“Here,” Tom Curry thrust a piece of paper into his hand. “Run down to the store and get what’s on the list. Atlanna doesn’t have the time, and Reyna is occupied. This is our currency. Tell the cashier you are from Russia or something, and she’ll help you make change.”

He dismissed him shortly after. It was a peculiar task for Orm. They did not usually approve of him speaking to other land dwellers.

He pondered the possibilities on the short walk to the convenience store. It was the only place of commerce on the island for resources, serving as a gas station, grocery store, bar, and laundromat.

People milled about the stacks around him. Islanders drank in the parking lot and folded laundry in the building next door. The sun had already begun to set, and the night air was cool. Despite the remote location and minuscule population, the storefront was bustling with activity. Orm lingered near the door, searching for the items on the list and observing the land dwellers as they mingled about him.

“Hey, hey, hey! Recycle, you ass hat! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Whoa! Shots fired!”

“I actually read that most bottle companies don’t reuse the plastic; they dump them in third world countries in massive garbage heaps. It’s better for the environment to throw them away in the trash rather than take them to a redemption center.”

“Shit.”

“Dude, fuck this country. Fuck capitalism.”

“Fuck humanity.”

“We need another revolution.”

“Wouldn’t be enough.”

“At this point, I honestly wouldn’t even mind an alien invasion. Like, an army of higher beings coming to fucking save the world and exterminate the human race? Hell, I’d be down. Fuck, I’d probably help ‘em.”

“Dude, screw aliens. We’ve got Atlanteans! I’m telling you, remember that tsunami last year that rocked the coast? That was them, and they’re pissed!”

“Oh, shut your trap, Travis. You don’t know shit.”

“Hell yeah, I do. That shit’s real. If you wanna save the world, those are your guys.”

“Well, shit, let's take your old tug boat, Trav, chug ourselves out in the open ocean, and start yelling for help, why don’t we.”

Orm’s lips twitched as resounding laughter ensued. If the fools only knew….

“All right, all right, that’s fine. Make fun of old Trav. All I’m saying is I’d reach for Atlanteans before Aliens any day.”

“That’s fair….”

“I’d love to be stolen away by an Atlantean siren.” Another mused. “I’d go so willingly. Would let her eat my heart if she wanted. As long as she gave me a little happiness before it all ended.”

“Jesus, that’s dark.”

“Can’t blame ya, bud.”

“Are you gonna pay for that?”

Orm jerked his head around, glaring down at the young woman standing behind the checkout line at the convenience store.

“Yes. I have this,” He thrust the paper forward. “I am from Russia and am unfamiliar with the currency.”

The woman giggled, covering her mouth demurely and accepting the change. Orm raised a bemused brow. The women of the land were so easily amused. It was almost embarrassing. Where was the challenge? The chase?

Then he recalled Reyna flinching away from his touch….

/Ah, yes./

His slippery little nymph.

He was eager to return to her.

Quickly collecting the goods and change, he set off back toward the lighthouse. The hour was late, and it was nearly dark….

Would Reyna wonder what was keeping him?

He quickened his pace. Allowing his infatuation with the land dweller to consume him. It felt good to focus on something he could control: her. As opposed to his abysmal situation and insufferable descension in class. Logically, he knew he should allot his energies to more fruitful endeavors. But he—

Opening the door to the main house, Atlanna and Tom Curry abruptly stopped speaking to stare at him. Having interrupted their conversation, he paused, unsure how to proceed. These social queues were new to him, as before, as King, he was privy to all words.

He cocked his head to the side, glancing between the two. “You are not hiding it well if that is what you seek to accomplish.”

“Orm…” His mother stepped forward, approaching him with clasped hands.

“Atlanna, don’t,” Tom Curry warned.

Orm glared at him.

To his surprise, so did his mother.

“What is it?” Orm asked of her.

“It is a man. He calls himself the Black Manta,” She revealed. “He attacked the royal guard….” She reached out, touching his arms. “Princess Mera was gravely wounded.”

Orm’s jaw clenched.

“You know this man. You have armed him in the past. Is there anything you can tell us…anything that might help your brother?”

Her eyes were so full of hope. Expectant of him. This was his moment. His time to prove himself….but he had to be careful….he couldn’t sound too helpful, but he could not be too bitter either.

“His name is David Kane. Arthur murdered his father during a mission to acquire a submarine for my own…personal use.” He revealed strategically. “He has been hell-bent on vengeance ever since. I have never met another man so dedicated to meting out his own personal form of justice as him. That is all I know….”

Atlanna smiled sadly, believing him. It was the truth. But not the whole truth….

She rubbed his shoulders. “Thank you, my darling.”

“You’re done for the day.” Tom Curry informed him, glaring from the other side of the table. “When you see Reyna, tell her I wish to speak with her.”

Orm set the bag down and backed out of the door, heading toward Reyna’s cottage. This was an intriguing development. He did not have any care to spare for Mera. The treacherous chit deserved whatever pain and suffering came her way. Nor was he concerned for Arthur’s safety—quite the opposite. The Black Manta resurfacing was a beneficial development. Blood would be spilt. Arthur would pay….

If David Kane had successfully launched an attack on Arthur’s men, injuring Mera and likely wracking up considerable casualties, ending his time in hiding, more violence would follow. The Black Manta did not act without ample arms and intel. It would likely only be a matter of time before he sought Orm. And when he did, there would be hell to pay.

He needed to work faster.

If the Black Manta was in play, that was an advantage Orm could profit from, but he’d need to expedite his plan. Reyna needed to cleave to him…immediately.

“What do you have planned for this evening, little nymph?” Orm asked, entering Reyna’s small kitchen.

She frowned at him, unsettled, as usual, by the pet name he favored for her.

“Hello, Orm,” She turned her attention back to the cookbook she was perusing. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He asked, surprised.

“No, nothing.” She didn’t even look up as she addressed him. Unacceptable.

And strange. She had planned something every day so far. He felt—disappointed. Then irritated. Then curious. Was this a manipulation tactic?

“Reyna, idleness, to a King, is just as demeaning as menial labor.” He informed her.

She raised her brows, looking him up and down with an exasperated expression. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He repeated incredulously.

“Do you…need me to find you something to do?” She asked slowly, as though she were speaking to a child.

Rage coursed through him, and he clenched his fists. “I have been conditioned to obey my jailers. To come when I am called. To work where I am directed. To sleep where I am told. To eat the food they select for me….”

“Hey!” She interrupted. “You single-handedly attempted to start World War Three. And you lost. These are the consequences. Deal with it.” She snapped.

Enraged, he surged forward, snatching her arm, intent on shaking the petulance from her being. But as he pulled her close, he smelled…

/Blood./

A good deal of it.

“You are wounded,” He observed, searching her body for signs of injury.

“Let go!” She swatted at his arm, but he did not loosen his grip.

“Reyna, you are bleeding. I can smell it.”

Her cheeks instantly heated, and she blinked rapidly, a look of horror on her face. “I—it’s, no, it’s fine—” She stammered.

“Are you in need of a doctor?”

“No! It’s fine. I’m fine!”

He frowned, searching her face. “Why are you acting as though you are ashamed? I do not understand.”

“It’s nothing, I assure you. Please let me go.” She insisted.

Suddenly, it hit him. “Oh, you are in season.”

“Season?” She exclaimed, attempting to pull away, but he would not allow it.

“How strange,” He mused, taking in her scent. Beneath the sea, he had never sensed the smell from the women around him. But on land, it was strong. “Like iron and salt,” He murmured. “Is this why you are irritable?”

She stared up at him with wide eyes. “I—uh.…”

“Is there any way I might ease your discomfort?”

“You can let me go! Or stop talking about it…”

“Why?”

“Because it’s an intimate affair, and you and I do not have the kind of relationship where we discuss intimate things.”

“We dwell beneath the same roof. Does that not make us intimate?” He asked, cocking his head to the side.

“No.” She snapped, embarrassed.

“It is a natural part of life, Reyna. There is no reason to feel shame. In Atlantis, women are celebrated for their menarche. To shed blood is to harbor life.”

/You must learn this, little nymph, if you are to become Atlantean./

His reasoning did not quell her ire. But he had an idea of something that might….

It was a traditional Atlantean custom to prepare meals for the women of one's household while they were in season. He had done it for his mother as a boy. All men were trained in this art. No matter their station. It was an act of service—commitment, love, and commiseration. Though unfamiliar with preparing food from the land, he was confident he could provide something worthy enough to charm Reyna out of her sour mood and further endear her to him.

“Please direct me to the nourishment of your choosing. I shall prepare you a meal.”

“What?”

——

He could not possibly be serious….

Out of everything he despised, everything that disgusted and revolted him—this—this he was okay with?

Logically, Reyna knew he wasn’t wrong. And she wasn’t ashamed. She just wasn’t entirely comfortable with him being so up close and personal with her bodily functions.

“In Atlantis, it is a man’s responsibility to nourish the women of his household during menarche…”

Nope. Line. Sand. Drawn.

“I need a drink,” She huffed, snatching a near-empty bottle of wine from the fridge. Pulling the stopper out, she downed the contents straight from the bottle before tossing it into the recycling.

“You know, I recently learned that it’s better for the environment to throw empty bottles into the trash. Most recycling companies ship their redeemed bottles off to the third world countries, where they rot in large piles of refuse.”

Reyna glowered at him.

/What the actual fuck is happening right now?/

More wine—need more wine…

She twisted the cap off a second bottle, this time deigning to pour herself a glass of excessive proportions.

“Generally, it is polite to offer libations to those also present.” He chastised her.

“Knock yourself out, your highness.”

“Prickly little urchin, aren’t you?”

She offered him another killing glare before attempting to brush by him. If he was going to be this annoying all night, she’d lock herself in her room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked, blocking her path.

“Away.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Bottoms Up

Song List:
Animal by Ellie Goulding
Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys
Sober by Niykee Heaton

“Is that so?” He asked, smirking down at her with the cool assurance of the King he had once been.

Reyna did not know what had possessed her to bait him so. But she knew it had something to do with his growing familiarity….

When he wasn’t scowling at her family, plotting Arthur’s demise, or harboring ill will toward her people…Orm was—charming.

But that wasn’t the problem. No. The problem was Orm /knew/ he was charming, and he seemed to be weaponizing that charm against her now purposefully and with greater frequency. What she once saw as progress now seemed suspicious. Yes, Orm knew he was charming. He also knew he was handsome, and he possessed a powerful confidence, no doubt, thanks to his palace upbringing. But the kicker? Not only was he outwardly alluring, but he was also ruthless, cunning, and manipulative. Possessing a political savvy she could neither begin to grasp nor hope to maneuver, and for some reason—she had the feeling he was attempting to use those carefully cultivated gambits against /her/.

She hadn’t seen it at first, how all too forthcoming his progress had been, until his move at the lake. It was too brazen, even for him. It had instantly tipped her off that something was amiss—his proximity pinging her intuition, birthing an inkling of supposition that had since grown. She didn’t know what he was plotting, but Orm Marius was certainly up to something nefarious, which meant Reyna was in way over her head. Fear of drowning aside, it was a precarious position to be in for sure….

She stepped back while he stalked forward, playing mind games with an opponent well out of her league. The wine was already buzzing in her head. Maybe that had been a mistake….

Without taking his eyes off hers, he reached forward and pulled the glass from her palm, slowly bringing it to his lips. He took a careful swig, savoring the taste as he finally peeled his gaze from hers to survey the light liquid.

“I rather like these dry aperitifs you seem to favor.” He mused, the corner of his lip quirking in a shameless smirk.

Reyna felt goosebumps erupt across her skin, and she shivered despite herself. “What are you doing?” She stammered, her back pressing against the wall with one final step.

Trapped.

This.

/This/ was why she was so irritated with him. What was his game? What was he playing at? Their encounter at the lake had left her unsettled, forcing her to look at all their recent interactions under a microscope. Yes, she had been attempting to win him. But his actions were far too—forward. They didn’t make any sense. He was so far above her…there was no reason for him to….

“You have selected our excursions every evening in recent days.” He observed, leering down at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I believe I have earned the right to claim one for myself.”

Reyna blushed, feeling small and vulnerable under his smoldering gaze. She wasn’t a politician or a spy; she was no good at hiding her true intentions, as he was, and so, she was equally as inapt to understand his motives. “What exactly do you have in mind?” She asked quietly. Helpless but to play along.

——

She was reluctant—again.

He’d pushed too far. He could sense it. Yet, still, they hadn’t gone far enough….he needed her to move with him because she wanted to, not because he was forcing her to. Fortunately, he had some idea of how to accomplish this feat. Reyna was kind, naive, and compassionate. To sway her, he would have to manipulate the truth.

He softened his brow, changing tactics. “I want to relax, Reyna.” He revealed, playing on her sympathy. “I thought you might understand that.”

Game. Set…

He handed the glass back to her and turned away, acting crestfallen. “You alone are kind to me here. I apologize for assuming too much of you…”

Match.

“Wait!”

He paused, smiling slightly to himself.

/So gullible, little nymph./

Slowly, he turned to face her once again.

“What did you have in mind?” She asked, nibbling her lip and taking a tentative step forward.

“A game,” He answered cooly, despite the betrayal of his eyes as they lingered on that lip. “Of truths and lies.”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head slightly. “A drinking game.” Her dark hair haloed her petulant face as she pursed her lips disapprovingly.

“It is a common pass time, Reyna, for both your people and mine.” He countered.

“I’m familiar with the concept.” She informed him.

“Good…”

“And you’re in luck,” She added shrewdly. “I actually have the game!”

“You /what/?”

“I’ll be right back!” She called as she scampered out of the room.

This was unexpected….

He frowned as she returned, sporting a small pink box.

“Sit down, I’ll get the wine and whip up a quick charcuterie board.”

Orm blinked, taken aback. Had he just lost control….?

——

She might not know what he was up to, but she could certainly derail him. That was for sure.

Reyna worked quickly, pouring Orm a hearty cup of wine, choosing a glass with a deep barrel to be misleading in its contents. She then selected a flute for herself, one that was the same height but slender, more demure. For each drink he finished, she would finish one-third—and she had to pace herself. That was integral.

It was a difficult scheme. Orm was nothing like Arthur or Tom Curry, who chugged their beer as eagerly as a baby with a bottle. He had his wits about him, a shark in the water, out for blood. And he’d set his sights upon her, the weak link. That /had/ to be it.

/Weak link. Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we? Your move, your highness./

She set the glasses on the kitchen table, quickly following with a board of assorted meats, cheeses, and crackers. Slowly, Orm pulled out a chair, observing the selection with a skeptical look, but he didn’t ask any further questions.

A moment later, Reyna joined him, taking one last theatrical swig from the bottle without swallowing a single drop before setting it between them. From the corner of her eye, she noted Orm’s smug look of satisfaction from across the table. Oh, she was definitely in way over her head. And to make things worse, it looked like now she was swimming with a shark too—all the more reason to keep her wits about her.

“So, how does your game go?” She asked, batting her lashes and resting her chin on her palm, playing the part. Attempting to look vulnerable and under the influence. Easy quarry. Orm took her for a fool. Well, she’d give him a fool…

“I will tell you two lies and one truth. You must guess which of the statements is true. If you guess correctly, I drink, and the turn passes to you. If you guess incorrectly, you drink, and I decide whether the turn belongs in my arena or passes to yours….”

“Ugh, boring.”

Orm glared, no doubt perturbed by her impertinence.

“I’m not interested in lies. Besides, I’m not very good at rooting them out. So it would be a short game, one you would win. And I’d be quite sloshed by the end.” She revealed. “A game is no fun if you know what the outcome will be. There has to be some sport involved—an equal playing field.”

Orm’s expression of distaste shifted into one of intrigue. “Go on….”

Reyna pushed the deck of cards forward. “We’ll use these for inspiration, but you may come up with questions on your own if you’d like. The game is simple. You ask me a question. I am bound to answer truthfully, or I drink—vice versa.” Tricky, as the game itself instilled one to tell the truth either way, unless the answer was extremely sensitive. The more you chose not to divulge, the more intoxicated you became and the more likely you were to spill your secrets. But Reyna wasn’t worried. She had little to hide.

“Hmm, all right. I concede to your terms.”

——

/Clever little nymph./

Orm found himself pleased with this development. It was less work than his ploy, and she was already under the sway of her drink. The truths would spill from her lips like waterfalls of a most refreshing clarity. He relished his yet unsung victory, soon to be savored like the wine in his cup. Tonight, he would captain this unwitting siren, steering her to more fruitful shores for the both of them…..

“I’ll go first.” Reyna glanced up at the ceiling, rapping her fingers against her chin. “Oh, I’ve got one.” She smiled wickedly, her green eyes glinting in the light of her tiny kitchen’s meager chandelier. “Was there ever a time you did not feel hatred toward Arthur?”

Orm stiffened as she struck a nerve. He glared at Reyna anew, grasping the wine goblet and taking a large gulp of the dry liquid.

“Hmm, interesting. Well then, your turn….”

Stella padded into the room, slipping under the table to lay at their feet. As Orm rubbed his chin, considering his first move….

Orm was strategic in his questioning. First, he asked her simple things. Trifling facts about her person, slowly but steadily working his way up to more intimate questions. Reyna, on the other hand, was anything but subtle. She dove into the deep end, asking him the most scandalous questions imaginable, sometimes coming up with them on her own and other times pulling cards from the little box she sported for inspiration. More and more often, he found himself swilling wine to avoid offering her a tidbit of truth, and Reyna, the diligent little attendant, was all too eager to fill his glass each time he’d emptied it, all the while sipping away at her own beverage, though she had yet to withhold an answer from him.

As they sparred, Orm’s head began to buzz as Reyna switched their beverage of choice to whiskey. It was smooth and fiery, unlike anything he had ever had in Atlantis. It left him feeling warm and pliant….extremely relaxed in a way he had not felt in…well, ever.

“It is your turn, little nymph.” He purred, leaning back in his chair and gripping the glass of golden liquid in his palm.

“Okay, okay…” She sat up straighter, giggling slightly as she reached for another card. As she flipped it over, she covered her mouth, gasping softly. “Oh no, this is a good one.” She bit her lip, giggling once more. “To whom did you lose your virginity too, and how do they rate on a scale of one to ten?” She asked, smiling and batting her eyelashes up at him, wriggling her hips in excitement.

Orm slanted his brow as he surveyed the flagrant display of wanton behavior. Did she even know what she was doing? Likely not.

“A most scandalous question for a King, but I must say, if anyone were to have an interesting answer to this question, it would probably be you.” She flirted, grasping the bottle and taking a swig of the liquor. Her little glass had been empty for some time. While he had poured the liquor into his cup, she’d abandoned hers. Choosing instead to drink straight from the source, like a common…

He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the haze that permeated his mind. “I hate to disappoint you, little nymph, but it was rather ceremonial. At the age of fifteen, I was gifted my first inconsequential.”
“Inconsequential?” Reyna asked, looking confused.

“I believe the term in your world is whore?”

“Oh,” She blinked, shocked. “Oh, well, okay.” She took another swig, glancing away, seeming embarrassed.

“She was quite comely and very skilled. Nearly ten years my senior. It was pleasurable.” He informed her. “This ranking, I am unsure of…”

“Uh, one being bad, ten being…well…exquisite…”

“Hmm,” He considered, rubbing his jaw. There was stubble. How unusual. He’d never allowed himself to be so unkempt before. “I shall say a six. As I did not know what I was doing, and so, it all felt very foreign and unusual.”

“Fair,” Reyna commented, pouring more whiskey into his glass.

It was his turn again. The moment he was waiting for, in which he would finally breach the topic of Atlantis and…

“Mine was when I was seventeen and…”

“What?” His gaze snapped up to her face, shocked. She—she was answering her own question? And she wasn’t….“You—you aren’t chaste?”

“Uh, no.” She looked at him as though he were insane. “Anyway, his name was Roran, he was my first boyfriend. We were in high school together. I was,” She bit her lip again, considering her words.

/-First- boyfriend?/

Orm nearly shattered the glass in his hand.

“Let’s just say, pent up. Roran was verrrry handsome and extraordinarily good with his….” Her eyes met his, and she closed her mouth as she took in his visage. “Hm, too much information. Um, I would say an eight.”

“An eight.” He repeated dumbly.

“Mhmm,” She nodded, reaching for the bottle once again.

Thunder boomed outside, and Stella whined nervously, looking up as rain began to tap against the window panes.

“Your turn…”

“How many men have you been with?” He asked all too quickly.

“Five.”

“Five!” He exclaimed, raking a hand through his hair. She hadn’t even tried to hide it. Hadn’t even considered taking a drink. She wasn’t ashamed….

“This surprises you,” She observed rather insightfully.

“You may not be a blood relative of Arthur Curry, but you are linked, rather unconventionally, to the throne, nonetheless. You should take care how you handle yourself in the future.” He scolded, feeling the burning influence of the whiskey all the more acutely now.

“Now you are chastising me.” She declared.

“Well, someone ought to reprimand you for your carelessness.” He remarked bitterly.

“It’s my turn.” Reyna snapped, her jovial demeanor disintegrating in a flash.

Orm stopped short, surprised by the clarity of her conviction.

“Tell me, Ocean Master, how naive do you think I am?” She leaned across the table, glaring at him. “Did you really think I’d fall for this act of jealousy? You have to admit, you’re laying it on rather thick. Seems you’re not as good of an actor as you really think.”

Orm blinked.

Reyna wasn’t intoxicated—and she thought he was jealous? He wasn’t jealous…

“At first, I thought we were actually getting through to you. I thought you were learning to see things differently, perhaps even wanting to see things differently. But you were just using me to get closer to Arthur.”

“Were you not using me?” He argued, rising from his chair and planting his fists on the wooden table.

She had duped him. /Played him./

“Were you not trying to manipulate me to see things their way, all the while full of doubt? I do not think you are naive, Reyna. You are the only land dweller I have met who harbors some semblance of sense. I only wish you would release yourself of the hypocritical role of house pet you have allowed them to assign you. You see the truth! As I do.” He declared, seething with rage.

Reyna’s passion dissipated, and the rosy tint in her cheeks paled as she stared up at him, looking defeated. “You don’t know me.” She whispered.

Her voice was calm. Sure. Unsettlingly quiet against his temper. And for the first time in his life, he did not have a rebuttal.

“I think it’s best you return to the Curry residence after tonight.” She informed him, rising from her chair and heading somberly toward the door.

“Reyna,” He reached for her, but she held up her hand to stop him.

“You have made your position quite clear. There is no need to continue this conversation.”

Orm dropped his hand.

What had just happened?

She’d thought he was jealous—she could not have been more wrong. He could never be jealous of….

He clenched his fists. No. She was nothing. As inconsequential as the first whore he had lain with.

He launched up from the table and retreated. Slamming the door to the pretty little prison she had offered him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: Lost Cause

Song List:
Under Control by Ellie Goulding
Hardest of Hearts by Florence + The Machine
Let Me Down Slowly by Alec Benjamin
In Between (feat. BANKS) by 6LACK

It didn’t bother her.

Not one bit.

Orm meant nothing to Reyna. He had been a means to an end. And an ill-fitting one at that. He had no intention of giving up his aims, so he was no friend of hers or her family.

She reminded herself that he was a prisoner of circumstance, here to learn a lesson—repeatedly. But it was no use. As he returned to the smuggler’s shack of his own volition, refusing to sleep in the Curry house, she still felt unsettled, perturbed. Somehow, he had managed to get under her skin.

But it was no matter. It was out of her hands now, and so, she would be done with it, done with him.

She threw herself into her work—staying late at the lab each night, using her lunch breaks to walk Stella, making meager meals for one in the evenings, and then diving into her romance novels until she passed out from exhaustion.

Routine.

Reyna /loved/ routine.

She could lose herself in the tides of life.

It was exactly what she needed to get back to the basics. Tom and Atlanna were in a honeymoon phase (not to be disturbed), Arthur was off dealing with his Kingly duties, and Reyna was doing what she had always done: furthering her education, career, and humanitarian endeavors.

She signed up for two online classes starting at the end of October and began researching her next adventure—something on land, as opposed to her usual. Maybe Africa. She’d always liked elephants. It would be an interesting opportunity to work with some terrestrial endangered species and expand her resume, terra incognita.

“Hey Reyn, can you hand me a tripour and a lid? I need to make some fresh resin. This batch wasn’t mixed long enough, and it’s started to crystalize around the stir bar….”

“Sure,” She set her paperwork down and reached into the drawer at her side.

“Thanks.” Talia grasped the plastic beaker with a blue-clad hand. Reyna was careful not to touch the woman’s glove as she brushed past her, snatching up her laptop. “You going to Sam’s party tonight?”

“Sam’s party?”

“Yeah, he’s having a big bonfire at his place. The boys are all raring to go—ready for cooler weather. It’s been a sweltering September….”

“I can’t. I have a family dinner.”

“Another one?” Talia asked, raising a brow. “What, is it going until 10?”

“No,” Reyna smiled. “Not unless Arthur wants.…”

“Arthur?” Talia gasped. “Don’t tell me tall, dark, and stormy is in town?”

“Just for the one night, Tal.”

“Mmmm,” She purred. “Well, that settles it then. Steve is gonna be there, and he’ll be rip shit if he hears that Arthur didn’t stop by…”

Reyna set her laptop down, shaking her head as she grinned with amusement. “You sly dog. Is that a threat?”

“I was going for tricksy bitch, but yes, it is. I’m kidnapping you and Arthur after this so-called dinner—non-negotiable. We are long overdue for a girls’ night.”

She wasn’t wrong. Reyna had been in full hermit mode since she had all but kicked Orm out of her cottage. While her manipulation tactic had been successful, routing out his true intentions, there was little victory to be found. In this situation, there were no winners. She’d been avoiding everyone in the days that followed. She hadn’t seen Orm, nor had she spoken to Arthur or Atlanna, though she did inform Tom that he was once again playing host to their princely prisoner. Reyna hadn’t exactly been forthcoming in revealing the true reason for his expulsion, stating, instead, that it was too close quarters and that work was picking up to the point where she would no longer have time to entertain Orm with evening excursions. It wasn’t exactly a lie, and Tom was gracious enough not to pry. He would never point out that Reyna had failed.

And she /had/ failed. While Orm did seem to appreciate the land more for its beauty and perhaps even its people, his mind had not changed. But what was even more alarming was that he endeavored to sway Reyna’s allegiance—hoping to pull her over to his side. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

/You are the only land dweller I have met who harbors some semblance of sense. I only wish you would release yourself of the hypocritical role of house pet you have allowed them to assign you. You see the truth! As I do./

Did he see her as a potential ally or a pawn? She couldn’t be sure, not without asking. And even then, he likely would not give her a true answer. Nothing was ever as it seemed with him, and Reyna was growing too tired to pan for the gold nuggets of truth in his speech. The worst of it was his attempt to undermine her relationship with her family, calling her a house pet. She knew he looked down at her, at them all, but to call her such a thing? And to accuse her the way he had, claiming she retained the role of pet because they had allotted her that position but also because she, herself, allowed that—it was too much. That was the worst thing of all. The blow that severed the tie between them. She would not humor him at all now. She was not a pet—and they were her family, they were /everything/. How could he possibly understand that? If he hadn’t learned it by now, he likely never would.

Talia was right, though she would never know the extent of it. She couldn’t. Reyna could never discuss the true pitfalls and perils of her life or the insane machinisms at play. She had no one she could confide in aside from her immediate family. It was a matter of thalassic security. Even still, she /needed/ this.

“Okay, I’m in. But I can’t promise Arthur will make an appearance, so we’ll have to be hush-hush about his presence in town.”

“Deal. I’ll pick you up at Tom’s around seven. That should give you plenty of time.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I have no doubt that if I don’t pick you up myself, you’ll find some way to weasel out of it. So suck it up. I’m driving. You can walk home if you want to leave earlier.”

“So bossy!” Reyna accused, giggling.

“The boss ass bitch that I am thanks you for noticing,” Talia quipped, pulling her freshly made resin off the hot plate. “Now, hurry up and hand me those samples. We’re finishing this up and then grabbing lunch.”

——

Reyna was insufferable. Tom Curry was /insufferable/. This whole damn island was the very bane of his existence and everyone on it, his own personal demons of pathetic mediocrity and inaction. It was like being surrounded by giant flies, clumsily blundering stupidly through the air, helpless and incapable, senseless, foolish, asinine—maddeningly idiotic. To be trapped among them was infuriating. His rage was reaching new heights as their innate and unending buzzing about /nothing/—nothing!—was slowly driving him insane.

With Reyna’s rejection, his plans had crumbled and fallen like the old stone streets of Atlantis in the cataclysm that had wrenched them down into the sea so many centuries ago. Orm, too, felt as though the ground had fallen out from under him. His careful planning had been disrupted, overturned so easily by the little chit, who had feigned inebriation so cleverly. It set his skin crawling to think of it now. How she had seemed so innocent, cornered him so easily, turning the tables and pulling the secrets from his lips as he hunted for hers.

Restless and agitated, he had returned to the smuggler’s shack that very night—not wanting to be near her a moment longer. But it did not assuage his discomfort. He felt as though he was burning up from the inside out by something he both wanted to repel and attract simultaneously. How could she make him burn so, and yet—he wanted more of the pain?

He pondered this plight and his new position as the days slowly and painstakingly drifted by. Little changed. He did not see Reyna again, and Tom Curry was relentless in the allotment of new tasks—no doubt trying to keep Orm exhausted. For that, at least, he was grateful. Even still, no matter how hard he tried to drown his feelings in the menial tasks, he could not quell his malaise.

“Orm,” Tom Curry barked from the steps of the lighthouse. He looked up, glaring at his mother’s lover. “Vulko and Arthur are inbound. Family meeting in the kitchen, twenty minutes. Best wrap it up.”

/Family meeting. How quaint…/

But as he turned his back on the lighthouse keeper, Reyna’s truck pulled into the driveway.

The corner of his lip twitched as a foreign feeling he couldn’t quite place twisted in his chest. It felt like relief, yet he was ill at ease—almost….

Anxious.

Orm clenched his fists at his sides.

/Unacceptable./

Reyna gently hopped from the truck, alighting delicately on the dirt driveway, seeming /perfectly/ at ease.

/Again, unacceptable./

Why should she feel at ease when he was roiling inside?

“Do you have any bags that need to come inside?” He demanded loudly, storming over to her truck.

Reyna blinked, seeming startled. “N-no,” She stammered, taken aback.

“Perfect,” He grated, blustering angrily by her toward the wood pile. He hoped she felt insignificant, inconsequential, in—

He snagged a parcel of wood and turned.

Reyna had already bounded up the steps, and he watched as she disappeared through the door. Completely unbothered.

Orm paused, blinking dumbly after the woman as she vanished from his sight. He felt his face flush with rage.

/Oh, little nymph, you are asking for it.…/

He gripped the wood hard in his palm, nearly breaking the block in two. He craved to teach her a lesson, to force her to submit to his will. Just like all the rest, she would bend. They would all /bend/. Every single one of them. They were nothing. Peasants—and he was trapped among them. Marooned on land like a common—

“Orm!” Tom Curry poked his head out the window. “We need that wood, hurry up!”

Servant.

He did split the wood that time, breaking the log clean in half. He dropped the bits on the ground, snatching a few fresh pieces before stalking back to the house, grinding his teeth down with every step. But as he entered the complex, his mounting fury dissipated as his need for escape rushed to the surface of the fray. He might have lost Reyna, but he still needed to win the others….

As he entered the kitchen, he calmed himself, tempering the rage threatening to consume him. He /needed/ to keep it together. But as he strolled into the kitchen, Vulko’s cool gaze was the first to greet him. A test.

Orm smiled slightly, amused at the development. His former Vizier took a cautious step back.

/A wise move, old friend./

“How is Mera?” Atlanna asked, interrupting his inner diatribe. Orm broke their combined gaze and deposited the wood in a pile by the stove, finding a quiet corner to sequester himself, to watch.

“Nearly recovered. But she’s reef ridden until the docs give her the okay.” Arthur informed the group as he paced around the small dining table.

“Thank Atlan,” She murmured.

“What does this mean for you, son?” Tom Curry asked, glancing between the former Queen and the current King.

“It means I’m on the hunt. And I’m out for blood.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” His father asked.

“What would you have me do? The man has declared war on my family. On everyone I care about. Mera was only the beginning. He’s not gonna stop. So I gotta end it.”

“I agree.”

Everyone turned to look at Orm, all wearing the same shocked expression.

“The Black Manta will not be so easily satisfied. He will strike again. Likely soon. You will have to kill him.” Orm informed the new King. It was true. It was the clearest advice any of them could have offered, but it was unsavory. So, none of them gave life to the notion. But Orm—he could give his half-brother that clarity. And perhaps it would translate in other ways….

“Kill him?” Tom Curry shifted on his feet, gripping the back of a wooden dining chair with both fists.

“As long as he lives, you will never have peace. You will always be looking over your shoulder. Waiting for the day he emerges from the shadows or escapes whatever prison you devise for him, intent upon exacting the blood debt owed.” Orm informed him.

“Some would say the same of you,” Arthur added darkly.

Orm smiled. “Many do.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, looking him up and down. “What do you know?”

“Nothing of value. We lost contact when I dispatched him to kill you and Mera after you escaped the city. I armed him with the crowned jewel of our arsenal. An experimental suit that can transform water into energized beams of plasma. Extremely deadly, the material can melt most substances upon impact. The suit is made of Atlantean steal, as are his blades, allowing him to traverse the sea and match arms with even the mightiest tridents. Unfortunately for you, I facilitated the creation of a most worthy opponent.” It gave him great pride to know that he had created Arthur’s bane. If his mother weren’t a potential target, it would be all too perfect. “I have no knowledge of what happened to him after you defeated him at the battle of Erice. My sources informed me he had perished. But, even a King’s sources can be wrong.”

“You seem awfully chatty for someone who benefits from this madman’s tangent.”

“In this, we seem to find ourselves aligned. We share a bloodline. Though I would be a useless pawn in the Black Manta’s ploy for vengeance, our mother is a valuable target. Her life hangs in the balance if you should fail.”

“He’s more likely to come after Tom. An eye for an eye. A father for a father.” Vulko informed the group.

“I’d like to see him try,” Atlanna’s eyes shone fiercely.

“Do you think he would come here?” Reyna chimed.

Orm closed his eyes as the sound of her voice washed over him like a soft summer tide. Despite himself, he felt assuaged of some of his anxiety just at the sound. In the end, it only irritated him more.

“He does not know the location of this island, making its shores the safest place for everyone connected to Arthur. My Queen, you should remain here until the situation is under control.” Vulko proclaimed.

Atlanna nodded. Tom Curry placed a protective hand on her shoulder, and the two pressed their foreheads together.

Orm stole a glance at Reyna, who was fiddling with her necklace and staring down at the floor.

/Nervous little nymph?/

She dropped the necklace and exchanged it for a dark curl, twirling it about her fingers.

“Reyna, come on. Let’s get Stella and some of your things. You’re staying here until the coast is clear.” Tom declared.

“No!” Orm barked, startling everyone anew. “The Black Manta does not know of her existence. If he were to discover the lighthouse and Tom Curry, you’d condemn her along with him.” He declared assertively.

Tom clenched his fists. “You can’t expect me to….”

“The Prince is right,” Vulko conceded. “It is one thing for Atlanna to remain by your side. She is a formidable fighter—both on land and at sea. The likelihood of the Black Manta overpowering her alone is slim. However, protecting you will somewhat even the playing field, especially if he brings reinforcements. Her defense maneuvers will be distracted. Her strength spread thin.”

“I’ll dispatch a platoon…”

“No,” Atlanna whispered. “You cannot send anyone here. It will only attract attention. Lead them straight to our doorstep.”

“This is still a safe house, my King. Treat it as such. You have stealth on your side. The Queen shall protect Tom Curry.” Vulko declared, glancing at Orm. “I suppose you intend to volunteer yourself for Reyna Avenell?”

“Am I not the natural choice?” Orm countered. 

Arthur glowered, clenching his fists. But said nothing.

“I could just leave,” She offered. “No one beyond this island knows of my connection with the Currys or Arthur….”

“And if someone discovers it? If something happens? How is anyone to know? You’d willingly give the upper hand to Arthur’s adversaries.” It was an accurate assumption. One that played to his favor…

Reyna scrutinized him with a suspicious eye, as did Vulko.

“The Prince is correct again, though I feel his desire to aid the Curry family is quite out of character,” His former Vizier surmised.

Orm glowered but did not grace him with a response.

“Well, I disagree,” Reyna stated, holding her head high. “You may well be right about me staying here. But Orm’s presence at my cottage would be just as damning. I think it is best to remove all evidence of my presence from this house and continue as usual.”

“And leave you unprotected?” Arthur argued.

“Placing protection on my home is just as good as painting a target on my back.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong….

“As we have just established, it is not safe…”

“I said no.” She declared, glaring at Orm as he made to protest. “I do not need or want your protection.”

Arthur snickered.

She may as well have slapped him. Orm burned to put her in her place, but he could not chastise her in front of her family. It would look bad.

Headlights illuminated the dark driveway, and Reyna turned back. “I have to go,” She announced, snatching her coat and heading toward the door.

“Go?” Arthur asked, the smile falling from his face. Vulko frowned, looking confused.

“Sam is having a fire….”

“Sam?”

“Steve is going to be there….”

“Steve?”

“Talia is taking me.”

“Reyna….”

“It’s not safe.” Orm proclaimed.

“It’s not up for discussion,” She argued. “And I certainly was not asking for /your/ opinion.”

Orm bristled. She was adding insult to injury at this point. The little chit was asking for a scolding. And he found himself wanting to deliver….

Yet as she turned, her dark hair flowing in her wake as she flounced toward the door, he found himself pulled in her direction, wanting to follow. As her hand rested on the handle, she turned back. “This is not my world. I’m here on the island. I won’t leave for the time being. But it seems what’s best for everyone is that I distance myself and blend. So let me go do that.”

Vulko nodded in agreement, as did his mother.

“Are you sure, Reyn?” Arthur asked.

She smiled. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. And if I start to get skittish, I know where to go for help.”

But Orm was not satisfied. This was absurd….

“I’ll check in tomorrow,” She informed Tom Curry.

“Be safe, little one….”

——

Talia and Jane sang the entire way to Sam’s, belting out pop songs at the top of their lungs. Reyna sang along with them, happy to bask in their revelry. She wanted to be swept up in the ease of their joy. To remember what it felt like before she had to worry about her family the way she did now. She wanted to leave her anxiety behind and lose herself to the night.

But it was not meant to be…

Perhaps it was that Reyna wasn’t meant for crowds, or maybe it was because Brad was the first to greet her upon her arrival, but from the moment she crossed the threshold to Sam’s house, something felt /off/. She’d never admit that it was likely her. She was the problem. The thing that had changed. Because at the end of the day, it didn’t really matter. For what began as a promising escape from reality quickly descended into an uncomfortable social excursion.

It was /not/ what she needed. Not at all. And as the night carried on, she found herself wanting to run and hide more and more frequently. Eventually, she found her way to the far side of the fire next to a rather tall brush pile. Hiding in the shadow of evergreen pine fronds, she contemplated her options for escape.

The night was dark and moonless, and the fire blazed high, warming everyone nearby. Reyna sat quietly, not wanting to reveal her position to those nearby. Talia had disappeared long ago, already drunk and schmoozing with some—inconsequential, as Orm might have labeled, while Jane sat on the other side of the fire, chatting with a few islanders they had both known since childhood. Reyna wished she could be more like her friends. More malleable, social, easy with conversation. But more than that, she wished she was home in her bed with Stella. After another moment of debating her options, Reyna decided to strike out on her own. But just as she glanced toward the trail that would lead to her house, a voice interrupted her impending flight.

“Hey, Reyn?”

Her entire body tensed as Brad approached her perch. “Hello, Bradley,” She drolled, crossing her legs and leaning away as he took a seat next to her.

“Hey—look,” He glanced back and forth warily, leaning toward her. “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior after Steve’s wedding. I was out of line, and I really appreciate you keeping it under wraps.”

“Sure,” She murmured, poking the fire with a stick and shifting away.

“It’s just that—you know, it’s hard on the island. And besides that, you’re single, and I’m single, and I always thought we had this sort of connection…”

/Oh, here we go./

“We don’t, Brad.”

But it was no use.

“See, you say that, but I have this feeling—”

Reyna launched up from her chair. That was enough. She wasn’t going to listen to his deranged diatribe a moment longer.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Away.”

/Is that so?/

Orm’s words permeated her mind. Despite herself, she wished he was here….

“Reyna, stop…” Brad grasped her arm, yanking her back.

“Let go of me!” She protested. He obliged as the group on the opposite end of the fire looked up questioningly. Brad held his arms up in surrender, announcing his innocence.

“I don’t get you…”

“What’s to get, Brad? How many times do I have to say no before you get a fucking clue?” She demanded, using their friends’ conjoined attention to her advantage. Now, they all knew she wasn’t interested. Vehemently so.

She heard Jane’s breathy gasp as she rushed for the tree line, breaking into a sprint as she was shrouded amidst the tall shadows of the conifers. They stood as sentries, bearing witness to her flight. Pumping her arms, she picked up speed, feeling invigorated by the thrill of adrenaline that accompanied the dark woods. This forest was home. This island was a part of her….

Before long, her family’s small cottage came into view, and she barreled up the steps, slamming into the door as she hastily dug her keys out of her pocket.

Stella was waiting for her just inside, wagging her tail with a toy in her mouth. Reyna let her pass as she opened the door, waiting for her canine companion as she headed out into the dark to take care of her business. She returned a moment later, and Reyna locked herself inside, patting her panting pup on the head before padding toward the kitchen.

Yanking the refrigerator open, she perused the shelves for a snack, settling on an unopened bottle of white wine. It was still Friday night, after all, and though both the family meeting and the fire had left her feeling unsettled, she was intent on unwinding.

——

Orm watched from the dark of the woods as Reyna poured herself a glass of bitter libations, seeming worn. He hadn’t truly meant to end up here. Yet here he found himself, all the same. Unable to sleep, he had taken to the trails, walking aimlessly beneath the moonless sky. He couldn’t stop thinking of the Black Manta and how his presence on the playing field might change his situation—even the odds. As of now, it was the only lead he had, and it was completely beyond his control. Lost in thought, he’d accidentally made his way directly to his former dwelling—Reyna’s cottage.

Now, he stood frozen among the trees, watching, waiting….

He wasn’t exactly sure what had drawn him so unwittingly to her keep. But now that he was here….he was intent on exploring that chance intention.

He waited until all the lights were out. Then he waited some more. Until the hour grew late, and the oppressive darkness swelled around him like the watery deep—like home.

Then, finally, he moved.

Making his way along the quiet yard, he pulled the spare key Reyna had gifted him weeks ago from his pocket. It was a fortuitous coincidence that he happened to have it now, and he did not hesitate to use it.

Allowing himself entry, Orm stole through the quiet cottage, strolling confidently from the barn to the main house, stealing up the stairs. Like a man possessed, he sought his ailment, needing clarity. He needed to understand what exactly it was that plagued him so. He needed to look upon her face—to reason the madness away….

Stella raised her head as he entered the dark bedroom, but she did not stir. Instead, she watched him curiously. He reached out a hand, allowing her to sniff. Appeased, she offered him a light lick before burying her snout in the blankets and returning to sleep.

Orm rounded the bed, approaching Reyna as she slept. Her face was serene.…calm. She wore a slim shift with the barest wisps of straps along her shoulders. Lace lined her cut clavicle, and her hand rested on her midriff. Orm found that he wanted to touch the silk, to feel the firm and supple flesh beneath it…

Suddenly, she stirred.

Reyna’s chest heaved, and she sucked in a breath.

Instinctually, Orm reached out to steady her, then stopped. If he were to wake her now, what would that look like to her?

He retracted his hand just as Reyna seized again, gasping for air and thrashing her head. This time, she cried out, whimpering in fear.

Orm’s heart skipped a beat, but he could not touch her—he could not interfere….

Stella leapt up, whining and nudging Reyna’s arm with her snout. She yipped and bayed for her master, attempting to rouse her.

Despite his instincts, Orm stepped back, receding into the shadows as her chest heaved once more.

Stella crawled atop her chest and offered one final nudge just as Reyna let out a blood-curdling scream.

The sound was world-ending. It ran through Orm like a riptide, wrenching him far from all he knew. His heart stopped, and his shoulders sagged as he fell back against the wall, succumbing to the shadows, crippled by the song of her terror.

There was nothing he could do….

Reyna surged forward, sucking in a second breath, prepared to scream once more. But what should have fled her lungs in a shriek of fear morphed into a howl of agony. Mourning. The likes of which he had only ever known after his mother had been sentenced to the trench.

Reyna bent over Stella, clutching at her fur, wracked with sobs of anguish—of torment….

| Finn and Luna Avenell drown in tragic car wreck, survived by their daughter Reyna Avenell, who was pulled from the wreckage late in the evening on November 9th.… |

Drowned.

Pulled….

Reyna…..

An otherworldly cry of heartache poured from her mouth as she held Stella, who sat quietly by, standing guard to her master’s grief.

Slowly, Reyna’s breathing steadied, and she collected herself. Stella lapped at her face reassuringly.

“That’s the second time this week, Stella girl. I cannot bear another. Not so close.” She petted the dog as tears streamed down her face. “You always make it better, but tell me, how do I make the nightmares stop?” She murmured into her fur tearfully.

Orm felt gutted. Inspired to reveal himself if only to offer her a moment of comfort…

But he could not.

Thankfully, Reyna did not linger long in the world of the living. She quickly succumbed to sleep once more. And Orm, shamed by his blasé invasion of her privacy, fled back into the night.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Red Dawn

Song List:
Follow You Down To the Red Oak Tree by James Vincent McMorrow
Rolling In On a Burning Tire by The Dead Weather
It’s No Good by Depeche Mode
Sweet Sacrifice by Evanescence

The weather on the island had turned.

Autumn winds swept away the summer heat, transforming the sunsets into pallets of red with each passing dusk. The deciduous trees had begun to change, metamorphing with each chilly evening, their leaves shifting from green to colors of yellow, orange, and red. The call of the birds, too, had changed. Now, it was the plight of crows that sang through the air. The songbirds had fled, as had the geese, in the wake of the chill. The island seemed barren now in more ways than one.

Orm was…forlorn. Like the falling leaves, he, too, felt as though he had lost something vital.

He existed in a haze as the days shortened and darkness stole over his soul. He longed for the sea more than ever, yearning for home. For the shimmering light of bioluminescence. The memories kept him awake at night. Unable to sleep, he had begun to wander the tidelands each morning, strolling along the sand as the sun blossomed in the sky, musing on the oceanic dwelling to which he belonged, among other things…

/You are afraid of it./

/Yes./

| Finn and Luna Avenell drown—survived by their daughter, who was pulled from the wreckage.… |

Drowned.

Pulled.

Reyna had never revealed why she was afraid of the water, but it was no matter. Orm could surmise the reason well enough. Whatever had happened, Arthur had managed to get her back to shore. But as a child, to watch her parents drown…perhaps even to almost drown herself…would have been a truly horrifying experience for one such as her. That, he could not deny. He was beginning to think that his plan had been destined to fail from the very beginning. Stillborn. At one point, he truly believed he could convince her to take to the watery deep at his side. To choose a different life—to choose Atlantis, to become like him. But after hearing her screams, savoring her fear like a noxious current, he knew he would never be able to persuade her to such an enterprise. Which meant—she was lost to him. Eventually, he would find his way off this rock. But Reyna….she was anchored to the shore.

Oddly, he felt disappointed by this development. He’d grown accustomed to the idea of her accompanying him and hopeful at what she might offer Atlantis in an alliance with the land. She would have been an easy pawn to manipulate. And she was amusing—kind, easy to look at…

Orm shook his head, casting Reyna and his growing chagrin as far from his mind as possible. There were other, more pressing matters to focus on now.

But as he turned back, retreating to the lighthouse, the sky erupted in a red schema of clouds and sunlight. The sight gave him pause….

There was an old adage among the land dwellers. Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.

Red dawn—a warning, brilliant and blood red. Orm smiled.

Trouble was mounting on the horizon….

“You’re a hard man to find, /Ocean Master/.”

/Finally./

Awash with satisfaction, Orm turned to face the Black Manta.

“I was wondering when you’d make an appearance.” Orm declared, striding along the sand to face the man intent on murdering his older brother.

The Black Manta’s expression twisted into that of a sneer. “He can’t hide from me. I’m inevitable. A curse. Surely, you expected I’d seek you out.”

He always had been overly dramatic…

“Indeed. Retributive justice is within reach. Yet, I must wonder why it is you have come to me.” Orm mused, careful not to provoke the man any further. “Not planning to kill me, are you?”

David Kane shook his head. “You’re worthless to me dead. But then, you’re not much good to me here either.”

“If that were the case, you would not have come.”

He pursed his lips, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been living among them. How do I know you haven’t switched sides—”

“Arthur’s father’s name is Tom Curry. He resides in the lighthouse on the east coast of the island. He walks down to the end of the dock every morning to watch the sunrise. A pass time he has diligently maintained every morning since my mother left him. He is likely there now.”

“With your mother protecting him.” He interrupted. “I’m no match for the former Queen of Atlantis.”

“I can help with that.”

——

“Hello?”

“Reyna, where are you?”

“I’m just getting ready for work. What’s wrong?”

Tom sighed heavily, sounding relieved. “Good—good. You’re home then. Safe? Everything is alright?”

“Yes—of course. What is it? What’s happened?” She asked, growing nervous.

“It’s Orm. He’s disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” She repeated dumbly, staring out the window at the rising red sun.

“Atlanna is scouting the waters around the island for any sign of him. He couldn’t have gone far without a watercraft. I checked the smuggler’s shack and the beach, but there’s been no sign of him. He’s almost an hour late to check in.”

“I’m on my way,” She declared, snatching her keys and racing out the front door, Stella hot on her heels.

——

Orm’s ploy worked like a charm.

His mother set off the moment Tom Curry alerted her to his disappearance, taking to the water to search for signs. But she would find nothing because he had not attempted to run, as the two so quickly believed.

/So predictable./

No, his plan was much more sinister…

The Black Manta was a simple man—out for blood. A red haze clouded his vision, disrupting his creativity.

But Orm was much more conniving. He managed to convince the man of his hatred for Arthur, the bastard who had stolen his birthright and cast him ashore, holding him prisoner on the island and wreaking havoc across Atlantis. It was all too easy, as his resentment was born of truth. He did despise his brother. He did want to remove him from power. He did seek revenge.

However, siding with the Black Manta would not help him to achieve any of these goals—rather, much the opposite. If the Black Manta succeeded in enacting his blood vendetta, Arthur would spiral into a fit of rage, seeking retribution for his own personal gain rather than for the sea. The land would continue to commit atrocities, left unchecked and unchallenged by Atlantis. The ocean would continue to burn, the damage as irrevocable as lost time. And Atlanna would suffer. No, there was nothing to gain from Tom Curry’s demise or David Kane’s narrow-minded objective. At least—not as it currently stood.

After Orm convinced the Black Manta that he, too, desired to see Arthur suffer, he put forth a new plan….

“It is too easy just to kill him. Your father suffered. He was forced to face his fate. To watch as the clock ran out. And you were forced to endure, to know with the utmost certainty that you were helpless to stop it.”

David Kane seethed, clenching his fists with rage as Orm devised his own plan.

“Take him hostage—make it last. Make them suffer as your father did. Teach him. /Show him/ what he did to you. Go back to where it all began. Take Tom Curry to the island he marooned you on after he murdered your father and destroyed your submarine. Trap his father beneath the sea and let him fall victim to the same fate. But give Arthur a chance—seeing the mad desperation in his eyes when it is all ripped away will be so much sweeter.”

“Remind me never to cross you,” The Black Manta declared, scrutinizing Orm with renewed respect. “I like it.” He growled, sneering slightly. “And I happen to have a watercraft to spare….”

The playing field was drawn.

All he needed now was an alibi.

Orm headed back to the smuggler’s den and settled in. Tom Curry had mentioned wanting to allot more time for repairs at the shack. Despite the impending circumstances, Orm thought taking initiative would be a worthy excuse for his truancy. He’d spend the entire day there. The fruits of his labor would corroborate his story. All he had to do was work quickly. He knew they would have looked for him there, and he had already crafted an excuse for his absence—out gathering supplies…

It was all coming together perfectly. He’d removed his mother from danger, delivered Tom Curry on a bronze platter, and positioned himself so that once Arthur realized he was missing, Orm would be the only one who could help. Arthur would not know where the island was located. But Orm—he had been there. He had rescued David Kane from its shores, armed him, and sent him off to execute Arthur and Mera. He had already revealed this—the only bit of information he hadn’t divulged was the island’s location. Which he would be more than happy to provide in their most dire moment of panic—the voice of reason, the leader, the one true King. They would all see him for what he was.

Of course, the Black Manta did not know of his intended treachery, nor would Arthur ever learn that Orm had fabricated the situation that would bind the two together. His mother would shower Orm with renewed gratitude. As would Reyna. Tom Curry, too, would be grateful, and Arthur would be forced to recognize that he knew more about the sea—that Arthur needed him.

Salvation was within reach, and he relished the feel of it. As the sun rose in the sky, Orm found himself smiling as he labored away, putting the final pieces of the puzzle together. He did not break for food or water. He did not pause or give up until the sun began to set. Then, finally, he stepped back to survey his work.

He had patched the roof, repaired the deck, and fixed the old window panes. He’d also cleared a trail, lining it with some of the extra crushed stone left over from his summer project at the lighthouse. It looked much better. No one could deny that he had not been hard at work all day.

Now, to reveal himself….

Snatching a bundle of freshly chopped wood, he clenched his jaw. Despite his elation, he could give nothing away. He needed to seem as stolid and resentful as usual. So, with a grim expression and a hand full of firewood, he returned to the house.

Some part of him had expected Reyna to find him during the day, to run to him—beg him for help. Or his mother, to tearfully implore him to go after them. He’d envisioned Arthur slamming him against the wall, demanding Orm to tell him all he knew. And he would. Oh, yes, he would….

But none of them had come for him.

Likely, Atlanna was still at sea, searching for her youngest son, unaware that her lover had been abducted. Arthur, too, would be on the hunt by now. It would be suspicious if Orm came upon the house and discovered his disappearance. So, instead, he decided to deposit the wood, take care of his usual chores, and head back to the shack, proceeding as usual, assuming nothing.

Yet when he arrived at the lighthouse, Reyna’s truck was parked in the driveway, and the door to the house hung wide open.

Orm stifled a grin.

She’d be frightened, of course. Desperate for his help. This was better than he could have expected. Reyna would attest to his story now, too. He knew she would. She was so trusting, so helpless.

/Come to me, little nymph, beg me…./

He made his way slowly up the stairs, savoring each step he took toward…

Stella’s mangled body lay broken and bloody on the floor, her mismatched eyes staring sightlessly past him. Blood stained her fur, pooling beneath her limp form.

Orm felt every muscle in his body tense as the firewood clambered to the floor.

“Reyna!” He bellowed, looking wildly about the little house.

The kitchen table had been broken in two. Glass littered the floor. Picture frames, lamps, and other trinkets lay shattered on the ground, crunching beneath his boots with every gut-wrenching step. There was no sign of her…

“Orm?” A familiar voice croaked.

Shoving the couch aside, he swiftly approached Tom Curry, who emerged through the back door.

“Where is Reyna?” Orm barked, knocking a chair out of his way.

“He took her…” Tom gasped, limping toward him. “I’ve been out on the boat, searching for Atlanna—where the hell have you been!” He demanded.

“The Black Manta….” Orm felt the blood drain from his face.

No.

How could it have all gone so wrong?

“Reyna,” He murmured, his heart filling with fear.

“It’s all right, son. He left a lead in his wake. Arthur’s gone to intercept him. He’ll get there in time.” Tom insisted.

“A lead?”

Before Orm could inquire further, Tom thrust the ragged bits of a map toward him. He stared down at it dumbfounded. “I was out on the fishing boat all afternoon looking for him. Atlanna must have told him of you’re absence. I intercepted him in the harbor. He took one look at the map, and he knew exactly where he had taken her.”

“He does not know where he has taken her,” Orm declared, throwing the parchment down. “This is not a map. Not the kind Arthur has been taught to read. It is a trick. Ancient Atlantean hieroglyphs arranged in the shape of a land mass.”

“You can’t know that…”

“I /do/ know that. Any common scholar would be able to discern the truth from this farce!”

“But, that would mean…”

“Your son is headed in the exact opposite direction as Reyna and the Black Manta,” He announced, striding through the back door and onto the narrow dock.

“Oh, Reyna,” Tom whispered, stopping in his tracks as he finally understood their predicament. “We have to warn Atlanna!”

“There’s no time. They’re hours ahead,” Orm announced, yanking the flannel from his back and pulling the shirt over his head, baring his chest. “I have many leagues to cover and not enough time.”

“You can’t go—”

He turned back to look at Tom Curry. For the very first time, he was free of all contempt. No longer gripped by resentment. There was only one thing that mattered now. “If I do not, Reyna will surely die.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Deep Breath

Song List:
Lost At Sea by Snow Ghosts
Howl by Florence + The Machine
Love Lockdown (feat. StarGzrLily) by J2

Everything was cold and grey.

The metal walls of the cabin were like ice at her back, numbing her with each passing moment. Strange lights flashed overhead, red and green and blue…

She didn’t know what they meant—all the buttons, levers, and strange control panels.

Her mind couldn’t seem to make sense of any of it.

/Denial./

She hadn’t thought to bargain yet. Wasn’t quite sure what she would say, even if she could find her voice. So far, she’d barely managed to breathe as terror coursed through her like a freshwater spring, robbing her of all sense. She was a being of instinct only, flinching at every odd noise, cringing against the wall like a frightened child.

There was, however, one thing she knew for certain—she was underwater.

Reyna had never been inside one before, but she instantly recognized her surroundings for what they were: the inside of a submarine hull. It was unmistakable. The lack of windows. The metal interior. The groaning—the /incessant/ groaning—of pressure bearing down on them. She knew that sound intimately. She knew what it felt like to be fully inundated. The looming presence of death as the ocean threatened to swallow you whole, drowning you in its salty embrace….

She could practically hear glass cracking as visions of her family’s car crash danced behind her eyes, threatening to engulf her in fear. But she would not let it. She needed to stay alert. Arthur would come for her. He’d find her. Just like last time. And when he did, she needed to be ready…

Eyes wide, she did her best to take in her surroundings. Every detail helped. By the size of the craft, she guessed they were past the aphotic zone, submerged well into the deep. No light permeated the darkness here—no hope.

But that wouldn’t matter to him. He could swim in these depths easily. He could see through the murk. He’d find a way—he always found a way.

Wrists aching, she shifted positions, emboldened by this train of thought. Glancing around, she attempted to get a better look at her surroundings. Her hands were shackled, locked in silver cuffs around a thick pipe. Reyna sat huddled beneath it, her arms held above her head, trapped. She couldn’t see far, and as she craned her neck about the pipes, she quickly realized there was nothing of use to discern. She was out of her depth, trembling, still, with fright.

There was no way for her to break out of her shackles, and there was nothing she could see that she understood.

/Mother, help me…./

Apparently, she was not beyond begging….

Footsteps echoed across the hall as the Black Manta approached her makeshift prison. Despite herself, she peaked up at him.

“It’s almost time, pretty girl. Are you ready?”

Her voice was frozen in her throat. Her limbs were heavy and leaden, crippled by fear. She clung to the pole, shrinking against the metal wall, willing herself away….

He crouched before her, sneering with disdain despite the pity in his tone. “I want you to know that you have done nothing to deserve what is about to happen to you.” He spoke quietly, intimately, as if to a lover. “You are completely innocent. Pure…” He revealed, his brow softening. “But you will suffer. You will know the same fate that my father did at the hands of your brother. You will drown. Slowly. Fearfully. This sub will fill with water and sink to the bottom of the ocean, and you will never be seen again. Likely, your brother will never find you. But if he does, he will know the horror of encountering your remains. Of what happens to a person…” He choked, then glared. “I had wanted your father. But then, you came along. And I thought—this was better. He will still know what it is like to lose someone he treasures, and your father will never forgive him. Aquaman will have to live with that for the rest of his life. He will suffer the accusatory gaze of your father as he blames him for your death forever.”

“I—I’m not….” She croaked, her words were halted by her fear as she tried to explain that she wasn’t who he thought she was. But as her voice died in her throat, she realized it didn’t matter. Whether or not she revealed her true identity to him now, he would not spare her. He had gone too far.

“Your brother could have saved my father. He didn’t have to let him die. But he did. Now, in his wake, you will ask the sea for mercy. As we did.”

Snatching at her manacles, Reyna gasped as he unlocked her wrists, only to yank her roughly to her feet before ensnaring her again.

“Please….” She murmured as the latch clicked loudly into place. “Please….you don’t have to…”

“Shut up!” He barked, winding his hand back and striking her across the face.

Reyna cried out at the impact. Shocked by the sting of his violence. But the Black Manta would not be slowed. He dragged ever forward through the narrow halls of the submarine until they reached a wide passage, in which he promptly dropped her. She fell to her knees, clutching at her wrists as they bled from the metal biting into her skin.

“Here….”

She looked up, tears pricking her eyes.

“Is where I leave you.”

“Wait!” She cried as he turned his back on her. “Please, you don’t have to do this!”

But it was no use. As she scrambled across the floor, the Black Manta’s trap snapped shut.

A bomb exploded behind her, tearing a chunk out of the ship's hull. Water poured through the opening, flooding the chamber. She gasped against the cold, leaping to her feet. An alarm blared overhead, and red lights flashed as the ship signaled its impending descent. Reyna ran for the opposite end of the hall, desperate for escape. But he had sealed her in. She looked around wildly, searching for something—anything—a hatch, an escape pod, a door, a diving suit…

But there was nothing.

Nothing.

The water was up to her knees now, slowing her movements as dread sank into her heart. She began to shake from the cold, from fear and sorrow, as the sound of rushing water filled the chamber with the ocean’s roar.

She was going to die here…

She was going to drown.

Just like her mother and father before her.

Hadn’t she always known she was on borrowed time? It was always meant to be like this. Some part of her knew—that was why the ocean still frightened her, why she never swam out too deep in the lake. One day, the sea would come to claim her—the one that got away. She wished she had drowned the first time. To spare herself all this misery and fear. Now, she understood what was coming for her. She knew what it felt like to have your lungs fill with water, the burning need to breathe….

“Please,” She cried out, pounding on the metal door. “I don’t want to do it again,” She begged weakly, knowing it was useless.

Death was the only way she would be leaving this submarine.

Her teeth began to chatter, clacking violently as the water surged past her waist. At this depth, the ocean was as cold as ice. Freezing her limbs. She scrambled toward the wall, clutching at the pipes for purchase as she began to lose mobility as the cold set in and the water rose, swallowing everything in its wake—soon, it would engulf her as well.

Her heart raced as she felt precious seconds tick by. If Arthur hadn’t found her now…likely, he wouldn’t. The ocean was too simply too big. How could he know…?

Despairing, Reyna cried out desperately, clinging to one of the thick metal bars as the water overcame her shoulders. Fully submerged, she kicked off the ground, attempting to keep her head above the surface as the lights began to dim and the roaring sound of the water muffled as the crack in the hull was swallowed by the sea.

Now, the water rose quietly.

Reyna's breathing slowed as her panic subsided with the sound. Her limbs felt heavy and numb as she fought to keep her head above water. The cold was taking over her, making it difficult to think straight as the current pushed her upward toward the ceiling. Her eyelids felt heavy, and finally, she stopped shivering. Her teeth ceased their chattering.

“Thass better…” She slurred as her heart rate slowed.

Hypothermia washed over her in a calm salvation. Offering her another way out.

/I’m not going to drown./ She realized, smiling to herself. /The cold will take me first…/

She nearly giggled with relief. But her head nodded, and her mouth dipped underwater. Snapping her head up, she sputtered, blinking against the drowsy feeling slowly overtaking her mind. She needed to find something to hold onto until the cold could take her away. The ceiling wasn’t far now, but the water had slowed slightly—a good thing.

Reaching up, she looped the chain of her cuffs over a large hook. Resting her head against her arm, she closed her eyes and gave in to death's cold embrace.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Ship Wreck

Song List:
Going Under by Evanescence
Cold by Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz
Hold On For Your Life by Tommee Profitt & Sam Tinnesz
Nightlight by ILLENIUM & Annika Wells

By bloodshed do the gods make known their will…

Orm prayed it not be in favor of her death today.

He had bargained with a devil, and the bastard had been more cunning than he anticipated, seizing a lucrative opportunity as it presented itself by chance.

The gods were punishing him again—/always punishing him/. Punishing him for ignoring Arthur’s inheritance, punishing him for daring to do right by the world, punishing him for attempting to abscond his lowly station through deception. Now Reyna would pay the price.

Orm surged through the water, swimming faster than he ever had before. Desperation drove him, pushing him to the edge of his abilities. If he had an Atlantean warcraft, he could have intercepted them well before they reached the island. Now, he could only hope to make it there as they did. But a ship was not the only thing he was lacking—without his armor, without his weapon, and without aid, he might not stand much of a chance against the Black Manta and his armored suit. But it did not matter….

There was only one thing of importance—one person of consequence.

Her.

How could he have been so foolish? So callous? Through his petty scheming, he had left her vulnerable—and now, she was on the brink of death.

Clenching his fists, he rushed on, a man possessed, frenzied, and wild in his reckless torment. Hours passed as he pressed on, exhausting himself. But he would not slow. This was all his fault. He had led the Black Manta right to her. If he hadn’t been so swept up in his own plots, she would be safe. Instead, she was collateral damage in a war she was never meant to be a part of. His shame threatened to consume him. He deserved to be punished for his crimes. He deserved to feel every bit of pain dealt to him on this journey. He deserved it, not her.

Finally, the temperature rose as he entered the tropical sea surrounding The Bahamas. He was growing closer. There was only so much distance left for him to cover….

The Black Manta always had a flare for the dramatic. That would work to Orm’s favor. Likely, he would waste time explaining his plot to Reyna. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mention Orm’s involvement. But at this point, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting her out alive.

The sea posed the greatest predicament. Submerged in the submarine, Orm would have to lift her safely from the abyss. Thankfully, the water around the island wasn’t so deep. The Black Manta wanted to leave ample evidence for Arthur to find, so the crushing dark likely would not be an issue. If he could retrieve her from the hull, the pressure would not kill her, but could she hold her breath long enough to make it to the surface? He could swim fast enough. She would slow him down some, but he should be able to get her there in time….

/Should…/

Orm gritted his teeth as anger rippled through him. But this time, it wasn’t Arthur, Tom Curry, Atlan, or even the land dwellers that enraged him—it was himself. His own hubris had led them to this place. Had caused Reyna pain. Potentially cost her life…

Finally, the submarine came into view.

Orm’s heart stopped beating in his chest.

He arrived just in time to see the Black Manta disappear in his escape pod as the submarine dipped into the sand, sinking in the shallow seas. Orm took off without hesitation, swimming through the crack in the hull, desperately hoping beyond reason that Reyna was still breathing.

But at this level, there was more than one threat present: the cold.

Orm recalled the day her lips had turned purple from cold. Yes, above, the water was warm, but here? A human in her condition would need a suit, even in these tropical waters, to protect against the cold—a luxury she did not have.

Rounding the corner, the metal groaned and cracked against the mounting pressure as it sank deeper into the dark. The hull jolted as it made contact with the ocean floor, beginning to roll as it slipped down the steady coral slope, crushing reef clusters as it began to tilt. Hazard lights flashed, but the alarm bells had been drowned out, creating an eerie quiet. He swam along the metal walls, looking frantically around. She could be anywhere. She could have already drowned….

Glancing around, he realized there was a pocket of air above, and he shot up. As he broke through the surface, he shook his hair out, calling for her. “Reyna!” He bellowed, searching wildly.

There was nothing—no sign of her, no return call, only the echo of his agony. He swam forward, ducking beneath thick metal pipes and around large containers floating up to the ceiling as the air gap slowly closed.

Shoving a box out of his way, he clenched his jaw, growing desperate, when he finally saw her.

Dangling from the chain of her handcuffs, Reyna, soaked to the bone, hung limply from a metal hook, resting her head against her arm.

“Reyna!” He cried, quickly swimming to her side. She stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, blinking blearily up at him. The tips of her lashes were wet and frosty, while her lips were a deep purple, a stark contrast against her too-pale skin. Cupping her face in his large hands, the short and searing stab of hope he felt began to dissipate. “Reyna?” He repeated, fearful that he was too late.

“Orm…” She mumbled deliriously, her head lolling against his palm. She smiled sadly, his little nymph. The fighter that she was, if she’d managed to survive this long, there was still some hope to be found.

“Keep your eyes open!” He ordered, snatching her barred hands and lopping them around his neck. She did not shiver as she ought to, nor shudder or shy away as she usually did when they touched. “Reyna, look at me!” He demanded urgently, sensing she was on the verge of death.

There was only one thing to do.

Fate had a sordid sense of irony in her twisted prerogative. How many times had he considered it? How disappointed had he been when he realized she would never reckon with it? Now, it did not matter. There was no time for consideration. No moment to ask what Reyna might prefer. Death had come. /Through bloodshed do the gods make known their will./

Now, Orm would listen. Now, he would not deny them what they demanded. He only prayed that Reyna would forgive him when the day came that she would have to take to the sea—when he would steal her to the watery deep.

As a true King of Atlantis, Orm had been privy to many of the deep magics of his people. Aware of secrets few others knew, long lost mysteries made flesh, magics mastered and meted from the palm of his hand. Likely, not even Arthur had uncovered the knowledge he had cultivated growing up in the castle halls. Atlanna had simply not had the time to teach him. But Orm—his hydrokinesis was unmatched. Under his rule, the seven seas had bent to his will. He had manipulated the ocean as he saw fit to wage war upon the surface. He could birth storms and summon lightning. And he could do it again…

But none of those magics would help him here. Now, he called on something far more ancient. The very spell that had allowed his people to survive, to evolve to life under the sea.

The ancient Atlantean historians had named it the Archaeology of Water and Stars. A convergence of elemental existence, surpassing anything ever seen throughout human history, for the marriage of his people to that of the sea, for the adaptations that enabled them to live, breathe, and continue on. He had never invoked the enchantment before, but the sorcery was not beyond his depth….

——

“Reyna, I need you to listen to me…”

“Orm?” She blinked against the water spraying her lashes. Her vision was hazy, coming in and out. He was speaking quickly to her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying, nor would her mouth form the words she attempted to convey—to tell him…

Was he truly here? Or was her own delirium fabricating flights of fancy in her final moments?

Seeming to sense her inability to comprehend, he leaned in closer, and his nose brushed against hers. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded weakly, dimly aware that he was holding her against him as the water threatened to drown her. This must be real…

His grip tightened around her torso as he searched her eyes. “Do not be afraid…” He murmured.

/Afraid?/

His lips crushed against hers as he held her tight, driven by desperation and desire. Her eyes slid shut in surrender as her own parted to give him leave. Sea salt and blood danced along her tongue as he held her close, deepening the kiss. Slowly, her frozen muscles unlocked from their icy prison, and she clung to him, wrapping her legs around his torso. Fire erupted in her chest as ice pooled in her lungs, scorching through her veins in a cold war of elemental bliss. Hungry, she met the desperate strokes of his tongue, stoking the flames growing within her, setting the water to boil. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, and she resented the chains at her wrists, wishing she could touch more of him—all of him…

Lost at sea, nearly drowned, half dead, Reyna felt starved for all that she had been deprived of throughout her life—all she had deprived herself of. She felt every rigid muscle of his body as he held her tight and the power of his passion in his kiss. Though there had been others before him, none compared to the spark firing between them. He was firm, guiding her with his cut jaw, and she felt the strangest urge to bite him, /hard/.

/I am a King, little nymph. You would beg me for what I have to offer well before I ever considered taking you against your will./

She felt like begging now. She wanted /more/.

A primal need took hold of her, possessing her in a way she had never known. As the hot and the cold converged within her, she felt a steadily growing ache between her legs. Reyna rocked her hips against him, signaling something—desire, acceptance, invitation? She didn’t know. Orm growled against her lips, aroused by her display, but instead of giving in, he steadied her, pulling back just enough to gaze into her eyes. Reluctantly, she opened them, blinking against the sting of water. Tiny bubbles floated from her mouth as she exhaled in shock.

The gap had closed.

Reyna had…drowned?

Yet, she still lived, breathed, as the ocean flowed in a personal tide through her lungs—just like /him/. Dumbstruck, Reyna was at a loss for words. How was this possible? How long would it last? How did he—

“Hold tight to me, Reyna,” Orm advised, silencing the many questions she longed to ask. She did as she was told, every nerve in her body firing from the contact. He pressed his palm flat against the small of her back, and her breath hitched. Reason and sense fled as she whimpered in response to the deep craving he had left unsatisfied. She ground her hips against him again, seeking release, wanton in a way she had never known. What was happening to her? Orm tightened his grip, steeling himself as she wriggled in his grasp. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he denied her once again. Never had she felt so fevered for another…

But before she could tempt him further, Orm took off, swimming faster than she had ever imagined. Swiftly, he delivered them from the dying light of the sinking ship toward the surface, so far above. Water rushed by as she clung to him, gazing up at the stars swimming in the sky as they approached the breach between worlds, the portal that separated the water and the heavens.

“Exhale as we breach!” Orm shouted as they broke free. Reyna obeyed his command, sputtering the remaining water lingering in her lungs. The fever that had formerly possessed her dissipated quickly with each gulp of fresh air, replaced by exhaustion. Drained, she slowly returned to her senses as they floated in a sea of stars, the dark sky clearly reflecting upon the gentle waves that lapped around them. Now, Reyna was thankful for the bonds at her wrist as they held her steadily in place. Weary and depleted, she sagged against Orm as he tipped her chin up to get a look at her eyes. Seeming satisfied, he pulled her against him again and set off toward the shore. As they swam along the surface, the stars blurred together against the dark until all she knew was the feel of his strong arms around her and the soft current pushing them to shore.

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: Sirenize

Song List:
Never Let Me Go by Florence + The Machine
Bring Me To Life by Evanescence
I Walk the Line by Halsey
In the Air Tonight by

The slow and steady sound of waves crashing gently in the distance pierced her mind, coaxing her from sleep. Birds sang on the warm breeze, whispering their hopes for the new dawn. Reyna sighed, stretching her legs and arching her back, fisting the sand—

/Sand./

She shot up, startled, searching wildly for answers. Her dark curls hung loose and thick, coated with salt, as she whipped her head around taking in the swaying palm trees, white sand, and pink sunrise. Her clothes were still slightly damp, but she wasn’t cold any longer. Flashes of a black, star-speckled sea and Orm’s strong arms around her surfaced, calling her back to her present circumstances. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she recalled the previous day’s events as she stared out across the tourmaline waters—but clarity did not come.

How had Orm found her?

How had she survived?

/Reyna, I need you to listen to me…/

How had she been made to breathe water?

/Do not be afraid…/

She touched her lips, remembering his kiss. Her face flushed as she looked around, but he had vanished.

Where had he gone?

Where were they now?

She had a dim memory of waking in the night, finding her cheek pressed against his hot, bare chest…

“Oh my….”

And hadn’t she ground against him in the water…?

Her heart flipped in her chest.

What had they done?

Every inch of her body felt as electrified as a live wire, sparking and sputtering desperately without a proper channel to direct its wild current. It was all too much. She had nearly died, /again/. But this time, it hadn’t been Arthur who pulled her from the wreckage. It had been /Orm/. Ocean Master, former King of Atlantis, a high-born prince, a man more powerful than she could comprehend, capable of committing great atrocities, one who intended to war with her people, to wipe them out—with piercing blue eyes and rippling muscles, who’s wicked smirk set her on edge just as easily as his derisive comments toward her family.

That man…

Had rescued her.

“Devil…or angel?” She murmured, searching for him on the blossoming horizon.

/Does it matter?/

No, she supposed not.

Not anymore.

——

Orm emerged from the surf, carrying Reyna as she slept in his arms. The moon hung low and bright in the sky, illuminating her pale face against his chest. Her escape had been narrow. If he had been any later, she would have perished along with the shipwreck. Though now, she would never escape him, nor the destiny he tirelessly pursued. So, her fate was sealed regardless.

Warrior—King—Ocean Master.

One title he had not harbored a lust for filling? Queen.

Mera had been a blight upon him. A reminder of his mother and the childhood he lost after she had been sacrificed to the Trench. Nothing but a thorn in his side, prodding at the old wound as it festered away year after year. He’d tolerated her presence and watched her closely as they’d grown out of their formative years, always suspicious of her motives—wondering how Atlanna’s lessons might manifest within her. She had been a necessary evil, ensuring his alliance with Xebel. A unique consortium that Arthur now reaped the benefits of. Though he’d laid the groundwork, Orm did not envy him for that. But Reyna? His fight now belonged to her, as well. His bastard brother may have won the crown, but Orm had dealt a fatal blow this night. Despite formerly unforeseen circumstances, his plan had worked. The Black Manta had seen through with his assault, and Orm had incapacitated the effects of the damage. He had rescued Reyna—embedding himself into their family structure, proving his worth, prowess, and knowledge. And as to his former plan, he had brought her to his side, corrupting their inner circle. Though Reyna did not know it, she was now irrevocably tied to him. The ancient ways of his people bound them. Not even the flames from the Ring of Fire could burn away the bonds of their joining.

/People of Atlantis, hear me! My brother has come from the surface…to challenge me for the throne! Let us settle this in the ancient way: by bloodshed, do the gods make known their will!/

Bloodshed—such a liberal term. So loose in its meaning…

Sand gave way beneath his steps as he brought her back to land. His little nymph, so far from home, stranded on strange tides and foreign shores. This island had been optimal from the start for its isolation. Marooned, the Black Manta had no means of escape. Nor did Reyna, but for him. Now, its bank was dark. The palm trees were mere shadows swaying in the wind. No one would find them here. Not even Arthur knew of the island’s exact location, and Orm had not divulged this precious information to Tom Curry before his hasty departure. They were utterly alone.

Reyna sighed softly in his arms as he laid her out beneath the stars. Rather quickly, he constructed a meager fire for warmth and returned to her side…all too pleased to shelter her in his arms. His conquest—his victory.

Yet…

The visualization of his blood proliferating through her veins plagued his mind—transferred in the most intimate and purest of fashions—a simple kiss. The change was rife within her, already purifying her blood. He could smell it on her as he held her close, unable to help himself. The scent drove him wild, urging him toward the final act—the culmination of his hubris. But he refused. He would not give in until she was ready. Until she sought him.

There was only this in the interim. Only this he would allow: the feel of her skin against his. Her comely body and all its wondrous curves, vulnerable beneath his palm, her supple lips emanating soft sighs as she slept with her face so near his heart. He wanted to touch her, to give his hands leave to roam across the atlas of her skin. He had been a fool to let himself believe that he could use her so carelessly. To allow himself to pretend that there was nothing between them when the truth was, he had been lost to her since the moment she graced him with her smile. No one else could quell his rage, hold his fascination, or vex him on such little pretense as she could. In Atlantis, he had never fallen victim to vice. Nor in his short stint on land did he succumb to simple pleasures to assuage his defeat—until /her/. She was the first. His guilty pleasure. It was a crime against his politics and his honor to give in to her wiles. And until this day, he had remained strong. But now, everything was different. No longer would he need to deny himself.

Palm leaves rustled above as the tall stalks swayed gently in the dark of the night. Orm’s eyes were drawn to their elaborate fronds and the stars littering the sky. He had no way of knowing what time it was—though by the orientation of the moon, he supposed it was only just past midnight. Eventually, she would need to eat…drink fresh water. It was his job to provide her with these things….his job…

“You whore!”

Orm closed his eyes, attempting to resist the pull of memory.

“You dare defy me?” Orvax bellowed, flinging a crystal decanter toward his mother. But the Queen did not cow to his aggression. Nor did she flinch as the glass shattered against the walls of their royal chamber. The guards at the door did not move. Though Orm wished they would intervene, they never would. They were charged with protecting the royal family from everyone but the King.

“Your continued assault on surface dweller ships has attracted too much attention. You have desecrated the righteous and honorable cryptogram of the Sea Force. You have made enemies—”

Orvax struck her so hard he drew blood, and Atlanna spun, knocked to her knees. “What do you know of war, woman?” He hissed drunkenly. “I am King! The ocean is mine to command!”

Atlanna, his mother, dabbed her lip as droplets of blood floated through the water. Quietly, she steeled herself in the face of her husband’s noxious temper, glancing to where Orm stood, frozen with fear.

“No!” Orm shouted, shattering the memory. His grip on Reyna tightened. Though he knew he would never let her go, he refused to be like the man who had raised him. But he could not deny that the same demons that gripped his father now haunted him—jealousy, resentment, and possession ran rampant in his heart. Perhaps it was hereditary. He’d never had cause to fear that part of himself—rather, it had often served him well as King. Then again, he’d never allowed himself to /feel/ for another. So there was no risk.

Until now.

He glanced down at Reyna’s sleeping form—so fragile and vulnerable. She belonged to him, alone, and he would never allow her to suffer so. Still, the idea of another touching what was his set his blood boiling. No, he would never harm Reyna—not the way his father had hurt his mother. But if she ever betrayed him or sought the comfort of another, she’d witness his wrath, and her suitors would feel the fury of his trident. But not her. Never her…

She stirred in his embrace, sensing the magics in her blood. Lost in sleep, she nuzzled her cheek against his chest, moaning softly as her lips brushed against the fine hair that grew there. Despite himself, Orm’s hand drifted lower down her back.

/To steady her…/

He hissed in a breath as she suddenly raked the backs of her nails across his bare chest, hungering for more despite her unconscious state. Instinctually, he wedged his thigh between her legs, drawn in by the same allure—the song of the sirens. In response, she ground against him, moaning desperately, searching for release, /needing him/. His nostrils flared as he clenched his fists, barely preventing himself from wantonly pawing at her while she dozed. But he refused to defile her further than he already had. So he kept still.

Lying on the sand alongside her, he cradled her in his arms until the stars faded from the sky, listening to the fire crackle. She needed the rest for what was to come. And as the sun quickened to the horizon, predicting her coming arousal, he knew it was time to move.

Leaving her alone on the beach, he took to the water, scouting the perimeter for signs of enemies or allies…as was his way. There were neither. They were alone…

As he swam through the tranquil sea, daybreak threatened above. The ocean was teeming with life all around him. Brilliant coral reefs, schools of fish, eels, manta rays, and tiny seahorses flitted in and out of their retrospective habitats, unbothered by the presence of their fallen King drowning in conflict.

It was too perfect—one more holy than he would have claimed divine intervention. After all, this is what he had wanted: to wheedle his way into the family, to prove his worth, to use Reyna to get to Arthur. Yet, when he hadn’t actively smothered such urges, she had artfully undermined him, much to his begrudging delight. The two of them had carefully resisted the strange pull that gripped them both, stubbornly committing to their respective echo chambers. But now, their Machiavellian dance had come to an uncanny end. The gods had meted their will, and Reyna and Orm, by design, had passed the point of no return—into the dark, she would go forevermore…with him.

He clenched his fist, punching and shattering a cluster of brilliant coral. He had not meant for it to be this way! He had fought against this fate—this union. The land and the sea…together. He had done everything in his power to keep them separate—her separate, fighting against his own desires and instincts. No. Arthur’s arrogance was to blame. His lack of action. His… complacency with the surface dwellers and his inability to conquer his enemies. The gods were still not satisfied! Orm had been forced to intervene, to show him…them…all…

He threw his head back and bellowed as a noxious combination of emotions swirled within him: pent-up rage, victory, and lust. Only one thing could sate him…and she was trapped…vulnerable on the shore.

Like clockwork, he felt her stir upon the sand. Her blood called to him—singing on the salt of the sea, seeking him out. She could not help herself. It was beyond both of their control. She called to him, and he was compelled to answer to her. They would join….

Staring up toward the sun, glittering and refracting through the water, he surrendered to her pull. He surrendered to the gods—to her. He no longer needed to deny that he desired her, for they had made known their will. He had shed a drop of his blood—and they had written her fate, intertwining it with his forevermore.

Surging up through the water, he emerged from the surf. He had desired this for some time, wondered what it would feel like, how she would bend. Yet now that they neared the event, it felt heavier. Weighted. This was not the ploy of a desperate King. This was /fate/.

He thought of their first meeting and all the events that had transpired since. The madness of his incarceration. The impudent treatment he received on behalf of those she loved, despite her good nature…

He could not fault her that—her learned loyalties. In time, he would school her to newer and brighter horizons.

Beginning /now/.

He searched for her on the beach as one might seek a trove of treasure until…

There…

The wind tussled her dark hair as she stared, enthralled, out toward the spectral dawn. Walking slowly across the sand, drawn by the possession of his blood, she approached her destiny. Neither of them could stop it now.

/At last…/ He sighed, hungry for her.

//Mine.//

——

Reyna’s feet moved as if of their own accord, carrying her across the slight slope of sand toward the crashing waves. The water was pristine, blue as the sky, and accented by the lingering pink hues of the blossoming sunrise. But she hardly noticed the colors—there was only him…

Orm appeared as severe as ever. His piercing blue eyes did not stray from her face as he watched her approach. His lips were a grim line, and his jaw was clenched, but there was a glimmer of the insidious cunning she knew him to be capable of simmering just beneath the surface. She felt the way a gazelle might under the unflinching gaze of a stalking lion. Unable to avoid the hunt—succumbing to the predator, she sensed there was no escape, and he was nearly bursting with anticipation—awaiting her arrival as though crossing into the water was some kind of concession she didn’t quite understand. But she knew…he was waiting for her…and she would not forsake him.

Gone was her anger and apprehension, her suspicion and chagrin. In their place, a dawning physical need as undeniable as the sunrise ruled supreme. There was no stopping it. That much, she knew. But she was not afraid. Drawing closer to him, she approached the precipice of change. Nothing would be the same now. She’d known from the beginning that Orm didn’t play fair—he was authoritative, uncompromising, and powerful. Why would he ever subject himself to the rules of others? Now was no different. Yet, he seemed nervous. His broad shoulders were tense, the muscles of his arms taught and flexed, as though he were poised to chase after her if she should flee—as she should. For all intents and purposes, he was a predator, and she had never been more vulnerable to him than she was now. His killing glare grew stark as she neared the water’s edge, and she could feel the tension building between them, ready to break, as they both wondered what she might do.

A quiet warning echoed in her mind, cautioning her against crossing that line. This man was a killer—he was dangerous, not to be trusted, a villain of the most treacherous nature seeking to punish all of humanity, including her, for the pollution of the sea. A jealous and vindictive man capable of more violence than she could imagine, who, at his very core, desired nothing more than to usurp the throne of Atlantis from Arthur. Despite all of this, her steps did not slow. Her conviction remained unwavering as she abandoned rational thought for physical need.

Light glinted off the saltwater droplets racing across the rigid muscles of his sculpted torso. As they glinted in her eyes, her blood sang, urging her forward, snuffing out her apprehension as quickly as it was born. She was not in control anymore—some other unknown force had taken over, and she reveled in the feel of it. She’d never seen such a delectable display of masculine strength. Everything about him was hard…strong and powerful. She had to know what it felt like to touch him. This was a man who had warred. Who had fought and defeated his enemies. A King. As if by magic, these facts that had once seemed terrifying transformed. He was not frightening; he was glorious…

Reyna did not hesitate or break his stare as she stepped into the water, crossing the threshold between worlds and joining him in his. She did not lose confidence as the waves crashed against her. Nor did she waver as she came to stand before him, wading up to her knees, facing her fate head-on. He’d saved her life. Whatever past discrepancies lingered between them, they had now vanished. Instead, she wanted to thank him, to express her profound gratitude, but her emotions clouded her mind, rendering her silent. How could she articulate everything in a way that truly captured the essence of her feelings? This fearsome, arrogant man, full of rancor and disdain, bitter to his very core by the circumstances he had been dealt—a sworn enemy of Arthur, of her family, of everything she was. He should hate her, too. By all accounts, she was his enemy. The object of his derision and contempt. He should scorn her very existence—and yet…he had protected her. Despite everything, there was a side of Orm that was kind, righteous, /good/. Nothing like what Arthur and Tom Curry thought—nothing like any of them had anticipated. She wanted to tell him everything…but she couldn’t seem to break the spell cast upon her silent tongue.

As he loomed over her with his hulking form, his jaw finally relaxed, and his brow softened. He searched her face, seeking answers. A King of the sea stood before her, having only recently rescued her from the brine locker’s kiss of death. She owed Orm Marius everything…

In a flash of movement, he snatched her waist and drew her into his arms, crushing his lips against hers and pinning her to his chest. She clung to him eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck as he slanted his mouth over hers, demanding her submission. She moaned in answer, and he kissed her harder, nipping her bottom lip. He tasted like salt and heat, ocean and sunlight. As her lips parted, his tongue thrust against hers, and she gasped at the sensation, allowing her hands to wander across his shoulders and down to his arms. Her neck craned back as he demanded more of her, commanding her to give…but she wanted to /take/. Biting him back, she met his frenzied aggression, matching his need as she caressed his chest.

Orm growled against her lips in response, tugging her down into the water as it sprayed around them, determined to master her. All she sensed was him. The feel of his muscles as they tensed around her, his hands roaming over her, tugging at her clothes, pulling her back toward the shore.…

He yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it away, then laid her out on the sand, holding her down, directing her movements….and she allowed him, submitting completely, fully enthralled by the powerful male commanding her.

Snatching her wrists, he pinned them above her head as the waves crashed over them again and again, lashing at her skin and threatening to drown them both. Salt spray flavored their drawn, amorous kiss as they writhed desperately with the tide. Reyna was helpless but to obey as he relieved her of her clothes, and before she knew it, they were naked on the beach. She had never felt so exposed in her life—lying beneath the sun with the waves brushing against her and /him/ looming over her. But he didn’t leave her long to ponder the implications of what was to happen next…

While his tongue twined with hers, their moans mixed in with the sound of the crashing waves. Never before had she craved another so badly—never had she desired to be so wholly consumed. But now, as he laid his palm over her hip to pin her down, she felt electrified by lust, losing control. Though surrounded by water, she worried she might catch on fire from the friction of his heavy body shuddering over hers.

/I am a King, little nymph. You would beg me for what I have to offer well before I ever considered taking you against your will./

Reyna was nearly there, prepared to beg for more, when he cupped her sex in his big hand.

“Oh!”

She gasped as he ground his palm against her, murmuring to her in a husky voice. Though she couldn’t quite make out what he was saying over the roar of the ocean, she hardly cared. More than that, she could scarcely comprehend anything beyond his tantalizing touch.

As he pulled back, she drank in the sight of him—his wet, blonde hair clinging to his cheek, the salt water running across his skin, his warrior’s body looking for all the world as if it had been sculpted from marble, like a statue chiseled from stone by Michelangelo himself.

Orm dipped two of his fingers into her slick folds, and she cried out in ecstasy, undulating her hips as her sheath clamped down on the appendages. She needed more—desperately. Orm growled possessively at her wanton display but more so at the discovery of her readiness. The truth of the chemistry that had been sparking between them for months now, left unsated.

“Tell me what you want…” He grated, thrusting his fingers deeper.

Reyna moaned again, spreading her legs wider. But she didn’t answer him.

Orm, still holding her wrists in place, began to draw lazy circles along the apex of her sex, bringing her close to completion. “Tell me!” He demanded.

Reyna arched her back, crying out as the sea lashed against her skin, as he hedged her against ultimate pleasure.

“I want you!”

Permission.

/Granted./

Orm dipped his head, closed his lips around the swollen peak of her nipple, and sucked hard. With his free hand, he relinquished her sex and snatched her thigh, pressing her legs open. Reyna gasped, staring up at the sky as the engorged head of his cock slipped against the wet folds of her sex. Gulls cried on the wind, and the ocean thundered around them as it collided with the land. Orm groaned, sucking harder on the sensitive bud as he ground against her, pressing deeper…

Reyna wanted /more/.

She was about to demand it from him when, of his own accord, Orm gave a decisive thrust, and his shaft slid home. Wrapping his arm around her back, he held her waist steady as he buried himself deep within her. A moan of pleasure escaped his lips, and she sucked in a breath at the sudden feeling of fullness, at the sensation of his cock twitching inside her as he buried the hilt deep.

Joined.

/Trust him…/

Abandoning her breast, his lips found hers once again. Salt water filled her mouth as Orm thrust in tandem with the waves. It was as if the sea itself were making love to her…so soon after almost killing her. The ocean roiled with its former King, moving and churning with his body, filling her, claiming her.

Reyna opened her eyes, wanting to see him in the throws as he began to lose control, fucking her like a piston. He was more lost than she was—nearly rabid with lust. Pressing his forehead to hers, gripping her tightly, squeezing her…holding her…

/Wait./

Were his eyes /glowing/?

With a ragged bellow, Orm relinquished his hold on her arms and dragged her beneath the waves—into the deep. Wrists newly released, Reyna pressed her palms against his chest as the water rushed around them, fighting against him. But it was no use. He was far stronger than her, and she had no hope of defeating him.

Her lungs filled as she sucked in a violent gulp of salt water, assailed with an onslaught of sensations. Her skin sang from every caress of the sea, from his touch. Her sheath clenched as she rushed toward oblivion, catalyzed by some unknown force. Pleasure abound, she forgot the silvery hue of light that haloed his eyes. Lost to the sea, she succumbed to ultimate pleasure. The undulating pulsating pressure of completion. The crescendo of their joining. Orm bit her neck as her muscles clamped down on him, and her nails dug into his arms. She clung to him desperately as he fucked her orgasm from her mercilessly, drawing her deeper into the sea.

There was only him, his hulking body covering hers, every muscle taught and corded, rippling like the water as he drove into her. Nothing but his all-consuming kiss, his abysmal sex, and aggressive possession. She’d never known anything like it.

He heaved over her, pressing as deep as he could manage as he came. She felt the hot bursts of his ejaculation lash against her and the powerful jerk of his hard cock with each spasm of pleasure. His large body shuddered against hers as he held her close. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest. But he didn’t pull out. He kept still, panting in the water. Then he kissed her. Slowly, gently—so different than before. Calm, measured, and drawn, he was careful and calculating. Gone was the frenzy. Now, he was gentle….

“Are you alright?” He murmured against her lips.

Reyna nodded, rendered speechless.

“Good.” He purred, smirking arrogantly. He had not relinquished his hold on her waist, nor had he pulled out. The water seemed to still, and she glanced around. A colorful school of fish swam by, and in the distance, a beautiful display of coral could be seen.

He snatched her chin, drawing her attention back to him.

“Ah-ah, little nymph, I’m not done with you yet.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Tide Over

Song List:
Power by Ellie Goulding
Everything I Need by Skylar Grey

Her allure was /intoxicating/.

One lay was not enough…

The ocean calmed with his strides, and the water stilled around them as the reef's creatures fled in the wake of their joining. The calamitous means of their union could be perceived by all those nearby, loyal and beholden to the sea—the ripple effect of their alliance sending shock waves well beyond the island's perimeter.

It was done.

She was /his/.

As he gripped her chin in his palm, staring deeply into her eyes, he became suddenly aware of the pervasive possession that gripped him. He desired to master her body, mind, and soul. To own her in absolution. Though he could breathe water, he was drowning in desire. The noxious friction that played between them was a beautiful spell of asphyxiated obsession. She would submit to him in the end. He would see to it. Reyna had no choice now…

She’d not know for some time. The effects were subtle at first. It would take some time before they were noticeable—he couldn’t be sure how long. The accounts he’d read of in Atlantis varied, and he was quick to call to question their accuracy—being so old and deriving from sources that could not be supported by anyone currently living. The validity of the documents could certainly be disputed. Nevertheless, success was visible in that Reyna lay beneath him, buried deep under the waves, breathing water like an Atlantean.

She seemed to puzzle over the new talent. Exhaling a small cascade of bubbles, her eyes lit up in awe before they alighted upon his….

He hardened anew at the sight of her curiosity, twitching with need.

/Reyna was alive. Reyna was safe. Reyna was naked underneath him—a budding creature of the sea./

His grip tightened around her waist instinctually as he gave in to the territorial impulses he had denied himself for months. He needed to fuck her. He craved her submission—her unwavering capitulation to his rule. He wanted to possess her—to harness every aspect of her in the palm of his hand while she was hungry and able. Yes, now, she was vibrant and thirsty for salt—but soon, she would be plagued with symptoms of the transformation. She’d be drowsy and nauseous, her moods erratic and impassioned. Eventually, she’d begin to crave Atlantean food—the sustenance of the sea. Despite the temperature on the surface, the desire to submerge herself in the tide would grow undeniable. He’d stand by her side through the brunt and do his best to assuage her from the symptoms as much as he could. But now?

Now…

“How is this possible?” She murmured, spellbound.

What to tell her?

His blood…

Their joining….

That she would now always be by his side, forever claiming a seat at the table when it came to Atlantis. That she would fight against the plague of the surface—she had no choice. She existed under his authority now. The time would come for her to descend alongside him, to fall into the depths. Becoming a part of one of the greatest kingdoms ever to exist. Forever shackled…

/His./

Staring into her eyes, he gently pulled back, then thrust slowly, gazing down at her, watching her. Memorizing the lines of her face, the way she gasped in response to his careful invasions…

There would be time to make sense of it all. To cure her of the sickness of the surface. But now—now was a time to revel. /To take what was his/.

“Are you all right?” He asked, evading her question.

Tiny bubbles escaped from her lips as they parted in response. She gripped his arms tightly, glancing around. “I don’t know.” She murmured, observing a colorful school of fish retreating in the distance. “How—am I dreaming?” She asked, turning her gaze back to him. “Am I dead?”

“No,” He informed her, brushing his nose against hers, hungry for more—yet she was inquisitive and curious, wanting to explore other new discoveries, not of the flesh…

A crab scuttled up out of the sand, brushing her skin, and she knocked her forehead against his, startled. Inadvertently, she clung to him, and his shaft sank deeper, to the hilt.

Reyna gasped in response to the fullness, distracted from her fright. Orm felt his gaze drawn to her captivating lips, wanting to taste them again.

“Calm yourself,” He commanded, hovering his mouth over hers.

She stilled in response as the skin of his lips gently brushed hers, seeming to realize her predicament. He could feel her heart thundering against him.

“Feel the water, feel me…you are safe here. As long as I am with you, there is nothing for you to fear. From the land or the sea.”

“Nothing…to fear….” She repeated, hypnotized by his pull.

“Hold fast to me…”

She obeyed easily. Fresh of the conception of her transformation, she was more sensitive to his will. He, too, was vulnerable to her needs—and he knew she desired him now. The joining was good for both of them. Physical intercourse would alleviate her symptoms and strengthen their bond, assuring his hold over her. Not to mention, it would slake his near insatiable need for her….

He took her gently the second time—kissing her neck, suckling her breasts, attending to every inch of her. As he began to lose control, his hands clamped down on her hips, holding her in place as he thrust. Her muscles clenched just as he neared the end, and he gritted his teeth, holding back as best he could.

Reyna arched her back and moaned as her sheath clamped down on him. Orm bellowed in ecstasy, despite himself, as the siren beneath him wrung his seed from his shaft. They came as one beneath the waves, victims of fate, both.

Her eyes fluttered shut from exposure and exhaustion. She’d wake long from now, recalling these events with the clarity of a foggy dream. He’d be forced to explain. They should have had more time to solidify the bond, but every bit of her being was overstimulated. Shortening the sentence of his thrall.

Carefully, he pulled out, restored his trousers, and lifted her into his arms, carrying her back to the shore.

A part of him was embarrassed by his loss of control—another part felt more relaxed than he had in—in…

Orm frowned, cocking his head to the side as he surveyed the slumbering waif in his arms.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so tempered…

Exhaling sharply, he felt the corner of his lip twitch into a sly smile at his realization.

——

“Who are you?”

“I am…not supposed to be here.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Deep magics swirled around her, catching in the salt water. The world was pitch dark but for a smattering of white lights—akin to the stars, but she knew had sunk deep beneath the waves, hundreds of miles beneath the surface: the crushing dark.

“I shouldn’t be here…”

“You cannot change what is—you can only prepare.”

“Prepare for what?”

“Evolution—you are not your own any longer…”

——

Reyna surged forward, terrified. The sky was dark—the world was dark, just like in the dream—just like…

“Calm yourself.” A steady voice commanded—a familiar, masculine voice.

She sucked in a breath, taking in the sight of the orange fire crackling before her and Orm Marius, Ocean Master—seated across from her.

“It was only a nightmare.” He revealed, prodding the coals with a piece of bleached driftwood.

“A nightmare?” She murmured, rubbing her head. It was pounding. Her entire body ached as though she were hungover. And she was so thirsty…

At the thought of water, the memories of their copulation surfaced, floating up from the depths of her mind. Reyna stiffened. “You…”

“Me,” He agreed somewhat smugly, smirking—a man reveling in his conquest.

Reyna’s cheeks heated. “I thought I’d died.”

“Most women believe they have seen the kingdom of paradise after a night in my arms. It does not surprise me that you would count yourself among them, being so inexperienced.”

Reyna scoffed, exhaling loudly in aversive shock. Was he serious? She had nearly died, and he was—was…

“Inexperienced?”

“You are young, albeit nubile and quite eager—but an amateur still.”

“Is that so?” She asked, aghast, her ire piqued.

Orm chuckled. “Reyna…”

“A madman kidnaped me, intent on ending my life. I nearly drowned. I was prepared for the water to take me. I reasoned that I would not suffer the pain of oxygen depravation because I would freeze first…”

“/Reyna,/” His tone grew serious, but she was relentless in her message.

“I accepted the inevitable. Arthur would not make it to me in time. And then you….”

He surged forward, closing the distance between them and taking her face in his palms.

“Why did you come?” She needed to know. How had he been able to find her and not Arthur? Where was Tom? Why had he…why had /she/? What had she been thinking? Not much of anything, it seemed. She couldn’t recall a single notion, no consideration for her actions. She had just gone into the waves without a second thought—without even looking back—gone straight to his arms with so little regard for what it meant for her, or Arthur, or the family. She’d thrown caution to the wind. And now what?

“You are different…” He murmured, stroking his thumb over her cheek.

“Bull shit…” She challenged.

He gritted his teeth, offered her a scorching look, then corrected. “/I/ am different—with you.”

Reyna blinked, taken aback.

“You—you calm my rage. You quell my fear. There may be others in the world like you, but there have been none before you who have made me feel.”

Stars glimmered in the sky as the fire crackled beside him.

“The entire world turned against me. I lost my country, the love of my people, my purpose—the pain of that loss is immeasurable. You lessen it—every day. Just being near you is all I need. You are my lifeline. I will be whatever you need in return.”

Reyna inhaled a shaky breath, unsure of herself and him.

“Whatever you need,” He repeated, his earnest eyes beseeching.

Suddenly, a blinding light set on the beach, and he turned from her.

“They are here.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Calm Seas

Song List:
In the Sea by Ingrid Michaelson
Thunderstruck by AC/DC
Lovely by Billie Eilish & Khalid

As the illumination struck her eyes, an unfamiliar sensation gripped her mind. Almost instantly, she felt weak, ill—and so thirsty. The lights fractured as auras danced in her vision, great orbs set aglow like bubbles churning in the deep. Flashes of the metal hull she’d been trapped in plagued her, toying with her memory. They erupted in a kaleidoscope of random memories and dreams…chaos reigning triumphant…

“I—I feel strange,” Reyna admitted fearfully, searching for her voice among the mounting madness. “I’m not remembering things right. It’s so—I can’t see clearly,” She clamped her hands down on either side of her head. “Where are we?” A cold heat permeated her body—a freezing fever, distorting her mind rapidly.

“We’re on an island off the coast of the Caribbean Sea. You are ill, Reyna.”

“Ill?” Was that right? She hadn’t felt ill this morning—she’d felt strong, drunk with power. And hadn’t she breathed water? “I—I was under the water with you…I could breathe.”

“No, Reyna. You are not Atlantean; you cannot breathe underwater.”

What? But they had—she had slept with him beneath the surf. He’d only just admitted to it—seemed so satisfied with it. Bragged even. Reyna shook her head.

/You are my lifeline…/

The words he had spoken only mere moments ago already seemed to blur.

She surged to her feet, alarmed.

“I…cannot…breathe…!”

Had it all been a dream?

Orm snatched her arms, holding her in place.

“Reyna!” Arthur’s voice pierced the gloom of the night.

“Oh, thank heavens.” Tom, too, came into view, though his form was wavering like a desert mirage.

“Orm!” Atlanna’s voice joined the chorus.

Suddenly, she was surrounded by family. However, instead of calming her, it only heightened the anxiety she felt. Everywhere she turned, there was a different face whose distorted words sought to reach her. But she couldn’t hear right—couldn’t see straight.

——

Reyna collapsed in the sand before the Curry’s. Her skin was cold to the touch, her speech slurred, and her breath shallow. The fall was indicative of a lack of coordination. Her speech communicated confusion. And her fainting, a loss of consciousness. All known signs of hypothermia—and symptoms of her transformation.

More specifically, she was experiencing oceanic withdrawal. Under normal circumstances, a Salt Wife would be transported to Atlantis after Sirenism. There, she would receive treatment to expedite the process and ease the discomfort of change. Unfortunately, this endeavor was impossible. If he notified Arthur and the Curry’s of her condition, they would separate them—not only by taking Reyna to Atlantis and leaving him on the shore—but by severing their bond. And Orm could not allow that.

He knew the symptoms of withdrawal would lessen with time, and there was a great deal he could do to ease her pain in the interim…

For it was not only the sea she would crave but /him/. His blood would be as intoxicating to her as saline—offering both temptation and salvation. To her, he was the sea. His power was synonymous with its might. Though her symptoms would continue to dog her until she succumbed to the abyss, trapping her between two worlds, he could assuage them in the meantime. It would be his honor and his pleasure.

Arthur dropped to his knees before Reyna, whose unconscious form lay still and vulnerable on the sand. Tom Curry joined him promptly, placing a hand on her cheek.

“She’s ice cold,” He told his son, with a touch of urgency in his tone. Naturally, he was concerned. As long as they believed the symptoms to be the product of her exposure—the abduction, Orm was safe from suspicion. So he allowed it, ensuring the longevity of his plan. The only one among the crowd who possessed the knowledge to discover his deceit was his mother, and he had not yet had the opportunity to weigh her trust.

She was the only maverick. He needed to maintain his careful gambit—to offer the former queen no reason to suspect him of his treachery.

“She’s hypothermic but otherwise unhurt. She sustained no physical injury at the hands of David Kane nor harm during my extraction of her from the vessel.” Orm reported coldly, taking a step back. He clenched his fists as he watched his living shame handle the woman he’d claimed.

Arthur Curry lifted Reyna into his arms, then turned to face him. “She’s alive because of you. For that, you have my thanks.” He nodded before retreating down the shore.

Orm frowned as his mother wrapped her arms around him, remaining stiff without returning the gesture. “Oh, my darling. You have done well,” She murmured, pulling back to stare adoringly into his eyes.

“I should not have needed to intervene, if our great king were more educated on the reading of Atlantean war charts.” He snapped.

Atlanna pursed her lips and released his arms. “Well, we’ll just have to work on that now, won’t we.” She stepped aside, offering him a gentle smile as she gestured for him to follow the others across the beach.

It was not difficult for him to portray an air of disdain. This had been a most revealing course of events. Arthur’s ignorance revealed how unfit he was—while Orm’s…

He ground his teeth. Well, his ploy hadn’t exactly worked out the way he’d hoped, either. In this, he supposed they were both lacking. Though in the end, he’d managed to patch the leaks, while Arthur had floundered—/the krill-brained ingrate…/

As they stepped into the waves, Orm took in the sight of a large fishing boat, rusted orange and creaking as it rocked back and forth in the waves. “He has an entire armada at his command, and /this/ was his vessel of choice?” He drawled, glancing back at his mother.

“I’d like to point out that our vessels are designed for Atlanteans, not surface dwellers.” She commented, following him aboard. “And we have two of those in our midst tonight.”

“Indeed, I am shortsighted when it comes to the plight of the land-dwellers.” He griped, marching up the plank.

“How is it your extraction went so well?” Atlanna asked, changing the subject as they rounded upon the bridge.

“Mother, you may not have witnessed my prowess on the field firsthand. But your doubt stings, regardless. I am a soldier of Atlantis. Have you so little faith in my training?”

“Of course not,” She murmured, fixing him with an inquisitive stare. “I don’t doubt that you would go to extreme lengths to succeed.” She declared pointedly.

“I assure you, you are absolutely correct.” He agreed.

/When conjecture calls, stick to the truth as best you can./

And he did, well and often.

Atlanna narrowed her eyes but did not challenge him further.

Tom and Arthur led them to the ship’s navigation chamber. It was small but warm. The space was cramped, offering barely enough space for the lot of them. Orm was not permitted to complain. However, as Arthur placed Reyna precariously on what appeared to be some sort of grungy and unsanitary settee, he could not help but grimace.

“Tell me what happened?” Arthur demanded, rounding on him as Tom draped a shabby blanket across Reyna’s limp form.

“There is not much to tell,” Orm revealed. “He was gone before I arrived. Reyna was chained…” He halted, glancing between his mother and his adversaries. “I don’t believe you wish to hear the rest, at least not in detail. I removed her from danger. That’s all that matters. However, she has suffered from exposure to the elements. I do not know much about surface-dweller-related ailments, but I have spent enough time ashore to recognize what hypothermia looks like.”

Arthur glanced back at Reyna, then looked to Tom. “See that she’s safe.” He commanded before heading back toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Orm asked.

“He’s still out there. I’ve gotta find him before he strikes again.”

“How do you intend to do that?” Orm challenged. “You have no leads—no evidence remaining as to his whereabouts or his funds. I must assume you intend to chase cold trails?”

“Well, it’s something.” Arthur deemed, flexing his biceps.

“Really?” Orm turned to face his mother. “This is the prodigal son? Atlan’s chosen successor? Prepared to abandon all of his kingly duties in pursuit of one meager, inconsequential enemy…”

“Oh, yeah, he’s so inconsequential he found our island and kidnapped Reyna. He threatened my family. It may not be the royal line, little brother, but I can’t let that go.”

“You have to. You are a king of Atlantis. You have more important matters to deal with. Let Vulko, or a stealth team, track the Black Manta. You don’t have time to wander the seven seas, aimlessly searching for him. For the love of Atlan, you are a king. You have resources. Use them!” Orm was practically seething.

“Well, you know what they say: when you want something done right, do it yourself.”

“Yes, and if kings were held to that standard, nothing would ever be accomplished.” Orm countered.

“All right, that’s enough,” Atlanna interjected. “Whether you care to admit it or not, Orm is right.”

Her declaration surprised them all.

“What?” Arthur lifted his arms in shock. Even Tom Curry frowned, pausing in his attention toward Reyna.

“How do you mean?” The man asked.
“There is too much at stake for you to disappear now. The Council of Houses is looking for a reason to remove our family from power. Between my exile, you’re ancestry, and Orm’s crimes, there is ample evidence to suggest that we are unfit to rule. Atlan chose you for a reason. We knew there would be challengers—this is one of them. Let someone else deal with Manta, for Orm is right. You are a king. You must delegate. If you set your mind to doing everything yourself, you will fail.”

Arthur’s eyes were stark as he stared at their mother. Orm, too, felt himself frowning in the wake of her support. It left him feeling uneasy and—warm in response to her approval.

/Disgusting./

“We don’t have time to discuss Manta right now. Reyna needs warmth,” Tom concluded. “We need to get her home.”

“This bucket of bolts isn’t gonna get us all the way back to Amnesty Bay. We need something faster.” Arthur declared. “I could probably snag something with a bit more speed, but we’d still be days away from home. It makes more sense to take her to a hospital somewhere nearby.”

“How will you explain her hypothermic condition in this tropical weather? You’d out yourself. You’d out Reyna through your association with her, essentially painting a target upon her back for all those hoping to get near you. Her connection with your family would be just as damning. The entire world would uncover your identity, your home base. Are you prepared for that? Is Atlantis prepared for that?”

“Okay, yeah, I get it; you can stop with the third degree.” Arthur griped, crossing his arms over his chest. “We just gotta think.”

Orm bit his tongue. Now was certainly not the time for the myriad of callous, off-handed insults that danced across his mind.

The “king” furrowed his brow and bit his finger, clearly thinking as hard as he could on the subject. Orm thought he’d burst a capillary if he tried much harder. Then he smiled stupidly. “We could just push it.”

“That’s your genius idea?”

Much to Orm’s dismay, it was.

——

Reyna’s eyes snapped open, hauling her forth from a deep and dreamless sleep. Her mind was still caught in a haze, but she didn’t feel so ill anymore. For a moment, she thought she was alone when suddenly, the room jolted, and she heard the familiar sound of Tom snoring in the seat across from her.

“Tom?”

Tom grunted, scratched his chest, then looked around blearily. “What happened? Are we there yet?”

“Are we where?”

“Sorry, Reyn, must have dosed off. How are you feeling?”

“My head is killing me…” She stopped, glancing around the dark cabin. “How are you here?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Tom teased, adjusting the coats and blankets tossed all around her. “I took a charter plane to Miami once Atlanna confirmed your location on the Atlantean charts. Commandeered a fishing boat from there. Didn’t think I’d let my son sideline me with our best girl in deep waters, did you?”

Reyna smiled sadly.

“This old geezer can still throw down with the best of ‘em.” He assured her. “Lucky for Manta, he got out of dodge before I arrived.”

She chuckled softly, then grew serious again. “Is everyone okay? Are you okay? The house—”

“Reyna,” His tone was low and calm, the way one spoke to a frightened animal.

Her heart skipped in her chest. She knew that tone all too well.

/Where are my parents?/

/Reyna…/

/Where are they!? I want to see them now!/

“Reyn—/

/No! Don’t say it. I won’t hear it! It’s not true—it can’t be true!/

Tom reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of fabric.

No, not fabric…

A collar.

Gently, he placed a familiar slip upon her lap.

Reyna’s lip trembled.

“Stella was a good girl. She died defending you…”

Agony, sorrow—tears spilled over her cheeks as her chest heaved. Tom wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as her heart broke again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Aequoreal Spell

Song List:
Baptize Me by X Ambassadors & Jacob Banks
You and Me by Lifehouse
Broken Bones by KALEO
Drowning by BANKS

- 3 Months Later -
“Karshon and the council are looking for any reason to disavow you. Your rebuttal /must/ be strong.” Orm declared, allowing his passion to shine.

Atlanna joined his ranks, rounding the kitchen table with a salad bowl for the setting. “You must do something to catch their attention. To prove your prowess.”

“Easier said than done,” Arthur griped, peeling potato skins into the sink.

“It’s not so complicated,” Orm muttered, laying out the plates. He could think of a thousand ways to placate the head of the council’s dissatisfaction with the new king. But he had to be careful in his selection. He possessed a wealth of knowledge compared to his mother and brother—their information was vastly outdated. They had much to profit from his perspective, and redemption was a long road…

“Your younger brother is correct, my liege,” Vulko used the term ironically, specifically to needle Orm’s ire—to remind him of his position—his place of status.

“Well, what would you do?” Arthur asked, throwing his blade to the wayside.

“I would recommend—”

“There are two highly profitable actions in your arsenal you should take advantage of.” Orm declared, speaking over Vulko. “Your primary option is your romance with Mera.”

The energy in the room changed instantly.

Arthur dropped his blade while Vulko stiffened, glaring at him with all the vengeance a suppressed vizier ought to possess. His mother, on the other hand, attempted to intervene physically, placing her hand on his arm in careful warning.

It was unnecessary.

“Marriage is your move. Take it or leave it,” He claimed, depositing the last of the plates and heading toward the door.

“What was your second act?” Arthur asked.

Orm paused in the doorway, turning back to face the king. He allowed the silence to simmer between them for a moment to remind Arthur of who held the true power, the true knowledge of the sea. “Off the coast of Santorini, in the Mediterranean Sea, there is an illegal fighting ring that I once turned a blind eye to. You could shut it down. The news would travel far. However, it would not be as lasting as an alliance with Xebel.”

Atlanna paused. “You sanctioned the continuity of Clysmic competition?”

“It served a purpose,” Orm revealed, somewhat cryptically.

“Naturally, the entire court is awaiting the announcement of your engagement. As well as the population. A royal marriage is a grand distraction. Beyond that, a concrete alliance with Xebel would bolster your ranks, my king.” Vulko agreed. “In the interim, I shall look into the validity of this claim. Shutting down an illegal fighting ring would communicate a show of strength…”

This was what he had been reduced to. Earning his good graces through the most mundane advice—a schoolboy could have discerned more clever means than his older brother. Orm couldn’t help but roll his eyes as the small group continued their debate. They hardly noticed his exit as he slipped out into the dark of the night.

Snow crunched beneath his feet as he set off down the road. Though his mother had intended for him to stay for dinner, once again, he’d taken flight at the last minute. She’d not notice until it was too late, and as usual, no one would bother to come after him. The food wouldn’t keep, and the good Curry men would convince her to stay and enjoy the meal despite Orm’s “Irish Goodbye.” Whatever that meant.

He hastened along the path, cutting through the woods back to Reyna’s house.

After the events of the Black Manta’s assault, his mother and Tom Curry requested he move back into the carriage house. As Orm expected, the entire family feared for Reyna’s safety, living alone. It worked perfectly in accordance with his plan—saving him the effort he would have made to convince her of the same end.

“Reyna?” He called, passing the threshold and stomping his boots. Snow, the filthy, sticky substance, clung to every inch of the land. Shrouding them in a heavy blanket. He didn’t mind the cold. Nor the long, dark nights. But the snow was irritating. Always in the way. Making things twice as hard. There was one benefit to the change in the weather, though…

Striding across the expanse of the little cottage, he set his coat down on the table, searching for her. There were few lights on. The ones that were cast long shadows as he made his way down the hall. Rounding on the staircase, he stealthily ascended to the landing, barely making a noise as he neared their bedroom.

The room was dark and warm. Reyna was dozing quietly, nestled under a pile of blankets, pillows meticulously placed about her. The corner of his lip quirked at the sight. She was so small and vulnerable. How could a creature such as her exist for so long without attracting a mate? How had no man claimed her? The question astounded him, yet it irritated him just as much—dwelling on it brought to mind the idea of her finding happiness with another, a thought that set his teeth to grind—unacceptable.

There was no need to worry, he assured himself. There would be no other for her but him, now. The thought eased his discomfort, allowing his mind to return to the present—his attention to the sultry little nymph slumbering greedily in her bed.

“Reyna,” He purred, brushing a lock of brown curls away from her face.

“Mmm,” She stirred at the contact, arching her back and nuzzling her cheek against the pillow, pulling the blankets closer.

“Did you leave the house today?”

“No—too tired,” She murmured, not bothering to open her eyes.

/Insolent little urchin./

Orm sighed. “Reyna, you need to eat something.”

She didn’t respond.

“Reyna,” He warned.

Finally, she roused. Cracking her eyes open, she peered up at him from behind her dark lashes. “What time is it?”

Orm’s shoulders sagged slightly. Her condition was complicated. This far from Atlantean medics, any change in her health set him on edge. Though he was loathe to admit it, the integrity of her well-being lingered at the top of his priorities. Nothing should come between him and his crown, and yet…

“Come,” He commanded, pulling her from the sheets. Despite the disturbance, Reyna remained limp and listless, and as he looped his arm under her legs, her head rested against his chest. She did not resist him as she once would have. Now, she welcomed his embrace.

Much had changed over the past three months. Reyna’s condition had stabilized. Though, her symptoms still plagued her from time to time. To the others, when they came about, it looked like the remnants of a trauma response. Unless she abstained from water for too long—then she appeared truly ill, weakened, and depleted—as she did now.

“Where are we going?” She asked quietly.

“To the bath.”

——

“He’s right, you know,” Vulko admitted begrudgingly.

“About what?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, don’t be so thick, Arthur,” Atlanna smiled, setting the plate down on the table.

Though Vulko had visited Arthur dozens of times in his youth, training the king to be, to be, well, Atlantean, he still was unaccustomed to the ways of the surface dwellers. And even after the months since their fair queen’s resurrection, it still unnerved him to be within her presence. Especially here. He was a fish out of water in every ethos.

“Mera,” She murmured, eyeing her son knowingly. “We all see the way you look at her.”

“It’s more than just that, I’m afraid. Your affection for the princess of Xebel has been noted by many, including the council and King Nereus. A Xebellion alliance with Atlantis is no longer in question; it is an expectation and an imminent one. To drift away from the inevitable development would be catastrophic for diplomatic relations and label you as dishonorable.”

“My intentions are not dishonorable.” Arthur insisted, cracking open a beer.

“No,” Atlanna agreed. “But they may be misconstrued as such if you do not act soon.”

“What do you propose?”

“A proposal.”

Arthur sputtered, coughing on his beer. “Wait, you guys were serious about that?”

“A union with Xebel would communicate strength to the council and commitment to the people of Atlantis. Orm was correct to infer that this is the most strategic move available to you.” Vulko decreed, standing uncomfortably by the table. They didn’t expect him to eat this land-dweller food, did they? He glanced down at the peculiar dishes, flaring his nostrils as he took in their strange scents.

“You make it sound so clinical,” Arther said, swiping at the liquid clinging to his beard. “I’m not gonna ask Mera to marry me for political gain. Come on, no chick wants that. Hey honey! I’m in hot water at work. Let’s get hitched! Are you kidding?”

Vulko frowned. Sometimes, the new King’s rhetoric still confounded him. “Princess Y’mera understands that her obligation in marriage is to her nation and its longevity. She has always expected that her union would be yielded in the service of Xebel, not to romance. That is of no concern.” He paused, looking over the king. “Are your feelings not reciprocated?” He asked strategically, feigning confusion.

“Oh no, they’re definitely…” Arthur trailed off as Atlanna cast him a pointed glare. “Reciprocated in the most respectable way possible, of course.”

“Careful, Arthur. Atlanteans are a traditional people. They’ll not take lightly to the besmirching of a princess’s honor, as we all well know.” Atlanna warned.

“Sorry,” He muttered, taking another swig at the mention of his mother’s failed execution at the hands of her former husband. “But marriage? That can’t be my best option.”

“Oh, but it is. With the council’s resignation and the people’s capricious nature, it would act as a salve. Beyond that, it would communicate strength to the Fisherman Kingdom. My soldiers have reported more skirmishes along the border of the Second and Seventh Trides. The young queen is testing her bounds.”

“What? Why?” Arthur asked, seeming surprised.

“Your brother murdered her father in cold blood while the Xebellian king stood at his side, passive and without remorse. Expand your perspective. In her eyes, the new king of Atlantis harbors a murderer and courts his ally’s daughter. The Fisherman Kingdom is an emerging threat. Queen Mesmeria has no contenders to challenge her claim to the throne. No one to keep her bloodlust in check. She has her people’s support, and there have been rumors she’s been in talks with the Brine King. If an alliance between their two kingdoms emerges from these summits, I fear you will have—what is the colloquial saying your people use? Ah, yes—much bigger fish to fry. She is young and volatile, possessing a crown and an army. To make matters worse, she witnessed her father’s assassination firsthand. She’ll not rest until retribution is paid.”

“Hell hath no fury,” Arthur mumbled, swilling his beer again.

Atlanta’s shoulders tensed as she turned from the table, reaching for the pots boiling on the stovetop. “We—we best collect your father and Orm. That’s enough politics for tonight. I was hoping…”

“Orm left,” Tom revealed, kicking the snow from his boots in the entryway.

“He left?” She asked, dropping the wooden spoon in her hand.

“He doesn’t like to eat with us. I can’t blame him for it. I’d say he’ll come around. But….” The man paused, sighing heavily.

“I truly thought he’d stay this time,” Atlanna admitted, returning her attention to the food. “We’re supposed to be a family. Or at least, we’re supposed to be trying.” She stirred the pot fervently until the wooden device snapped in her palm, splintering across the counter. She stepped back, clenching her fists. Tom Curry was by her side instantly, resting his palms on her shoulders. She turned to face him, her eyes full of distraught emotion. “I don’t know how to reach him.”

“I should take my leave,” Vulko announced, seizing his opportunity. “This discussion has left much to be desired by way of elucidation.” He turned to Arthur. “This is a new tone for the Fisherman Kingdom. They have always been a peaceful people, but now, their young Queen seems to have developed a hunger for justice that transcends their divine principles. That makes her dangerous. What’s more, if Karshon seeks to remove you from power, it would behoove her to ally with foreign nations, which would deem catastrophic for the integrity of Atlantis, upending generations of tradition and stability. Now, more than ever, you must convey strength in your position, power in your person, and—”

“Hey, Atlan chose me. Enough said. See trident for reference.”

Vulko sighed, feeling the full weight of the precariousness of their position press down on his shoulders. Orm had been a violent king but a knowledgable one. Arthur was twice the king in valor and greatness. However, his finesse and understanding of kingly duties were lacking at best. It posed a problem more often than not. There was no sense in arguing with him further, not until he had more concrete evidence to bring forth. As it stood, all they had were rumors and hearsay. If Vulko could bring him something tangible to address, he knew Arthur would rise to the occasion.

“I will visit the Third Tride and inquire after Santorini’s illegal fighting ring.” He turned to Atlanna, to whom he was loyal above all others. “I must look further into Queen Mesmeria. Her motives are clear. But her methods are unknown. Perhaps there is more to gain from what little she has revealed of her tactics thus far. However, I fear there is more to her than meets the eye. This deviation is unexpected. Karshan and the council may not be willing to admit it thus, but Mesmeria courts war with her actions. She cannot be allowed to continue.”

Atlanna nodded stoically. “The Fishermen have never moved against another kingdom before. But Atlantis is divided, and the circumstances surrounding King Roku’s death are unfortunate. Atlantis faces implications regardless of Orm’s situation. They’ll come for him.”

“There are many in Atlantis who still support his claim to the throne and want for war with the surface. If Mesmeria seizes Orm, war will precede. Both people are volatile. Teetering on the brink of violence.” Vulko revealed.

Since the unfortunate event of the Avenell woman’s abduction at the hands of David Kane, Atlantean warships had been stationed around the island as a measure of protection. Both to prevent another act of violence against the family and to ensure the status of Orm’s ‘house arrest.’ It was undeniably heroic, Orm’s solo rescue of the young damsel, but his easy flight revealed a glaring vulnerability. Not only did the Black Manta know the location of the Curry house, but Orm had an easier time evading Arthur than any of them had previously thought. It had taken them over a day to track the pair’s whereabouts. If Orm had decided to desert his post, he likely would have remained free to this day, a notion that set Vulko on the path of greater suspicion. Above all else, Orm was a ruthless contender to the throne. He believed with unwavering certainty that it was his by right—that he was the one true king, more deserving than any other to rule over Atlantis. That man had been offered a chance to escape—a chance to rally his fractured forces and begin his insurgence to reclaim what he believed to be his throne—and he had given it up.

/For what?/

Vulko didn’t like it. The course of events was out of character—or, if not out of character, revealing of a far more sinister and conniving plot than he could predict—a terrifying admission. He didn’t know what the fallen king was up to, but something was not right.

——

Warm water, soft iridescent bubbles, flickering candles, and gentle piano music—heaven. Reyna sighed, allowing her eyes to flutter shut as she basked in the calm comfort of one of her new favorite rituals. Though she’d lingered in the water for over an hour, her skin had not pruned as it usually would. Instead, she felt energized, saturated…

Orm pushed the door open, carrying a plate of something that smelled divine.

“Another Atlantean dish?” She asked, gripping the rim of the tub and rising slightly from the water.

“Indeed,” He revealed, setting the offering on the floor. Reyna couldn’t help herself. All of a sudden, she felt starved, and the smell of the fish was too enticing to resist. She reached down and snapped up a morsel of the soft, pink meat and popped it into her mouth. As the juices melted across her tongue, she moaned loudly. Orm quirked a brow, allowing his eyes to wander along her bare skin.

“Will you join me?” She asked eagerly, looking up at him.

He laughed low, his tone menacing and sultry. “Tempting, little nymph, but not tonight.”

Reyna pouted, snagging another bit of fish.

Life had taken a strange turn recently. Reyna was bereft in the wake of her abduction and Stella’s death. Normally, she would have self-isolated. But the family hadn’t allowed it. Tom was constantly checking in on her. Arthur had placed a patrol squad around the island, heightening surveillance. He’d taken over her bills as well, even insisted she quit her job, though she’d refused. Orm moved back into the carriage house at Tom and Atlanna’s insistence. She supposed that was the strangest change of all—the once stolid former king had transformed. He was kind, tender, and attentive, always cooking her these lavish oceanic meals. Reyna couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything even remotely resembling land-fare.

And the /sex/.

Never had she been so satisfied with a man in her entire life. He was giving and gentle at all the right times, yet rough when she asked…

“Why not?”

His eyes smoldered as he stared at her lips. Orm leaned forward slowly, capturing her chin in his big palm. Reyna’s lashes grew heavy as she awaited contact…

“Because you need to eat,” He informed her, smirking at her wanton behavior. He pulled back, leaving her hungry for more than food.

“Fine,” She purred, turning the heat back on to him. She rose out of the tub, baring her breasts to the cool air as she reached for the plate. Her nipples puckered against the bubbles clinging to her wet skin. Long water trails ran along her arms and down her spine, sloshing onto the floor as she took another healthy bite.

Orm let out a low, involuntary groan at the display but somehow managed to resist, leaning back against the wall.

A small bout of disappointment colored her perception, but it quickly dissipated as her stomach growled loudly.

“How long did you sleep today?”

Reyna’s eyes darted toward the ceiling. “Um…”

“How long,” He repeated sternly.

“Well, I—I didn’t really get out of bed today. At all,” She admitted.

“Hmm,” Orm looked away, considering.

She opened her mouth to tell him it was fine, then stopped, reconsidering. Was it fine? Was she all right?

No, probably not. Then, yet again, yes?…It was complicated.

The events of her capture, after nearly drowning, were a blur. She remembered the cold—then Orm—their kiss—then nothing. She woke up on the boat, covered in smelly blankets, next to Tom. He told her about Stella, and a dark haze followed, clouding her memories for weeks. It was Orm who brought her around. Slowly. Day by day. He’d been patient with her, offering her little glimmers of light in the darkness until she was able to pull herself out. She thought she was better, for the most part. Their romance was intoxicating—often, it felt as though she were possessed. His influence was exhilarating. She’d never felt so alive—yet at times, like today, so drained.

Reyna couldn’t explain it. Whatever was happening to her, it must be psychological. A trauma bond, perhaps? She’d read about those in the American Journal of Psychology. Of course, her version was a bit different. Orm hadn’t harmed her by any means. He’d protected her. But he was a vital part of one of the most traumatic experiences of her life. She’d cleaved to him in response—and he was addictive.

“What’s on your mind, little nymph?” He asked, watching her closely.

“I—I slept all day. I’ll probably be up all night now.” She shook her head. “What am I gonna do?”

Orm smirked. “I’ve got some ideas."

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Ultramarine / Ultraviolence

Song List:
Sleeping on the Blacktop by Colter Wall
Wherever You Will Go by The Calling
Watch Me Burn by Michele Morrone
Night Time by The xx
Hi-Lo (feat. Lindsey Stirling) by Evanescence
Apocalypse Please by Muse

“Ah, what do ya think of this mess, pops?” Arthur asked, cracking another Guinness.

“Dunno, can’t make heads or tails of it. Not qualified to handle Atlantean geopolitics, I’m afraid.” Tom Curry admitted, accepting the Guinness.

Arthur plopped down on the couch beside him. What was he gonna do? Between his issues with the council, Vulko’s griping, his mother’s meddling, Reyna’s PTSD, conflicts with the Fisherman and the Brine Kingdoms…“It all feels like it’s falling apart.”

“Falling apart or coming together?” His father asked—a little too wisely for Arthur’s taste.

“Ah, what do you know, old man,” He grumbled, swilling his beer.

“Do you love her?”

“Love? That’s ridiculous.” Arthur deflected.

“Ha! You do, don’t you? Ah, my condolences, son. Your bachelor days are over. See, we Curry men? We only fall once—and once we do, we fall hard. So hard it can be a bit disorienting. Which would explain why you’re having so much trouble expressing yourself right now, huh?” His father cackled, coughing on his beer.

“That’s nice, laugh in the face of my problems. I get it; it’s funny, really—hilarious.”

“It’s the irony. All of Atlantis is falling into shambles, and the end-all solution to your problems is for you to marry the woman of your dreams—and for whatever reason, you’re hesitating. Though I can’t figure out why….”

“I just—thought it would be different.” He admitted, rising from the couch to pace the expanse of the room. “I haven’t had much control over pretty much any aspect of my life. I always feel like I’m being thrown to the wind—making it up as I go. Aquaman—Justice League—King…I just thought with Mera, I’d be able to do it right the first time around.”

“Son, you are doing it right. You picked a good one. Mera is an amazing woman. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent, the family loves her, hell, what’s isn’t right about her? You’ve taken your time—a little too much.” His father noted, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, I’m surprised /she’s/ waited this long. Any other woman would have moved on by now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means get a move on, or you’re going to lose her before you ever even had her to begin with.”

——

“Who are you?”

There it was. That question again. The one that kept haunting her….

“Where am I?”

There was no answer. As she spun in the dark, she felt again the strange allure of whatever aequoreal spell writhed in the water around her. The enchantments of the sea, a place she had survived again and again despite the risks, the dangers, and the near-death experiences. It called to her. Beckoning to some new force rushing through her blood. It felt exhilarating. It felt—threatening….

“I shouldn’t be here…I don’t belong”

“Don’t you?”

The crushing dark wavered and shivered, as did her spine. She attempted to suck in a breath. Water filled her lungs. It didn’t burn the way it ought to. She exhaled—bubbles.

“Don’t you?” The voice repeated, reverberating all around her.

“No,” She insisted, trying to move—to swim.

“You cannot change what is—you can only embrace.”

“Embrace what?”

“Evolution—you are not your own any longer…”

“Reyna, run!” Tom cried. Stella was barking wildly, baring her teeth and snarling as a man rounded the corner.

“It’s almost time, pretty girl. Are you ready?”

“Please….you don’t have to…” The words were pulled from her mouth, unwilling. 

“Shut up!” Reyna felt the sting of his slap across her cheek. She felt the cold metal beneath her palms as she fell to her knees. “Here…is where I leave you.”

Icy water swallowed her. Its frigid embrace sent her heart racing, and she panicked, clawing at the dark—reaching for freedom.

“Reyna, I need you to listen to me…” Orm murmured in her ear.

No, she didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to know…

“Do you trust me?”

“No!” She screamed, surging forward.

Panting, sweating, she tore the covers off and rolled onto the floor. Her knees folded beneath her, hitting her chest as she shrank under the fear. There was no Stella to comfort her—to draw her from the nightmares. Not anymore. Stella was dead. Her parents were dead. She should be dead…

“Reyna…”

Strong arms gripped her shoulders. He did not pull or prod. Instead, he rested on the floor beside her.

“Just breathe.”

She couldn’t see straight—not through the water, the dark…

“Inhale, Reyna….”

Somehow, she managed it.

Shakily, she sucked in a breath.

“Exhale.” He commanded, his palm drifting down her back. “It was just a dream. You are stronger than your fear.”

Reyna opened her eyes, staring down at the ridged lines of her hardwood floor. Every thought and every instinct tunneled into one single resolution. One need. One singular desire.

/Evolve./

Her spine snapped to attention as she turned to face the man at her side. Crawling onto his lap, she gripped the back of his neck and stared deeply into his eyes. “You…”

Orm’s lips parted in a brief moment of awe, then he rose to the occasion, meeting her fire with fire. Wrapping his fist in her loose curls, he pulled her in closer. “Are mine.” He grated against her lips before taking her mouth roughly, biting back with fevered lust, frenzied and aggressive.

Their teeth clacked as he yanked her top over her head, baring her chest. Breathlessly, she shoved him back, laying him out on the floor beneath her. He grasped her breasts in his big palms, needing them, rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger and relinquishing the other to grip her bare thigh. “Come to me…” He commanded. She knew what he wanted—knew he craved dominion, as a king would. But in that moment, she felt too wild—untamable.

/Rebellious./

In a blatant show of disobedience, she raked her nails across his bare chest. The sculpted ridges of his muscled torso were hers alone to traverse—sensitive to her every touch. Possessively, she ran her fingers along the taught landscape of his strength, feeling empowered—connected. He gasped at the contact, his erection jutting against her as she rolled her hips over him. The rigid length of him prodded hungrily at her sex through the thin fabric of his pants.

“No,” She murmured, openly disobeying his command. Orm’s eyes widened in surprise. Reyna reveled at the sight—his ice-blonde hair was tussled, left mussed from sleep, trapped beneath her on her bedroom floor. For all the world, he looked completely caught off guard by her course of action. His shock only further stoked her immodesty, and in one swift movement, she freed his cock from his pants and sank over it, snapping her hips in short, quick thrusts.

Orm growled in response, gripping her hips and guiding her lower onto his shaft with each drive. Reyna leaned forward, kissing him swiftly, briefly, before rising again, ruling over him. She felt powerful—she felt strong—she felt…the air whoosh out of her lungs as Orm wrapped an arm around her waist and flipped them. Suddenly, the tables turned. Her wrists were above her head just as quickly as he drove his shaft home. Pinned beneath him, Reyna was helpless but to receive the powerful thrusts of his hips. His scent was intoxicating. Everything about him drew her in—set her heart racing. She felt molten—she felt…

Hot shoots scorched her womb as Orm reached completion. His head sagged over her shoulder in defeat. Though he held her body beneath his grasp, she had somehow won—conquering him—defeating him…

His warm, shallow breath sent shivers down her spine. Everything had changed—and she liked it.

——

I promised Atlanna I would protect him…

“Vulko!” She gasped, clinging to the bars of her cell. The dungeon was dark, harboring the same smothering oppression of the abyss—the deepest, blackest parts of the sea. Eternal flames illuminated the corridor, ablaze despite the salt water. Vulko rushed down the desolate expanse, falling to his knees before her cage. Atlanna reached for him as he joined her. He had bartered a great deal to gain entry to the prison—to see her.

“My Queen—he cannot do this. You are the blood of Atlan, he can’t—”

“It does not matter,” She whispered tearfully, bravely facing the end of days. “He’s crazed. No one will stand against him. To challenge him is to challenge the forces of Atlantis.”

“This is rebellion,” He choked, clenching his fists around the bars. “The military cannot take precedence over the government. He cannot overthrow your power! Your bloodline! I will rally the council. We will put a stop to this!”

“No!” She cried, surprising him. “You cannot. My living is no longer necessary. My bloodline continues through my sons. One of which Orvax holds in his grasp. He will groom Orm to take the throne, poisoning him with his noxious rage. He will turn my youngest son into an evil man, but first, he will hunt Arthur down and kill him. We both know it. He is the rightful heir to the throne. As long as he lives, he is a threat to Orvax.”

“The king doesn’t know where Arthur is…and the blood of Atlan cannot be so easily corrupted,” He assured her, but even he was not convinced.

“Maybe so, but I will not be here to protect them. So you must do it for me.”

“My Queen…”

“Promise me,” She demanded, gripping his hands through the bars. “Promise me you will guide Orm away from the darkness. But more than that, promise me you will protect my Arthur. He is innocent. They both are. They will need someone on their side to keep them safe.”

“I cannot let them kill you,” He insisted, choking on his passion.

“If you act against Orvax and his will, he will label you a traitor. You are no good to me or Atlantis, dead.” She whispered in the gloom, staring fiercely into his eyes. “It is too late for me, but not for you. You must live so I can go to my grave knowing that my boys will be okay. You are our only hope. The fate of Atlan’s line rests upon your proud shoulders, my friend. My only ally. Promise me…promise me, Vulko!”

Atlanna’s words echoed in his mind as he raced through the seas. The journey back to Atlantis had been an uneventful one. Left alone with his thoughts, Vulko had only his theories to keep him occupied. As he paced the length of his ship, passing the aids and sentries, he considered again the fallen king's motives.

The Black Manta came, he acquired a hostage to punish the king, and he whisked said hostage away to an isolated location, one relevant to his grievances against the man. He intended to kill her. Reyna was bound and chained in the bowels of a submarine set to sink—to drown her. If his plan had succeeded, Arthur would have suffered a loss akin to that of David Kane’s. That was the intention. Of course, it was only the beginning; Kane was psychotic. He intended for Reyna Avenell to be his first victim, not his last. Kane wanted Arthur to suffer exponentially more than the pain he inflicted upon the man. But that was not Vulko’s quandary…

Arthur was left vulnerable. A conniving enemy gained entry to his sanctuary. Invaded his home, injured his father, and abducted a member of his family. Distracted, Arthur searched for his lost pseudo-sister, granting Orm the perfect opportunity to escape. Yet, primed with the possibility of freedom, Orm defected, and instead of chasing the crown he so vehemently craved, he…chased a /woman/.

It was unlikely that a mere female could come between Orm and his crown. And yet, the improbable had come to pass. Orm tracked Reyna’s whereabouts all too easily. Extracted her from her watery prison and delivered her to safety. Without an ounce of regret for what it cost him.

/Wrong./

Where was it? Where was the hole? The anomaly?

Did Orm truly care for her? A woman of the land? It could not be so simple…

Orm had never succumbed to the attentions of females before, let alone a landsman. Their people disgusted him. They were the very bane of his existence. He desired nothing more than to wipe out their entire race. To cleanse the surface. So what was it about her? Why now? What had changed?

Vulko paced—his mind racing.

His position…

That had been a vital alteration in his existence, leaving him desperate. Orm was weakened in his claim. Arthur had brought him low. That was the change—the catalyst. Reyna was close to Arthur. The Curry’s cared for her. True, she offered no strategic gain but for their emotional attachment, but he was placed conveniently close to her…too close. She was the perfect target. Young, naive, unaware of Atlantis, completely removed, and easy to manipulate. But what would Orm want with that? He could ransom her—then again, her abduction would have been the perfect opportunity to do just that, yet he had abstained. Why? Why would he return her unharmed? What was to gain? Vulko knew Orm was more than capable of psychological warfare. Manipulating Reyna was certainly a good way to harm Arthur in the long run—but the rewards were only in the short term, and it had been a very long run. Surely, by now, Orm would have dispatched whatever sinister plan he held for the girl. Unless…

The Black Manta’s discovery of the island…

It wasn’t surprising that he’d been able to track its location. They all knew it would be revealed eventually. Arthur Curry’s identity was no secret. Amnesty Bay’s remoteness contributed to some measure of protection. However, David Kane had technological weapons working to his advantage—both Arthur and Tom had public records, attended public school, etc. Bruce Wayne had redacted their address when Arthur joined the Justice League—a fact their security council was alerted to when the king took his rightful seat upon the throne. It had been one less measure of protection they needed to worry about. So, how had Manta found the house, and why hadn’t he attempted another strike?

“Get me the logs from the sentry team stationed around Amnesty Bay,” Vulko demanded, passing an idle commando.

“All of them?”

“All. And have Diagnostics run a report for anomalies in the area. I want to know if anything has changed. I want a list of false alarms. And I want to see the ferry records going over the past six months. I want to know who’s been coming and going and why. I want connection points, reasons for visitation, and reasons for exodus. Notify me of anyone who stands out or looks suspicious.”

“Yes, Vulko.”

How had Manta found them? That was the question he needed to answer—his starting point, for the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Orm was privy to the Black Manta’s plan all along. After all, it wasn’t the first time the fallen king had turned to the mercenary for illicit aid. Vulko wouldn’t put it past him to do so once again, especially now. Orm had no money, no resources to offer Manta—no resources…but for information.

/That still doesn’t explain the girl./

Vulko paused in his pacing, staring out the large viewing window at the glowing waters.

How had she survived the submarine? David Kane wanted her dead to punish the king. He would have been absolutely sure that escape was impossible before abandoning ship. Even if Arthur had managed to locate her in time, it would have been to witness her death, not to rescue her. The Black Manta would have left no discernible way to save her. Yet, somehow, Orm had circumvented this crucial point. How?

“We’re coming up on the wreckage now, sir.”

“Good. Connect to the mainframe and run a damage report. Send a team out to survey decomposition. Bring me cause of subsidence. I want to know how that ship sank—”

“Sir, we have an incoming transmission.” Vulko blinked, shocked. A transmission? Here? That was unlikely and unnerving.

“A transmission?” He repeated slowly, not giving voice to the alarm bells ringing in his head.

“A Fisherman ship, two clicks south, they're hailing us.”

Vulko turned to face the report, considering the development. “Open the line,” He ordered, rounding the control panel to face the screen.

In the span of seconds, every fear, every suspicion, every inkling he had harbored over the past few weeks was validated. He had been correct—in every aspect.

/How unfortunate./

“Vulko,” Queen Mesmeria purred. “What is the Prime Vizier of Atlantis doing all the way out here?”

“I could ask you the same question, your Highness.” He countered, attempting to buy his men time.

Mesmeria smiled darkly. The scales around her eyes were flush, dark purple, signaling her heightened emotions—an unusual sign for one of her kind. Generally, the Fishermen were more demure with their scales, but now, the young queen was brazen—angry. Clad in black armor, the once kind, soft princess looked severe. Her jaw was cut, more angular than when last they met, and her arms were full, thick with muscle, a sinister trident gripped in one hand and the other, shielded beneath a black, iron fist. The headdress she donned was just as visually threatening, adorned with the sharpened tusks of Narwhals—seven, one for each kingdom of Atlantis. She did not look to be the queen of a peaceful people, of philosophers and poets. No—this queen was primed for battle.

“Two more ships…” The sentry murmured, staring at the screen.

“We have every right to be here. These are free seas.” She informed him, smiling hauntingly.

“This is a crime scene. You can’t blame us for being suspicious.” Vulko admitted, tensing at the addition of the companion warships. They were now vastly outnumbered….

“We are simply passing through.”

“Passing through with a battalion?” There was no hope for them now. If the queen had nefarious intent, she had already won.

“A queen can never have too much protection.” She insisted, rolling her shoulders back.

“Of course,” Vulko agreed. “We would be happy to escort you the rest of the way to your destination if you are concerned of a threat.…”

“That won’t be necessary.” She interrupted, smiling wickedly. “We shan’t be lingering any longer. We got what we came for.”

A chill raced down Vulko’s spine as he comprehended the severity of their predicament. “And what’s that?”

“Why…you, of course.” Mesmeria purred.

The screen went blank.

Vulko had just enough time to give one last order before the Fisherman’s vessel opened fire…

“Battle stations!”

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Demersal

Song List:
Fire by Two Feet
Human by Rag’n’Bone Man

Reyna slammed the door to her truck, shoving her hands in her pockets as she approached him. Orm couldn’t help the slight smile that grew on his face at the sight of her. He did his best to steel himself, composing his features to express little but for the arched brow of his approval. “Good evening, Reyna,” He purred, maintaining his pretenses. For all intents and purposes, their relationship was a secret. No others knew of their discretions—nor of the deep emotion budding between them. “Do you need help with those bags?”

“Sure,” she smiled back, clearly attempting the same feat he struggled with.

The afternoon was warm, though the sun lingered precariously in the sky. It was barely dinner time, and the world was about to descend to darkness. Orm welcomed it—was happy even for the early nights that sent them back to bed sooner and kept them there longer. He wanted to skip this meal and head straight back to the cottage, strip her down, and toss her onto the sheets, where they’d stay for hours. She didn’t have to work in the morning—he’d have her all day.

The thought rendered him tense with desire. Waiting, even a few mere hours, seemed abominable. He wanted her now…

“Stop that,” she murmured, blushing up at him.

“Stop what?” He asked, quirking a brow.

“Looking as though you intend to devour me.”

“Oh, but I do little nymph, I do…” he purred, blocking her body from view as he approached the truck.

Time moved quickly, as of late. Tom had allowed them to resume their perusal of the land. Reyna had taken him winter hiking and something she referred to as “snowshoeing.” They’d traversed frozen lakes and wandered the expanses of snow-covered forests. He’d enjoyed it all well enough. But none so much as their days at the cottage. Mostly because it was easier to maintain her symptoms.

Or so he told himself…

Lingering in her presence was a secondary benefit. Laying with her was…

/Otherworldly/

“I’ll take them,” he flirted, announcing his intent loudly as he pulled the bags from her arms. She’d not carry a thing with him around, not in her condition.

She laughed nervously, strolling beside him toward the house. He couldn’t help but smile again at the musical sound, abandoning his seduction and inquiring after her day, all the while counting down the seconds until he got her alone.

——

Atlanna watched her youngest son from the window, peering through the drapes without him knowing. Something about his encounter with Reyna left her feeling unsettled.

“Smells delicious,” Tom exclaimed, entering through the back door. “What is it?”

“Your imagination,” Atlanna informed him, turning away from the glass. “Reyna is bringing in our spoils now.”

“Ah, wishful thinking. I’m starved,” Tom teased, grinning at her. She couldn’t resist the sight after so many years apart. Crossing the length of the room, Atlanna enveloped him in her arms, kissing him gently.

“Soon,” she murmured, pulling away just as Orm opened the door.

Relations between her and her youngest were still tense, unsurprisingly. Orm was a product of his father and the violent beliefs of their people.

Curious—that Reyna seemed to have superseded this bigotry…

The intimacy she’d witnessed in the drive vanished as they crossed the threshold into the home. The pair hardly interacted—Orm nodded stolidly at Reyna’s brief thanks before embracing Tom.

“Hey, kid,” he murmured, wrapping his braw arms around the young woman. “What’s on the menu for tonight?”

“Guinness, of course, and shepherd’s pie.”

“What, no desert?”

Reyna chuckled, covering her mouth demurely.

“I volunteered to provide the sweet course for tonight’s meal. It’s unfair to expect Reyna to do everything,” Atlanna added, landing her palms on Reyna’s shoulders. The girl smiled sheepishly at her, seeming shy and unsure of herself. It didn’t surprise the queen that Reyna was nervous around her. Not only was she a regent of Atlantis, one of the most powerful civilizations in the world, but Atlanna had also been close friends with her mother before her birth. A mother that had left Reyna and this world all too soon. Their interactions seemed to be inevitably haunted by Luna’s spirit, setting a somber tone whenever the two interacted. Now was no different. In truth, Atlanna had not felt comfortable enough around the young woman to act so intimately before, but today, she had an ulterior motive for the proximity.

Peering over her shoulder, something in Reyna’s eyes shifted as the queen stared down at her. Tom disappeared, either seeking a beer or sensing the moment brewing between them. His footsteps receded as if muted by water. The sound of the television set drowned as Atlanna pulled Reyna under her spell, hypnotizing the young woman with her ancient aequoreal magic—drawing the truth from her very soul.

Suddenly, her irises shifted from soft emerald to piercing blue—the same color as Orm’s.

Blood magic.

/Sirenize./

Atlanna felt a rage so fresh and profound racing through her veins she thought she might very well catch aflame. Her grip on Reyna’s shoulders tightened as the feeling took hold of her magic, seeping into the woman’s soul.

Reyna faltered under the impact, stumbling back into her arms and jolting Atlanna from her furious state.

Seeming dazed, Reyna shook her head as Atlanna propped her back onto her feet. “Careful,” Atlanna cautioned, attempting to distract the woman from the truth of their encounter. “You should watch your step. The floor is a bit slick. Tom had it treated recently.”

“Oh, that must be it,” Reyna frowned, seeming out of sorts. She quickly hastened toward the kitchen, rubbing her temple as though her head ached.

/A symptom?/

There were many associated with her condition.

The events that had taken place over the last few months cascaded through her mind. How many times had they dismissed her mood, her illness as that of trauma or stress, when all along, it was something far different?

Calmly, Atlanna collected herself.

/Now is not the time…/

There was no reason to get up in arms until she’d had the opportunity to speak with Orm—to clear this matter up once and for all. She could be wrong…she’d never truly met someone under the change—only read about it in the Atlantean chronicles. Perhaps it was something else—something entirely reasonable…

Taking a seat at the table, she watched as Tom, Orm, and Reyna orbited each other, setting the table and readying the food. They moved silently, though, now that Atlanna was paying attention, Orm’s eyes seemed to linger on Reyna—softening. And as Reyna took the glass tray of food, her fingers brushed against Orm’s.

Something undeniable passed between them—unnoticeable and slight to the average eye, but Atlanna’s were wide open now.

She didn’t speak as they convalesced around her. Nor as they began to pass the bread and pie. Reyna and Tom chattered animately, catching up on their daily lives and sharing little stories about work and the weather.

“That’s good news. The last thing we need is another ice storm.”

Suddenly, an idea struck her.

“I know—but it seems so bleak without snow…”

“While we are on the topic of good news,” she began, placing her hand atop Tom’s and offering her son a measured gaze. “I have something I need to share with you.”

Orm sat back in his chair, seeming suspicious.

/You should be, foolish child of mine./

“Arthur has decided to take your advice.” She paused, letting her words settle amongst the group.

Her son’s brows drew together, and he tilted his head as if sensing a trap. “My advice?”

“He’s going to ask Mera to marry him,” Tom revealed, smiling broadly.

What happened next was telling…

Reyna, though empathic and sympathetic to those around her, should have responded with unmeasured joy at the news. Instead, she bit her lip, glancing sidelong across the table at Orm, whose gaze grew cold and unblinking—though he never took it from Atlanna’s face.

“My congratulations to the happy couple,” he said slowly before returning to his meal.

/Telling indeed./

Seeming placated—as if she’d been granted permission—Reyna immediately relaxed. “That’s wonderful news,” she exclaimed, grasping Tom’s arm. “How is he going to do it?”

Though it had been his advice initially, Atlanna thought it snide—a low blow to suggest Arthur take Mera to wife—the final of all he felt Arthur had stolen from him falling into place. Of course, they’d all witnessed the romance blossoming between them. They all knew it was inevitable. Still, she’d expected more of a reaction—not less. Even if Orm was masking his emotions, it was unlike him to withhold the sharp sting of his tongue, especially when his own hubris deemed him talented and intelligent beyond measure. No, Orm would not so easily be able to resist such an opportunity.

Yet—he said nothing. Not a word against the impending union…

Reyna, too, continued to glance his way, watching Orm as if she were attempting to riddle out the inner workings of his mind.

It made sense to a certain extent. They had managed to flesh out a meager friendship. Orm had protected her—they all knew he was fond of her—but…

“Arthur’s gone off in search of some rare pink saltwater pearl,” Tom revealed, waving his fork through the air. “He plans to present it to her before her family and the council of houses. A princess’s due, heh!” He smiled broadly, pleased beyond measure. “We’ll have a party here afterward, of course. You’ll have to make your mum’s special rum cake for the occasion!” He declared, raising his beer.

Engrossed in their conversation, Reyna and Tom lost themselves to the excitement of the news. Atlanna tried to do the same, commenting here and there, all the while casting wary glances toward her youngest son, attempting to catch him slipping.

Finally, /he did/.

Reyna laughed joyfully alongside Tom. The sound was contagious. So much so that Atlanna nearly felt ready to join in their revelry. She’d almost forgotten her apprehension when she caught sight of the lost look on her young son’s face.

She knew that look well, though she’d never seen it grace his profile.

Eyes softened, lips slightly parted, he stared after Reyna as if she were the most beautiful creature he’d ever beheld…

Suddenly, Atlanna felt as though she’d been struck.

How blind they’d all been…

/How blind indeed./

She’d forgotten—it was an easy thing to misremember, to omit from memory. One tiny detail about the process—about the strange, mysterious magic that bound surface-dweller women to the deep.

One catch.

One condition for the spell to take hold…

/Love./

——

“Come, take a walk with me,” his mother insisted as he finished washing the dishes. Once upon a time, the task felt demeaning, but now it felt normal. Orm wondered when it had stopped vexing him over the past months. Strange…he had not noticed…

Drying his hands, he followed her out into the dark of the night, leaving Reyna and Tom plotting in the living room after the impending nuptials of his bastard brother and former fiancee. It was a good sign that Arthur had taken his advice. Slowly, he was wheedling his way into the new king’s head.

/Progress is progress/

Even the slightest development such as this felt like an accomplishment. In truth, he’d never wanted Mera. Of course, she was satisfying enough to look at, and the bounty of her bloodline was enticing, but she was too intelligent and difficult to control. He’d always known he couldn’t trust her—that his mother’s teachings lingered in his mind. During their engagement period, he’d tried to control her, gifting her a tracker, admonishing her, and reminding her of her place and the risks she took in following Atlanna’s footsteps. Finally, in the throes of his conflict with Arthur, he’d attempted to have her executed—to remove the thorn from his side once and for all.

Lucky for him, she survived, and now, she catalyzed a modicum of trust in the eyes of his captors—slowly, he was incorporating himself into their lives. Learning their nuances and strategies, their tells and their nature. What was that surface dweller saying? Keep you friends close and your enemies closer.

In the months since Reyna’s abduction, he observed his usurper and those who allied with him. When the time came—and it would come—Orm would be more than capable of outmaneuvering them. They were all so predictable—just like Mera. Oh yes, he’d gladly give up his claim to the little chit—Arthur had his blessing on that end alone.

/And my condolences, brother./

Likely, she would be his eventual undoing—her headstrong tenacity for trouble would lead him astray or, worse, put them both in harm's way. A sly smile painted his lips, and Orm hid his face in the shadows, concealing his nefarious mindset from his mother. As they walked silently across the sand, listening to the sounds of the ocean lapping at the shoreline, he wondered if this would be another moment for him. Would his mother congratulate him on his progress? Would she comment on his sage advice? Would she pay homage to the fact that the undeniable truth in the matter, the unquestionably honorable choice, the most righteous leader for Atlantis, was not her firstborn son but him?

/Wishful thinking./

He couldn’t help it.

There was a chill in the air—winter on land felt much like the ocean’s embrace, cold and without light. Life on the island felt more normal because of it—more like home. Though, without the scintillating bioluminescence of the sea forests he so loved, nor the—

“I am only going to ask you this once. Just one time,” Atlanna informed him, pausing in her step. “And I expect an honest answer.”

Orm remained silent, offering his mother a measured gaze.

“What have you done to Reyna Avenell?”

The words passed over him gently enough. He hadn’t believed he could keep it hidden from his mother indefinitely—though he’d hoped for more time and a different topic of conversation for tonight. After all, she was Atlantean, and Reyna was progressing more and more each day. This was a conversation he’d prepared for…

“I ensured her survival,” he answered coolly. His actions were more than justified. She had no right to pass judgement upon him.

“By what means?” She demanded, her eyes widening in anger.

“All that were necessary,” he declared, standing his ground and clenching his fists.

Atlanna threw her palms up as if to halt him in his tracks, though he was not moving. “Enough, Orm. Tell me the truth!”

“What is it you wish to hear, mother? Inform me of how I might best fashion the tale to your liking.” He all but growled, storming off across the sand. 

“You changed her?” She asked incredulously, tailing after him. “Those magics are dark and unpredictable. You could just as soon have killed her…”

“She was already dead.”

The truth of the statement halted him in his tracks. Even now, the thought of how narrow her escape was nearly turned his heart to ice in his chest. “If it is the truth you seek, know that my blood was the only chance she had at escaping the land dwellers' watercraft. There was no other way.”

She regarded him with suspicious eyes. Finally, she sighed. “That may be,” she conceded, her gaze wandering toward the dark sea. “But it does not change how you’ve behaved in the interim. You might have acted honorably to save her life, but every single day since then, you have misled us all. How long did you expect to keep up with this ruse? You cannot hide what you’ve done from Arthur forever. Eventually, he will figure it out. She will complete the change in time!”

“And /live/.” He insisted, doubling down. “Reyna will live. Arthur cannot begrudge me that—he didn’t make it to her in time. /I did/—and I did what I had to. He cannot condemn me for my methods. He may disapprove of them, but ultimately, they cannot be changed. He /failed/. I made my choice, and I live with it happily, for it saved her life.”

“And now it belongs to you. The binding spell you used is ancient and forbidden for a reason. The sirens from the surface were hunted for sport, torn from their homes, imprisoned in Atlantis by the men who claimed to love them. You forget yourself my son, you forget our history. Salt wives are stripped of their rights—the same way women in arranged marriages are forced to submit to unworthy men. You’re father…”

“My affection for Reyna is nothing like my father’s for you. I would not sacrifice her to the trench if she spurned me for another—”

/No, I would simply chain her to my bed—murder the bastard who sought to steal her from me and remind her who she belongs to in the most mind-numbingly immeasurably pleasurable way imaginable. I’d have her screaming my name to the rafters in revenge—screaming in ecstasy./

/But not pain—never pain./

“My jealousy outranks all. She is mine—she will have no others from this day forth, but I will /not/ harm her,” he insisted. “I will never harm her. In fact, I’ve come to believe that I would burn the entire world to the ground before allowing any harm to befall to her.”

Atlanna quieted, listening intently—unnerved by his words.

Good—that meant she believed him.

Lying with the truth—it was his specialty.

“If I had revealed the truth of my actions that day, your new /king/” he spat “would have come between us. He would have taken her from me, and /Reyna would have suffered for it/. I could not allow that to happen. You know the conditions of the change. She needs me near her now. To keep us apart is to—”

“Does she know?” Atlanna demanded.

Orm ground his teeth at the interruption, his shoulders tense. “Reyna has no recollection of what happened in the submarine.”

The queen considered him for a moment, then straightened. “And you harbor no other intentions? You did this solely out of your effort to keep her alive?”

“Yes.”

“Swear it. Swear to me by Atlan’s trident—”

“That I love her?”

Atlanna fell silent.

“I swear by Atlan’s trident that I have only ever and will continue to protect her from harm every moment of every day from this point on. I will set aside my grudges and grievances, my pride and prejudice, my crown and my trident to protect her—”

They both knew what it meant—so why hide it?

It was the truth, after all…

Orm Marius loved Reyna Avenell. The spell would not have worked otherwise. And it was true even more that he’d lost everything. Swimming blindly in the abyss, she’d become his light at the end of the tunnel, guiding him to calmer shores. Somehow, his failings seemed softer in her presence—less painful.

“I will surrender my blood and bone, sacrifice my ambition and aim.” He paused, staring into his mother’s eyes. “Once, I was a king. Now, I am nothing. I failed in every essence—came to this shore broken and bitter. And despite all of that, she saw something within me—something no one else has ever been able to touch. My future now looks far different than it once did. Now it’s simpler, clearer, because of her.”

The words he spoke were righteous and honest. He simply omitted that he had inadvertently been the one to put her in harms way. That he had once plotted against her with ill intent, but since gaining her affection, now plotted to keep her by his side—to win his crown and kingdom, to wield his trident once more with her by his side—safe from the toxic ways of her people…

Now, it was not only the legacy of Atlantis he sought to protect—he had something worth fighting for. Something that was his alone.

Atlanna said nothing as she turned to look up at the moon, digesting his words.

“What will you do?” He asked, growing anxious in the quiet.

“I am unsure.”

“She has nearly drowned before,” he revealed strategically. “The car accident that claimed her parent's lives nearly took her as well. She has nightmares of it to this day. To die in such a way—one that is so deeply feared is the truest torture.”

“You’ve ensured not only her survival but the destruction of her deepest fear?” His mother murmured, shocked.

Orm nodded curtly. “Reyna has nothing to fear from the water. Never again will it threaten her. She is free.”

“Arthur…”

“Will discover her condition when the time is right—when Reyna is ready. It is my responsibility to guide her through this journey and mine alone. Eventually, she will discover the truth. She will understand my hesitation in revealing all to her—in staggering the trauma to safeguard her mind. Perhaps she will be angry with me, but it does not matter. I will suffer her wrath gratefully—for the alternative was to suffer her demise. Allow me the opportunity to finish what I have started. Allow Reyna the courtesy of choosing how she will bring this information to light. How she will reveal herself to her family.”

An iron-clad argument.

It was undeniable how Arthur would react. He was a hot-headed, krill-brained imbecile. There would be no seeing Orm’s side—no reasoning with words. They would come to blows, Orm would be sent to prison, or worse, gifted to the Fishermen Kingdom as penance for his war crimes, and Reyna would be left vulnerable.

“I don’t like it,” Atlanna conceded. “But I believe you are correct.”

Suddenly, a second opportunity alighted in Orm’s mind…

“I am asking for your help, mother. This is uncharted territory. I’ve been able to maintain Reyna’s equilibrium; however, without Atlantean medics, I fear for her health. Perhaps you could review the chronicles and speak to the high oracles. Any information regarding her change is beneficial. We must ensure a smooth transition for her.”

/We./

It was a strategic word—one that hinted at a tenuous alliance—and one that incriminated her if Arthur were ever to find out the truth, fracturing the ranks of his inner circle, undermining his trust for one of his greatest allies.

“I will do what I can.”

——

“I will admit, there was a time I desired to see your head on a spike, my dear Vizier. Not just you, of course. The King of Xebel also possesses a starring role in my vengeful fantasies—the accomplice and the witness to my father’s assassination. After Atlan’s chosen successor claimed the great trident and commanded the fabled monster from the deep, I truly believed justice would finally meet the marine world.”

The young queen drifted before him, her shimmering tale undulating in the still water of her ship as she neared the table at which he sat.

“I was wrong,” she mused, picking at her black, claw tipped nails before flattening her palms upon the surface. “Perhaps it was foolish of me to envision that Atlantis would finally have a fair leader. One possessing honor and valor. But alas, our new monarch saw fit to punish no one. He didn’t even have the decency to parade his inaction against those who wronged my people with the farce of a pardon. Not one. You all just went about as if our world had not been irrevocably altered by your Ocean Master’s cruel warmongering.” She offered Vulko a serpentine smile, revealing her pointed teeth. “I’m sure you can imagine it was a shocking decree for my people—that our king’s murderer should be safeguarded on land, reconditioned as if his soul could ever be salvaged.”

“My Queen—”

“I’m not finished,” she snapped angrily, slamming her fist against the table. “Our new king is either an imbecile or a hopeful fool—whichever way the tide wanes, it does not matter, his ignorance makes him dangerous. As does yours. Tell me, did you really think that Orm Marius, full blooded and former King of Atlantis, Oceanmaster, and rightful heir to the throne, would stop scheming once set upon the shore?”

Vulko quirked a brow. “You are insinuating that Orm has made efforts to reclaim his crown but our military and the royal family itself has ensured his isolation from all those who might ally with him.”

“Really,” Mesmeria trilled, resting her elbows upon the table separating them and steepling her fingers. “All,” she repeated. “Are you certain?”

Vulko felt a shiver run down his spine. The Queen of the Fishermen was too confident, too happy with his concession. Clearly she possessed information he did not. Eyeing her warily, Vulko assessed his situation. Likely, Arthur and Atlanna had no knowledge of his apprehension. Their ship had been incapacitated—his crew taken hostage. Mesmeria had kept them locked up for a spell, before summoning Vulko to the bridge. From what he could see out the bay windows, they remained near the wreckage he’d sought to explore.

Even if Arthur and the Queen noticed Vulko’s absence, he had told no one where he was headed. They wouldn’t know where to look, nor who might have intercepted him. The Fishermen had always been a peaceful people. Mesmeria’s desire for vengeance was wildly out of character. Then again, drastic circumstances often called for desperate measures.

“If you possess information pertaining to treacherous acts, why not report them to the crown. Any threat to the royal bloodline is carefully evaluated. Orm is a criminal…”

“A criminal who barely received a slap on the wrist for murdering a monarch and attempting to destroy half the world’s population,” she clicked her tongue. “I hardly think orchestrating the abduction of one surface-dweller would tip the scales of his punishment toward something more deserving. He’s committed far more atrocious acts than that. Besides, I’m told she survived. Curious, don’t you think?”

Vulko cursed under his breath—he’d been right all along.

“It wasn’t my plan to abduct the high Vizier of Atlantis. Though, it was serendipitous of you to arrive when you did. I assume your perusal of the sunken ship is synonymous with suspicion, am I correct?”

Vulko held his tongue. He was in no position to reveal anything more. From what it seemed, Mesmeria held all the cards—best to keep whatever he had close at hand…

“Hm, it’s a pity. You would have made a valuable ally.”

“What information do you have to support this supposed betrayal? For all I know, this could be an empty accusation.”

“Why, David Kane himself attested to his ploy—and his collusion with the former king. I possess a water memory (*Atlantean form of recording) I can present to you his detailing of the entire endeavor. He incriminates the former king and names his involvement in revealing the whereabouts of the Curry residence where he was able to abduct a beloved member of our king’s family. I’ll admit I was slightly satisfied by the news—to hear that our good king got a taste for what it’s like to fear for those we love.”

“You met with the Black Manta?” Vulko asked, astonished. They’d been searching for him for months…

“Of course, how else was I to uncover the location of the Ocean Master’s new residence.”

Vulko steeled himself, glancing around at the guards. He had to find a way off this ship—to warn Atlanna and the others—the Fishermen were coming for them…

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, misreading his cautious glances. “He’s not aboard any longer, I released him.”

“Releasing David Kane is an act of treason—”

“No more so than harboring my father’s murderer! King of the Fishermen!” Her voice boomed throughout the deck, loud and commanding, full of the hatred she harbored in her heart.

Vulko quieted once more, and she lowered back down upon her perch. Seeming to collect herself, she began again. “Forgive me. My grief is still quite fresh.” She placed her hand over her heart as if to steady its beating. “There is no need to worry, my dear Vizier. Truly. I have no intention of harming Atlan’s chosen, nor you or the King of Xebel. I will settle for one—and you shall be my ambassador, ensuring his deliverance to me.”

Vulko tilted his head to the side, wary of her impending request.

“War has come again, Vulko, Vizier of Atlantis. I’m giving you the opportunity to broker for peace. To entreat with my people and make amends for your king’s complacency.”

“You will allow me to leave?”

“Just you. Your crew shall remain.”

“Might I persuade you to release—”

“No, you may not,” she replied airily. “They shall either be released upon the meeting of our reparations, or they shall be recorded as the first prisoners of war. It is up to you to decide.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: Moonwake

Song List:
Let Me Love You Like a Woman by Lana del Rey
13 Beaches by Lana del Rey
With Arms Wide Open by Creed

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” Orm asked, turning at the sound of her voice. Reyna stood on the other side of the bed, pulling back the covers. The curtains were drawn and the lights were dimmed. The cold had set in outside of the cottage but all was warm in their quiet oasis.

Orm had never known solitude such as this—the kind that was peaceful and intimate. It was as if they were hidden away from the entire world. All his life, he’d had eyes on him—the eyes of his advisers, the eyes of the council, his people, his enemies. Their voices, opinions, wants, and needs polluted the water around him every single day without relief. He’d never realized how heavy a burden it was until her.

Here, in this quiet place, there were only her eyes—her voice to soothe his soul.

“Mera and Arthur…”

She was so small—unassuming and kind. “No.”

“You and Mera were once engaged…”

“No,” he repeated.

“You grew up together…”

“No,” he rounded the bed. She retreated, albeit unintentionally, at his approach, backing against the mattress.

“You’re not angry?” She whispered as he came upon her, staring down at her slight form.

“Why would I be?” He murmured, leaning down to kiss her hair. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Do you?” She sounded amused and slightly disbelieving.

“A union with Mera was never what /I/ wanted. It was arranged when we were young. There was no point in my life when I envisioned falling in love or choosing someone for myself—I knew from a young age that decision was not mine to make. Whether for political gain or the good of my people, I never dreamt that I might have the opportunity to choose someone simply because I loved her.”

“Love?” Reyna’s voice cracked, and her eyes grew wide.

Orm bent his head, brushing his nose against hers as he caressed her cheek with his thumb. “Yes, Reyna. Love.”

Her brow creased as she stared into his eyes, looking as if she couldn’t comprehend the truth in his words. He could see the question there—

/Why me?/

He shook his head. It was absurd—he knew it as much as she did. But it took being around her, knowing her, for him to realize what was truly important in life. A king, born and raised, was exempt from the parts of life that were worth living. He was raised to defend, to kill, to inspire, to rule but never to know /why/. Never to understand what exactly it was he was protecting. His marriage was arranged. His love cast aside. His passions forgone…

“I was not allowed to pursue my own desires in Atlantis. My father was very strict about what I was allowed to study—who I was allowed to see, what information was gifted to me, and what experiences I was permitted. I told you before…” He looked down, feeling a twinge of shame. “I was fifteen when my father arranged my first joining with another.”

“The inconsequential…” she murmured.

“He controlled every aspect of my life. And after his demise…there were others. The council. My viziers. Neighboring kingdoms…”

Reyna’s eyes were glassy and full of emotion. “Orm…”

“Nothing in my life was chosen by me. Not one thing. Until you.” How could he explain it to her? How could he make her understand how profound a decision this had been? Even before her life was at risk, he’d wanted to do it—he’d wanted to claim her for his own—but he hadn’t had the gaul. Not until her life was at risk. Not until fate forced his hand—/lose her or claim her…/

It was an obvious choice. The only thing he’d ever wanted for himself…

He flattened his palm against her cheek, and her hand found his as tears spilled over her cheeks.

“I love you. I want you—not because someone told me to, not because you were assigned to me, not for political gain, but because of who you are. Because you know me. You’ve never seen me at my best. It has only ever been the darkest parts of me, the failures—the snide comments and the derisive remarks—the bitter loser. And you loved me anyway, if I may be so bold. You accepted me for who I was—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. Reyna rose onto her toes, grasped the back of his neck, and kissed him—deeply, passionately, sending shivers down his spine.

Pulling away, she spoke, “It wasn’t hard. You are many things, Orm Marius, not only what others have deemed you to be. You are your own man. You are…”

“Ready to discard the characteristics that have been assigned to me.” He revealed, smiling down upon her. “You have shown me freedom. You do not need to absolve me further. Reyna, you are enough as you are.”

She smiled sleepily, tugging on his arm. “Come to bed…” She whispered, reaching for him, tugging on his heartstrings.

“Soon—I want to read a bit…”

“Fine,” she conceded, smiling demurely. “But don’t take long…I’ll be waiting.”

——

“My Queen, the high vizier has departed.”

“Good,” Mesmeria murmured, gazing off into the gloom. “And the tracker?”

“Deployed.”

“Excellent,” she curled her claws into a fist, relishing this small victory. Her shimmering lilac tail swished in the water, itching to bolt—to /move/.

In her youth, the coral forests of her kingdom had been an oasis of calm reverie. One in which she could race through the great reefs, flitting amidst coral and stone. Now, her scales itched for that relief, the same that could only be felt when one was racing through the surf—swimming with abandon.

But it was not meant to be…

Those days were long gone.

Mesmeria surged upward, swimming toward the surface in a display of wanton abandonment. Rippling through open waters. Swimming for her life—for her father—for her kingdom—for herself…

Just as the glittering horizon, the space where the water kissed the sky came into view, she stopped.

Bathed in sunlight, she tilted her head, gazing up toward the surface world.

/I’d hoped our people had evolved beyond that ancient notion that war with the surface is inevitable. It is the position of the Fishermen that when the time comes to make ourselves known to the landsmen, it should be to educate them, not to destroy them./

King Ricou, her father, had been good. Better than her, by far. More forgiving at least.

Perhaps that was what killed him.

His goodness.

He was too trusting…

/She would not make the same mistake./

When she closed her eyes now, all she saw was blood.

Soon, the island would be within reach. Vulko would take the revelation of the Ocean Master’s betrayal to Arthur—the news would undoubtedly cause a stir. She’d learned enough about their tenuous inner circle to understand that the dynamics at play were precarious at best.

Atlanna, the former Queen of Atlantis, had been separated from both of her sons at such a young and vulnerable age. Neither of them knew her well enough to truly trust her. Orm’s betrayal would put that to the test. Vulko’s anger would only add insult to injury. The landsman, Tom Curry, was the easiest to predict, defending his son—an outsider, through and through.

All too quickly, they’d fracture, and fall apart.

Leaving them vulnerable.

That’s when she’d strike.

That’s when she would take what she was owed!

They would turn against themselves, one by one, until their alliance was so fractured, so broken, that it would be all too easy to sweep in and take what she wanted.

“All I have to do is wait, father, for they will destroy themselves from the inside—and then, vengeance will be mine.”

——

When he finally set down the book, the moon was high in the sky. Reyna’s collection might be meager compared to a library, a sanctuary dedicated to the collection of such works, but Orm believed she possessed far more material than the average land dweller. It was a boon. He enjoyed reading. And here, no one could dictate what information was best for him to absorb. No one would have an opinion if he decided to choose something frivolous—something simply to enjoy.

Often, he spent time reading as she slept. She needed it more and more these days with the change upon her, and it made for good research. He was learning much about the people of the land. The books revealed the mechanisms of their minds as much as their hearts and souls.

Though, so did /she/.

In fact, he’d probably learned more from Reyna than anyone else. She’d taught him a great deal about life—though he still believed she was unique among her people—an anomaly. While most of his childhood he’d learned about the hard things, the cold and bloody parts of existence, Reyna had shown him the softer side of things.

That was why she was so important—that was why he could not resist her allure—he could not help but desire her because she was unique, like him. It was impossible not to want her.

The opposite of everything he’d ever known.

She was gentle and kind—good and pure.

And now she was his.

For a brief moment—an ever so fleeting thought graced his mind….

/I could be happy here…/

In this place. This time—alone with her. Sheltered—hidden away from the rest of the world. Just the two of them. Lingering in this calm existence.

His mind settled as he crept up the stairs…

Perhaps he could relinquish his crown.

Perhaps he could set aside his trident.

Perhaps there was more to life than power and control…

His thoughts ceased at the sight of her sleeping form.

Yes.

This had to be heaven.

This quiet—this sweet, calm place—where he could be whatever he wanted—free from the constraints of his bloodline, the demands of his people. How had he not been able to see it before? How free this life truly was?

A gentle smile graced his lips as he pulled the covers back and slipped into bed alongside her. Carefully, he wrapped his arm around her torso and pulled her against him.

Could it be that this was all he needed?

That this was all he ever truly wanted?

Burying his face in her hair, he reveled in the warmth of her body, the simplicity of his new life, and the calm he found in her presence. He felt her slight form tucked against his own. He felt the quiet happiness he’d discovered in her wake. He heard her heart beating and her gentle breathing. He smelled her…

Orm sucked in a shocked breath. His eyes snapped open, and his entire body went rigid.

He smelled her…

/Her…/

No.

It couldn’t be…

The world stopped in its tracks.

For a moment—there was nothing.

No air—no light—no room…

Heart hammering in his chest, he inhaled slowly once again—to confirm the scent…

/No…/

Sickening fear engulfed his heart—polluting the very core of his being. All of the peace he’d felt mere moments ago washed away, drowned out by the undeniable scent…

Reyna…?

He choked, his throat blocked with emotion as he lay there, still and helpless, unable to move. Paralyzed by his fear, he stared into the dark—a being of instinct only. He felt his arms constrict, his grip tightening, pulling her closer to him—as if his feeble form could protect her now—feeling, for the very first time in his life, truly frightened…

Orm had loved, and he had lost. He had mourned, and he had been afraid. He’d been forced to go on, feeling as if the entire world was ending—the sky falling, the ocean burning, the world moving in slow motion. He’d been scared when his mother “died”—sacrificed to the trench. He’d been afraid many times past then, but always, he knew he would persevere. He knew he would be okay because he was all that mattered.

But that wasn’t the case anymore.

It wasn’t just him…

Everything in his mind silenced in the wake of what he discovered—there was no thought, no salvation, no hope—just pure, undiluted helplessness in those first initial moments as he clung to her—feeling the full weight of his unstable situation—the unencumbered magnitude of his powerlessness.

He closed his eyes, inhaling again, feeling reality—sensing the present.

A healthy dose of what was to come—of what was to be.

/Move, man, think. Break the ice. Go forward. You must. You must…!/

Slowly, he worked to steady his breathing.

Slowly, his hammering heart calmed.

And his mind began to turn—to work—/to think/.

A shot of anger pierced his heart. At the injustice of it all—how horrid a demise? How /fucking dare the gods?/

Fate was a cruel bastard—working its wicked will once again—forcing his hand.

If Arthur truly was the chosen, then what was he?

Damned?

What could he do now? For this went beyond blood and oaths. This was greater than prophecy or past discretions—this was the future—this was greater than both of them now—out of their hands—impossible…

How could it be happening?

If what he sensed was true, Reyna would not survive it—not as she was. She needed Atlantean medics, oracles well versed in the ancient ways…

How could Atlan choose Arthur—yet push him to such ends? Orm couldn’t reconcile with it…

Reyna’s deterioration—was Orm’s instigation…

He would not allow her to perish! That much was true. So what was he to be? Was this truly what was to become of him? Did Atlan want him to be the villain?

Because he would be…

Fuck it all, he’d be the bloodiest, filthiest villain in all recorded history…he didn’t give a damn.

Once again—just as it had been in the deep. Just as he had been forced to choose Reyna’s fate, now, again, he was forced to make an impossible decision—one he’d desired all along…

Funny, he’d meant what he said to his mother. The vow he’d made about all he’d relinquish to keep Reyna safe…

Convenient that he would need the very things he swore to set aside to keep her safe now.

And it was the truth that he would demand his due—for he’d need his trident and crown to protect her now more than ever…

But it wasn’t just her anymore…

Nor was it him…

A new vision blossomed in his mind—a brighter one—full of possibility and hope rekindled—and what began as despair morphed into possibility…all he worked for coming to fruition…

The time had come for Orm to /act/.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Abandon Ship

Song List:
Prisoner by Raphael Lake, Aaron Levy & Daniel Ryan Murphy
Whatever it Takes by Lifehouse
Long and Lost by Florence & The Machine
Impossible by Shontelle

This was the end.

There was too much at stake now…

Orm was losing control of his temper.

Over the past few days, his jaw had been in a near-constant state of constraint as he held back his vitriolic words with every meager, useless conversation he encountered. Frustration plagued him. Everywhere he turned, every avenue he painstakingly considered was a dead-end, and his desperation at the notion was beginning to seep into his encounters, threatening to reveal too much to the wrong people.

Again and again, he turned his options over in his mind.

Three were viable…

One was to reveal Reyna’s condition to Arthur and beg for forgiveness—a feat he was loathe to commit, yet it was still a possible course of action, so he humored the idea. Arthur would discover them soon enough. Reyna’s deterioration was worsening by the day. Eventually, her rapid decline would be undeniable, even to him. As would be her scent…

Two—trust in the medics of the land to safeguard Reyna through her condition. She was a land-dweller, after all, and his mother had wanted him to learn that very lesson. It was his purpose in coming here. It was the most righteous of all the options. But just like the first one, its success expressly relied on his ability to relinquish control—an impossible feat for Orm Marius.

Which brought him to the third option. The one he’d sought all along…

/Return to Atlantis and claim what is rightfully mine…/

It’s time.

The sea seemed to know—she called to him, summoning him home with her siren song.

He was hungry—starving for freedom, to let his rage slip, to break free from this cage and defend what was his!

They’d never let him go. He always knew that if he were ever set free, it would be by his own making, not Arthur Curry’s good graces.

No—it was time for Orm to make his own way in the world…

Staring out at the sun-drenched shore, where the sky kissed the sea, Orm resisted the urge to look back upon the forest. Clenching his fists, he fought the undeniable draw—the tether that bound them together. They had to be apart now. He had no choice…

Once again, the gods had made known their will, and Orm was not one to deny them.

From the moment Orvax learned about his half-brother’s existence, he’d begun preparing Orm for the day Arthur would come to challenge him for the throne. His father ensured he was strong—ready to face anything the bastard princeling could throw at him. But he’d also prepared for the worst. After all, Orvax was a general—and a smart one. A natural course of action, a predictable stream of events when a country is faced with the revelation of another heir, is civil war.

His father’s lust for power knew no bounds. The idea that a half-breed bastard could rob the throne of his bloodline infuriated him. It’s what led Orvax to execute his mother. The slight was unforgivable.

Beyond that, the Marius defense against this outside contender needed to be iron-clad and impenetrable—and it was. Few knew of the great lengths his father had gone to in order to ensure the survival of his line. King Orvax spared no expense, left no detail forgotten, no extravagance unmet. Secretly, he’d done all in his power to safeguard Orm’s success. And the success of his heirs yet to come…

Except for one, of course. Atlanna’s survival knocked Orm off the carefully laid plan. It left him vulnerable and open, amenable to punishment—if only to see her, to appease and know her. After all, he was robbed of that chance in his youth. Then…Reyna…

With her, he’d found something new—something he’d never dreamt of possessing. It made him question everything, even considering forgoing this path, laying everything aside for them—his mother and his…love.

But fate was cruel, and the gods demanded their due.

No matter how hard Orm tried to plan, they seemed intent on pushing him about as they saw fit. Yet this time, instead of taking all away, they’d /given/ him everything.

This one small thing fueled him like never before.

Filled with determination and renewed verve, he felt empowered. He was a /King/ and he would not be cast aside.

Holding his head high, he faced the new dawn—the last one he would see for a very long time—and waded out into the frigid waters.

“Let it begin.”

——

Reyna hopped out of the truck and held the door open, waiting for Stella to jump out behind her.

It took a moment before she remembered…

/Right—Stella’s gone./

Even after all these months, there were still times when it surprised her. When she’d see a blur of brown and expect Stella’s mismatched eyes to emerge around a corner, gazing up at her. Then, inevitably, she’d realize it wasn’t going to happen. Sometimes, a wave of profound grief would follow. Other times, Reyna felt complete, as if the sighting or sensation was a reminder that Stella wasn’t ever very far. She was always there, just beyond the veil, waiting…

Today was one of the latter. Reyna shook her head, dazed. Though she hadn’t worked any longer than usual, she felt exhausted—again. Chalking it up to the impending stormy weather, she snatched the grocery bags from the backseat and headed for the house, surveying the grey clouds with mild apprehension. No one was home as she let herself in, depositing the evening’s fare on the counter. It was still a bit early to begin cooking; the others wouldn’t be off work for another hour or so, but she figured she could at least get the prep work out of the way.

Humming softly, she diced onions, peppers, carrots, and celery, depositing them into neat, colorful little piles. Next came the meat—moose, a specialty acquired from a friend at work who’d won the hunting lottery on the mainland and bagged one of the magnificent creatures. Reyna smiled slightly as she washed the goods. Tom would be delighted. Moose meat was one of his favorites.

Losing herself to the task, Reyna’s mind wandered to simpler things—so much so that she didn’t notice growing calamity on the beach…

Humming a jaunty tune and surveying her work, it seemed a glass of wine was in order—to celebrate. After all, they’d accomplished so much over the past few months.

Tom and Atlanna were united and happy after so long apart.

Arthur and Mera would soon be engaged…

/If Mera says yes, of course./

A smile graced her lips. She would—Reyna knew it.

And that wasn’t the only thing, of course. Orm appeared no longer to be a threat to her family.

Everything seemed to be falling into place.

Reyna couldn’t help but feel happy—safe and calm. Rest assured in the security of those she held dear.

Over the years, she’d lost so much—and with Arthur ascending the throne, she feared she would be forced to lose it all over again. For so long after her parents died, Tom and Arthur Curry were the only family she had left. Between the turbulent time with the Justice League and overthrowing Orm, Reyna feared the worst for them both. Then after, when Atlanna emerged, and Orm was banished to their tiny island, it truly seemed disaster was imminent.

Yet—now, here they stood. A family of three—alone in the world, /multiplied/.

Now they had Orm, Atlanna, and Mera—likely, they would begin to grow even more in the coming years.

It was a strange thought. Reyna had always imagined it would just be the three of them. But knowing now what she did, she was so grateful for her newfound family…

Turning toward the refrigerator, a brilliant display of bright lights cast across the grey skies and seas caught her attention.

“Oh my god…”

A squadron of Atlantean soldiers, donned in red suits and helmets, surrounded Tom.

The sight was so shocking that Reyna dropped the glass in her hand. It shattered against the floor as she bolted toward the door, fearing the worst. Tearing out onto the deck, she raced down the steps and onto the beach. Sand sprayed up in her path as she approached the water, churning in the dying light of day. The eerie blue glow of the massive warship in the distance cast a strange palette, looking alien.

“What happened?” She cried, afraid it was Arthur—had he been killed? Was Atlantis under attack? Were they in danger?

Three of the soldiers in red aimed their nefarious weapons in her direction, but she did not slow…

“Hold!” Vulko ordered, emerging from their ranks.

Tom looked as though he could split a log of wood with his bare hands. White knuckled, his fists were clenched at his side. He barely turned to look at her as she stumbled toward them, panicked. “What is it? Is Arthur okay?”

“The King is well, Reyna Avenell—long may he reign.” Vulko declared, hand folded behind his back.

It was a peculiar thing to say. Reyna had little experience with the High Vizier, having only spoken to him a handful of times in person. Unnerved by the message, she tilted her head to the side. It revealed nothing—answered none of her questions. Panic was quickly replaced by frustration as Reyna opened her mouth to demand answers…

“Set up a perimeter around the lighthouse. No one breaches our line of defense. Protecting the royal family is paramount until the prince is apprehended.”

/The prince? But who…/

Reyna felt the blood drain from her face as realization struck.

Not—he couldn’t be talking about Orm…

Blinking, dazed, she turned to Tom. “What is he talking about?”

“Come inside…” Tom ordered, grasping her arm.

“I don’t understand what’s happened. What is he talking about?” she repeated, her heart beating frantically in her chest.

“Reyna…”

“Tell me!”

Tom looked back at the squadron with wary eyes. They dissipated quickly, storming off around the perimeter of the house.

Vulko stepped forward. “Best heed my words, Tom Curry. What she needs now is a medical attention—psychological intervention—”

“I’ll decide what’s best for her!” the man snapped. His voice carried an anger that Reyna did not recognize.

“Tom….”

Finally, he faced her.

“I know how strong you are. You’ve endured things most your age never have to. You’ve carried guilt and known loss. You can handle what I’m about to tell you.”

“Tom,” she murmured slowly, taking a step back. “You’re scaring me…”

“Orm is responsible for the Black Manta’s attack.”

Silence.

“He is the reason you were abducted.”

A dull roaring filled her ears.

“And Stella…”

Straw. Camel. Back.

/Broken./

“No,” She snapped. That was a fact. “No, he wouldn’t…”

“The proof is undeniable,” Vulko confirmed. “Orm provided David Kane with the coordinates for the lighthouse. He provided detailed accounts of Arthur’s family members—potential targets for abduction.”

Reyna felt sick. This wasn’t real…this couldn’t be happening…not after everything…

“It was a ploy—a carefully calculated and theatrical ruse to make himself out to be the hero. He used you for strategic gain.” Vulko’s words were like daggers to her heart.

“I—I don’t believe you…”

/I can’t…/

“He wouldn’t…”

“Reyna—he’s gone.”

/Gone./

“What?”

“Orm didn’t report in this morning. It’s happened a few times in the past. I let it slide after your abduction, assuming he was helping you with some tasks around the cottage…”

His words blended together as Reyna tried and failed to wrap her brain around what was happening.

“Gone?” she repeated, dumbstruck, shocked, betrayed, horrified.

He’d used her…?

No…

“No, but he saved me?” She insisted, nodding her head. She was right—they were wrong. They didn’t know him like she did—they didn’t know—

“He lured you all into a false sense of security—motivating you to believe he was on your side. In organizing your abduction and facilitating your extraction, he made you all believe you owed him a debt of gratitude, and it was the beginning of the end. You began to trust him. You let him into your lives and lowered your guard. All he had to do was wait for the right moment.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense. What was keeping him here this entire time? If he could leave so easily, why would he not have done it before? Why all of this effort?”

“Orm Marius is a master manipulator. Arthur was chosen by Atlan. He succeeded in dethroning the prince. But he did not defeat him, nor was he able to persuade the prince of his superior claim. The former king, Orvax, spent decades training Orm, preparing for the day when Arthur would come to take the throne.” He shook his head. “I advised against this course of action for a reason. Orm is conniving, ruthless, and without morals. He believes himself to be above all others.”

“But he wouldn’t…”

“With all due respect, Ms. Avenell, you do not know Orm Marius. You’ve never met him—neither of you have. You’ve never seen what he is capable of, nor do you understand the power he commands.”

A chill ran up Reyna’s spine.

“While your efforts to rehabilitate him were valiant, they were unsuccessful. Orm Marius is irredeemable.”

“We had to try, Vulko. For Atlanna,” Tom insisted.

“That may be so, but the fact remains: it was a grave miscalculation to believe that the Ocean Master, once stripped of his crown and trident, was rendered powerless. Orm has never been powerless—not even here. While you were all busy trying to rehabilitate him, he plotted his return, gathering intel on his contender.”

“You think he stayed to—to watch us?” It was unthinkable…

“That is precisely what I believe. Orm Marius remained on this island to study you—all of you. He had much to gain in learning your personalities, the way your minds work. The way you interact with one other. What better way to determine how your enemy will react when cornered, but to get to know him yourself?”

A breath of shock passed between Reyna’s lips as her rebuttal died in her throat.

“What is that colloquial phrase your people so like to employ? Ah yes—keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

“I think we get the point,” Tom hissed, grasping her shoulder and pulling her back toward the house.

“My men are watching the perimeter. I’d advise you to stay inside and await the king’s return.”

“Come on kid…”

She allowed Tom to pull her away—to lead her back to the house she’d grown up in.

The voices of the Atlantean soldiers barked at her back. The ship whirred, picking up wind and churning the seawater. Everything was loud and out of control, confusing and difficult to grasp.

The noises became a vortex—wind whipped her hair as the sand shifted beneath her feet. Her vision blurred, and she stumbled.

/The proof is undeniable…/

/I don’t believe you!/

Trailing blindly behind Tom, she struggled to keep her head, swimming in the vortex.

/Orm is conniving, ruthless, and without morals./

She’d known these things—logically, factually…

But he’d been different! Orm had been different…

/You do not know Orm Marius. You’ve never met him…/

Voices merged and swirled, drowning out all coherent thought, threatening to consume her. Reyna pressed her palm to her brow, swaying on her feet.

Tom turned.

“Reyna?”

/I am a King, little nymph./

A bomb detonated in her chest, rendering her heart and soul to nothing more than ash.

The beach fell silent. Tom disappeared. Everything disappeared. There was only his voice in her head.

“Reyna, I need you to listen to me…”

“Orm?” Icy water clung to her lashes. Her vision was hazy, coming in and out.

Delirium.

“Do you trust me?”

/No./

The word pierced her mind like a bolt of lightning.

The sound of wind and thunder filled her ears as he knees gave out beneath her, and Reyna collapsed upon the sand.

——

“I insist you see reason. Orm is your brother. He is my son!”

“I allowed him to stay here. I gave him every opportunity to change. He didn’t. Now he’s off God only knows where amassing a new army? If he didn’t only try to massacre half the world’s population last time he was in a position of power, maybe I wouldn’t be so concerned. But he did!” Her eldest son bellowed. “Look, I get it. I dreamt of getting to meet him when I was a kid. I was disappointed by what he’s become, too. But at some point, we gotta wake up and see the truth for what it is. And it’s that he’s bat shit. No way around it. The boy has to be stopped.”

“But what does that mean? He is still your brother! He is part of this family!”

“Yeah, and he tried to have my father killed!” Arthur clapped back, his eyes full of rage. “He had Reyna abducted. He as good as killed Stella himself!”

Reyna, only recently recovered from her fainting spell, looked shell-shocked. Her eyes were wide and glassy as she sat quietly at the table, her hands folded. Atlanna turned in time to see her visibly flinch in the wake of her son’s words.

“That’s enough!” Tom’s voice was loud and commanding as he turned on Arthur. “Do you think Reyna needs to hear this right now? That monster has been living in her house. He is the reason she nearly lost her life.” He spoke lowly. “Rope it in, son. We need to get our house back in order before going off the deep end.”

Arthur glared at his father but quieted.

Tom gripped his shoulder, staring into his eyes. “He’ll pay. Don’t you worry about that. There’ll be hell for messing with this family.”

Arthur’s shoulders relaxed at his father’s words.

“Now you go, do what you do best. I’ll run damage control. No one’s gettin’ past Vulko tonight. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Appeased, the new King receded from the house. But Atlanna was not so easily satisfied. “This is Queen Mesmeria’s doing. She wants Orm’s head. She’ll not stop until she has him in her clawed palm.”

“You don’t know that…” Tom reasoned, enacting the deadbolt on the kitchen door as if that could help.

“He murdered her father. Arthur pardoned him. This isn’t just about getting revenge against Orm; it’s about Atlantis. This is what she wants—we are left open and vulnerable if we bicker amongst ourselves.”

“Atlanna, please. This was Orm’s doing…”

“So says the Queen.”

“Why did he run?” He threw his arms wide, posing the question. “Because he had something to hide or someone warned him that she was coming. Either way, he was going around us and playing the field. We were wrong to trust him. I’m glad we gave him the chance for you, but it was a bad call.”

Atlanna’s eyes flitted to Reyna…

Those weren’t the only scenarios at play…

The High Oracles had no new information on Reyna’s condition. The Atlantean medics were stalwart in their opinion—a Siren needed to descend to survive. Which meant Reyna had to descend.

Arthur would never allow her and Orm to remain together, especially if it meant turning Orm out loose upon the sea. But Tom was right—why would he run?

Reyna could not remain ashore much longer.

But what was to gain from fleeing? What had happened? For a moment, he’d shared his plight with her. He’d leaned on her for assistance. What changed?

Had Orm left in search of a cure? Atlanna knew, beyond a doubt, that transformation would not have taken hold without his deep feelings for the woman. But Arthur and Tom had no history of magic—they’d not so easily believe these stipulations—and it was true, Reyna would suffer the consequences of their separation.

So why leave?

“Come on, kid, let’s get you to bed…”

Tom tucked his arm around her waist and gingerly lifted her from the chair, leading her away.

In that vulnerable moment, Atlanna was struck by melancholy—she looked so like her mother…

/My dear Luna, what do I do? How can I help her?/

Absent-mindedly, Atlanna’s hand flew to her belly as memory seized her mind.

The kitchen had changed little over the years: the same cabinets and counters, the same table and chairs. Even the fixtures on the walls had not changed. But the people…

“How are you feeling?” Luna asked, her voice gentle and kind.

“Large,” Atlanna smiled, running her hand across the ridge of her bump.

“How about you? Anything?”

Luna cast her eyes downward toward the weathered wood of the dining table. Folding her hands demurely before her, she responded. “Nothing, yet.”

Luna and Fin had been trying for a few months now. They were in no rush, but Luna was eager to become a mother. Watching Atlanna’s pregnancy progress had only heightened her desire for a child.

“It takes time,” Atlanna admitted, sighing. “Where I’m from…”

“Atlantis,” Luna smiled knowingly. She did so love to hear the stories…

“Yes, in Atlantis, royal women are expected to produce heirs as quickly as possible after our marriage. We are educated in politics, history, government, culture, and most importantly, the art of conception. It is a rare and almost magical occurrence. There is so much working against it. So many odds at stake. It truly is a blessing, as your people say. And blessings take time. Trust me, someday, you will be as uncomfortable as I am now.”

Luna chuckled, her smile broadening. “I do hope so.”

Now the kitchen was empty—as was Atlanna.

Her sons were at odds. Her kingdom was torn apart. And Luna, perhaps her only true friend in this world, was gone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: Division of Stars and Sea

Song List:
Start by Ellie Goulding
St. Jude by Florence & The Machine
Various Storms and Saints by Florence & The Machine
Lost at Sea by Snow Ghosts

“Orm has taken Corelia….”

“Orm’s forces are gathering.”

“His allies are flocking to his ranks…”

“The high council is funding his arsenal.”

“Karshon won’t openly back the prince, but he’s rumored to have her support…”

After a while, Reyna didn’t hear them anymore. The news was always shocking—mostly bad.

A gray haze plagued her existence. The days rolled by at a painstaking pace, each more dreadful than the last as her despair grew. She did her best to remain impassive in the wake of their updates. But it felt as though a hole had been punched through her chest.

How naive had she been? She didn’t like to think of it…it only increased the ache in her skull that never seemed to cease…

“Reyna—Reyna!”

“What—what is it?” She blinked rapidly, attempting to expel the ever-present pain—a near-constant migraine. Clearing her mind seemed harder and harder these days.

“I think you ought to stay here.”

“I’m perfectly safe at my cottage…”

“Pops, just look at her.”

Reyna bristled, rising to the occasion. “What does that mean?’

“Reyn, you’ve been through hell. Orm’s a shit. It’s not lost on us,” Arthur noted. “He targeted you. You were nice, and he took advantage. Hell, I was nice! I wanted to believe I could change him. That he could be different—the kind of little brother that was in the game with me. But he’s just a grade-A twat. No way around it.”

“I’m not some unassuming schoolgirl, Arthur! I knew exactly what he was all along. My decision to trust him wasn’t something I merely gave away. It was /earned/.” The word burned in her throat—a toxic truth. He /had/ earned it. Had it all been a ruse? Everything?

Reyna swallowed thickly, feeling faint.

“We all wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Tom interrupted, glancing warily toward the door. Atlanna was shore-bound, gazing out at the horizon for answers. “He’s your brother, and he’s Atlanna’s son, whether I like it or not. We did the right thing, taking him in—no doubt about it. But hindsight is twenty-twenty. The boy is sly.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I don’t know the ways of your people—these Atlanteans. But your grandfather would be cuffing our heads for allowing such a snake into our home, no matter the connection.”

Arthur and Reyna were silent, ashamed by the betrayal, exhausted by looming war.

“Reyna, you will be staying here until I say otherwise,” Tom informed her sternly.

“But I—”

“It’s not up for debate. You’ve no appetite. Steve told me you’ve been missing work. Your friends are concerned.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. But was she?

“You look /exhausted/.” He wasn’t wrong.

“Worse than that time you caught mono Freshman year,” Arthur added, folding his arms across his chest and grinning smugly.

“Alright, I’ll admit, I haven’t been like myself lately.”

“You look half dead, Reyny.” Arthur quipped. “I’ve got a kingdom falling apart, a rogue prince shackin’ up in some mystical coral palace in the South Pacific. Brine King’s been up my butt every day this week. Don’t even get me started on Queen Mesmeria…”

“You’re point, son—you need to get to it before I grow old and die.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know how to fix all this, but I know how to help you.”

“Is this an intervention?” She asked.

“It’s more of a come-to-Jesus meeting, but sure, call it what you want. I need to know that you’re okay. Pops can keep a good eye on you, make sure you’re eating, getting your rest, and focusing on getting better. I can’t be everywhere at once, so I need you to get on board.”

“It’s that bad down there, huh?” Reyna asked.

“To be honest, I hadn’t even heard of Corelia until Orm took it. I’m in way over my head.”

“You’ve only been King for a few months. You can’t expect to know everything instantly.” Tom reasoned.

“Still, how am I supposed to defend a Kingdom I barely know from someone who was born and raised within its borders? The people don’t know who to follow anymore. Sure, I’m Atlan’s chosen, but I’m also just some outsider.”

“You make it sound so dire,” she murmured, growing more fatigued by the minute.

“Alright, intervention time is over. You’ve got a colossal mess to clean up under the sea, and I’ve got a mono-sympathetic victim of post-traumatic stress to tuck into bed.” Tom declared, clapping his son on the back. “Speak to your mother before you go. She’s hurting.”

——

Weeks passed. The dead of winter came and went, casting its frigid spell over the island.

Reyna settled into a new routine.

Wake up.

Work.

Come home.

Sleep.

Arthur and Atlanna were away most days now. It was just her and Tom—waiting. She was too exhausted to help in the kitchen, so he did most of the cooking. None of the island’s doctors could find anything wrong with her. They’d chalked it up to psychological trauma—/they didn’t know the half of it/.

One good thing about Arthur and Atlanna being away is the bad news was kept at bay. Orm’s name was mentioned rarely, if ever.

But Reyna wasn’t healing.

Exhaustion, nausea, and depression continued to plague her.

It wasn’t until the snow began to melt that she accepted the fact that nothing was going to change until she did.

So, she added a new step to her daily regimen: walking.

Every day, she forced herself to walk down to the shore. She walked as far as she could until she was too exhausted to take another step. Then, she’d turn on her heel and struggle back. It didn’t feel like she was growing stronger, and perhaps she wasn’t. Perhaps all this little exercise was doing was helping her to grow accustomed to the pain.

Desensitized.

It didn’t matter. She continued onward all the same…

Walking along the docks, she admired the grey seas, calm and gentle. The wind tussled her hair, smelling of salt and ice. She’d managed to come even farther today.

She remembered walking Stella along this path countless times. Recalled the way her eyes gazed up happily to greet her as she panted, racing along the sand and wood planks. She remembered sneaking down here in high school to meet her friends and, before, coming with her parents to go out on their boat.

But tonight, it was Orm on her mind once again.

When did he become such a big part of her life? So much so that it wrecked her body, mind, and soul to be torn apart from him?

Reyna rolled her shoulders as if trying to shake some invisible weight holding her down.

/I can’t do this anymore./

Gazing out at the horizon, she watched the sun sink into the waves before heading back to the lighthouse, determined to confront Tom.

Reyna had to leave.

First, back to the cottage to shore it up for her departure. It would take some time to prepare. Besides, she didn’t necessarily know where she was going—somewhere new or familiar.

/New. I want something new. In a city. One with excellent doctors and psychiatrists to help me get over this—whatever this is…/

She’d figure out the details after some research. It wouldn’t be difficult. She’d done it so many times before.

“Time to go then.”

——

“I demand to have an audience with the King!”

King Nereus’s voice echoed off the throne room's walls, reverberating through the water in his signature throaty, dulcet tone.

“The King is not here,” Atlanna informed him, rolling her shoulders back and holding her head high in queenly esteem. These halls were sacred to her bloodline. They belonged to her by every right, and so she commanded them in her son’s absence.

“It is urgent—of the utmost importance.”

“It will have to wait—“

“I have never been one to cry wolf before, Atlanna.” He interrupted, swimming across the blinding white aisle toward the dais. The guards clutched tighter at their tridents at his approach, but she stayed them easily with a flourish of her hand. “You know me—better than most, despite your years in exile.”

It was true. As children, she and Nereus had both been set to inherit their retrospective thrones and had grown up under the same pressures within the same circles. They had been confidants at a young age and allies in a mature one. Mera and Orm’s betrothal was set in stone before either had ever been born for that very reason. Though both Nereus and Atlanna were loathe to give in to the old tradition, an alliance between their two kingdoms was undoubtedly necessary and beneficial. If they were to escape the old ways, they would need to work together, which required a necessary evil—to join their two realms in matrimony, creating a superpower that would revolutionize their world.

They’d planned it so perfectly once upon a time…

Then, her father announced her betrothal to General Orvax. A man far older and more cruel than she could have imagined. Militant and violent, her dreams for the future quickly diminished, and she fled, seeing no other option for salvation. Atlantis be damned, she would not bow down to its archaic tendencies. She would be /free/.

Nereus, her dearest and oldest friend, understood that and did his best to honor it in her absence and within the realm of her return and eventual exile.

“What is it?”

“My niece has been abducted by your youngest son. Orm’s forces have taken Paralian, and with it, Delphine and her kin, my sister Caprina and her two younger daughters Cora and Malia….”

“Speak your mind, Nereus! Are you not more concerned for your sister than your niece? Do not think to vex me with vague declarations. Out with it!”

“The whole of their abduction is deeply troubling, but more so, and what I bring news of is that Delphine is of acceptable age to marry.”

/Marry./

Orm and Delphine?

“That is not possible…”

/Reyna…the change…love./

“Of course, it is—Atlanna, Delphine is first in line after my daughter, Y’mera. She is the eldest of my sister’s lineage after my own. With her by his side, bound by matrimony, he’ll have a right to the Xebellion throne as well as to Atlantis. He’s strengthening claim.”

Atlanna turned, facing the throne. What sickness it had wrought on her family—her son…

Could it be true? Could he cast aside the woman he loved in favor of an alliance that would give him a superpower capable of redeeming his throne?

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but Orm is preparing for war…”

“War is already upon us, Nereus. Orm holds Corelia as well as Delphine, now, as you say. Supporters from across the four remaining kingdoms are flocking to his rank, bringing weapons and resources along with them. He is succeeding.” She declared, swimming toward the porcelain steps.

“You speak as though you’ve lost hope—but I sense you have not. Not yet.”

He would know better than anyone. He’d seen it in her eyes the day her father assigned her to Orvax—the death of hope and the horror of duty, inescapable. He knew what defeat looked like when it came to her.

“What is it Orm wants?” She asked of her friend, the man who was first to ally himself with her second son on his seemingly megalomaniacal rampage.

“Power.” Nereus deemed, the obvious answer.

“He had power—that and more. Possessing the title of Ocean Master was a placeholder for something greater. Orm always held the power to strip you of your throne and title—you, along with King Ricou and the Brine folk. As King of Atlantis and rightful heir of Atlan, he did not need to seek your approval. He did not need allies. He could have forced his reign upon you at any point in time. But he chose to do it the honorable way. Why?”

“If not for power, then I do not know. For what does he fight if not for himself?”

The throne was empty now as Atlantis and all her neighboring kingdoms beneath the sea writhed with the tumult of war and change. A different world would proceed them, unwavering and true. Everything would be different. Good or bad, they could only wait and see, cast adrift among stranger tides.

But there was one thing she knew, one thing she understood greater than politics and power—matters of the heart and the souls of her sons.

What was it Orm truly desired?

She turned to face her friend, the only true ally she could count on in this dangerous game they played.

“A better world.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Stargazer, Ordained

Song List:
Home by Tom Helson
Map of the Problematique by Muse
Time is Running Out by Muse
Breathe by Fleurie

“How about it, Reyna? One last hurrah before you leave us yet again?”

“I don’t think so,” she murmured absently, pipetting a few drops of distilled water against the clean glass slide.

Steve’s annual barbecue was a spring regular. Every year, everyone got together to celebrate the good weather. Even Arthur and Tom, though, likely not now, all things considered. She was hesitant to attend, as well. Not because she didn’t want to be there, but because she still felt weak, to a crippling degree.

She was eager to feel better again and knew she’d need to save her strength for her upcoming journey. The clock was officially ticking. Reyna had successfully selected a program, a destination, and she even had doctors lined up to treat her. At this point, it was merely a countdown to her departure date.

“Your stomach still bothering you?” Talia asked, her hands trapped beneath the glass wall of her chemical hood. “How long has it been now?” Adorned in a white lab coat and blue gloves, they were immersed in their daily trade, working away.

“I don’t know. It feels like forever.” Reyna deemed, staring through the microtome at the tiny bits of embedded tissue floating in the tub before her.

“What can you suffer?” She asked, wrenching the plastic gloves from her hands and tossing them into the toxic waste bin.

“Fish, mostly, oddly enough. Everything else makes me sick as a dog.” Reyna paused, pulling her gaze from the oculars and resting her forehead in her palm.

Talia disrobed and hung her lab coat on its usual hook. “I read about something called cyclic vomiting syndrome. Have you talked to your doctor about that? It’s when you can’t stop throwing up, and you grow weak from dehydration and lack of food intake. Now that you’re sick morning, noon, and night, I think…”

Something in her words made Reyna stop.

Morning…noon…and night.

Sick…

Morning, noon, and night….

“…medication you can try.”

Reyna’s mind raced. How long had it been?

“And you know, with Brad in the hospital, I asked…”

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. There would have been more obvious signs than this—other indicators that she was…

“Wait, what?”
“I talked to the doctors while I was there visiting him. They said…”

“No, wait, Brad’s in the hospital?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Jeez. It’s bad, Reyn. Apparently, he was mugged—beaten to nearly an inch of his life. He’s been in the hospital for the past week. You really didn’t know?”

“Brad,” she repeated, horrified. All thought fled her mind.

“The whole island’s been buzzing about it. Everyone’s spooked. I mean, it’s gotta be someone we all know. I’d wager he lost a bet and couldn’t pay up. But who here is capable of that kind of violence? It doesn’t make sense…”

“I have to go.”

Talia barely finished her sentence before Reyna was out the door—tearing off her lab coat and tossing it to the wayside, she hastened from the premises as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long before she was pulling into her driveway and running up the front steps. She fumbled awkwardly with her keys, struggling to unlock the door—she couldn’t move fast enough—she couldn’t get into the house sooner…

Slamming the door behind her, she bound up the stairs to the bathroom.

“Come on, where is it—where is it?”

There!

Snatching the box, she quickly undid the wrappings and put the device to good use.

“Now, it’s just a waiting game…”

Collecting herself, Reyna changed into something more comfortable and stole to the kitchen, device in hand, searching for a glass of water. But as she entered the room, a peculiar sight awaited her.

A vase brimming with flowers sat primly at the center of her table. Reyna took a step back, shocked and breathless. There was no note or card—no indication but for one as to who left the exquisite bouquet.

Horrified by the gentle invasion, Reyna chanced a glance down at the pregnancy test in her hand.

It was positive.

——

“Are you sure you can’t wait for the 10 o’clock ferry, Ms. Avenell?”

“Positive.”

Positive. Positive. Positive.

The little sign flashed behind her eyes every time she closed them.

She hadn’t slept all night. The second she saw those flowers, she packed a bag, jumped in her truck, and didn’t look back. It was all she could do. All the doors to her house were locked—nothing was disturbed. Which could only mean one thing…

He’d been there…

Inside. He’d gotten in easily. Had he done it before? Would he do it again?

It didn’t matter. Reyna knew she couldn’t stay there any longer—it wasn’t safe.

She stopped by the lighthouse first, but Tom wasn’t there—no one was. His boat was gone. He hadn’t told her he was leaving—she didn’t know where he was and had no way of getting a hold of Arthur to call for help. Panicked, she left a note and drove straight to the ferry station. It explained little. The less she put to paper, the better, with Orm watching her. The last thing she wanted was to be in the middle of a war—to be used by either side as a weapon to coerce the other—and if she revealed anything, she’d pin a target upon her own back. For whatever reason, watching her was enough for now. She’d give him no excuse to move against her—it wouldn’t look suspicious. Tom knew she was planning on leaving. In her note, she blamed her swift departure on worsening symptoms—if Orm was having her watched, he’d certainly know how sick she’d been and that she was organizing a departure. It would make sense that she’d a doctor lined up in New York, who she was flying to see that day…

Of course, this was all speculation. She had no idea what he was thinking—plotting toward—what he knew.

The flowers…

They were either a promise or a warning—she wasn’t sure which was more unnerving. Were they meant to lull her into a false sense of security? Or were they meant as a gesture of…

Reyna shook her head. She didn’t know what to think. She wasn’t Atlantean blood—though she was connected to Arthur, tying himself to her could offer him no strategic gain whatsoever. Which meant she was a loose end. She understood the manipulation—using her to get close to the family, gather information, and escape. This was no more than an unforeseen consequence—and she knew how Orm felt about bastards.

Reyna drew her hand to her belly…

/He’ll kill us both before he allows it to be born./

After everything—his war with Arthur, his hatred and revulsion of land dwellers, his father’s hunt for Atlanna and the bastard she bore another—there was no future in which Reyna could see Orm allowing her child to roam free—to one day descend, a child of the land and sea, into Atlantis, as Arthur had, and challenge any true born Atlantean heirs to the throne.

That made Reyna a threat to his war.

She resolved, however, that he couldn’t kill what he couldn’t find. And he did not know the land—his people could not withstand it for long. So she would go as far inland as she could get—far from the sea and its shore—as far from her family and Atlantis as she could get—to the great plains.

The ferry's motor rumbled to life as Reyna boarded. The sun cast red beams of light dancing across the scintillating surf as they set off. Pulling her coat tight, she crossed to the ship's stern, looking back at the island as it faded from view. The wind was cold. Her beige trench coat did little to protect her from its pervasive presence. The captain of the small ship hadn’t intended to set sail—she was the only person who booked a ticket, and she’d done so at the last minute. It was an hour's ride to the mainland and another two to the nearest airport. She’d buy a bus pass at the transfer station and be off before lunch.

It was all happening so fast—she hardly had time to process anything—to mourn, to say goodbye—or to pack. She had one bag full of essentials. The rest she’d acquire wherever she ended up.

She’d be fine, she’d be safe—no, /they/ would be safe.

/One step at a time, Reyna. Don’t get ahead of yourself…/

It was hard not to overthink in this situation. There were so many unknowns. So many things she didn’t understand.

The shoreline grew small as they made their way into open waters. The sun’s rays unfurled in luminous rays of red, orange, and gold, bathing the sky in its brilliance and burning away the sea mist. As Reyna distanced herself from the island, she began to relax. Just knowing that she was doing something—that she was moving assuaged her anxiety. Still, she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“Should be another half hour until we make port,” the captain informed her, cracking open the door to the bridge and hollering across the deck. “Smooth sailing the rest of the way.”

Reyna nodded in thanks, then returned her gaze to the horizon.

She’d always been good at this part—leaving. Moving on, starting anew was second nature to her. It had been since she was a girl. Perhaps it was all the loss she’d endured—all the change at such an early age. It made it easier—

The boat jolted, and Reyna lurched forward, nearly tumbling over the side. Grasping the rails, she stared down into the icy water.

“We hit something!” The captain bellowed. “Not to worry, though! Probably a whale—it happens…” His words died as the sea began to bubble and roil around them. Reyna’s eyes grew wide as another tremor rocked the ship. The captain attempted to press onward. The motor whined, and the boat groaned, but they did not budge.

“It wasn’t a whale…” Reyna murmured as a chill ran up her spine. She stepped back from the edge, heart thundering in her chest. There was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide. The boat jostled again. The captain was hollering something from the helm, but she couldn’t hear it—she couldn’t hear anything except the roaring in her ears…

Slowly, she receded onto the deck—cautiously as if one wrong move would prompt a cascade effect of events well beyond her control—as if the weight of her body could trigger the end.

Slowly, she stepped away from the roiling water—carefully considering the possible scenarios left to her—as the weight of reality came crashing down around her.

This time, Reyna imagined, she would not escape.

/This is the end. My final breaths…/

Terrified, her back pressed against the wall of the cabin—the captain was still inside, struggling with the radio. She didn’t have the heart to tell him it was too late, that it was futile. No mere aquatic threat was upon them now—it was…

Water sprayed high as a figure leapt from the depths, clad in black armor and wielding a massive trident. The hilt of his weapon struck the deck loudly, and metal sang against the sounds of the surf churning around them. The man landed on one knee—his stance was strong, emanating power and authority—a vision to strike fear into the hearts of many. Terror coursed through her, but she did not falter. She did not look away…

His eyes met hers as he hauled his weapon back, arching it over his shoulder, ready to strike…

“Reyna,” he bellowed, “Duck!”

He threw his weapon, and her gaze turned to face its target. Horrified by the site, she shrank away as a creature bore down on her from above. It was unnatural—its color, like a bruise—purple and blue and black—with a long tail, fins, and protruding gills—a humanoid monster—its face contorted in rage as it came for her—and it screamed in pain as Orm’s trident pierced its chest, knocking it back into the sea.

“Get down!”

Reyna dropped, covering her head as Orm jumped over her and launched himself back into the sea.

“What the hell was that?” The captain asked. His voice shook as he helped her to her feet.

“We have to get out of here!”

“My God…they’re everywhere…”

Racing to the side of the boat, Reyna gripped the metal siding, holding on for dear life. Her frantic eyes bore witness to the melee, and her mouth fell open in disbelief.

They /were/ everywhere—mer-creatures, the likes of which she could never have imagined. Leaping and spraying out of the water—warring with sharks and beasts she didn’t recognize…

The boat rocked again, and the captain scurried back to the helm.

“Mayday, mayday! We’re under attack—”

The distress signal would not be enough to save them now.

He was out there somewhere—hidden beneath the dark waters. She couldn’t see the fight, but she knew his numbers were many. Struck again by an unseen force, the ship tottered, then began to tip. Reyna cried out in fear, clinging to the siding as it dipped toward the sea. Her feet slid against the deck as she desperately sought for purchase. They were nearly vertical. Objects fell, and her bag disappeared beneath the waves. Barrels of goods tumbled, crashing loudly before sinking softly into the waves. Just as Reyna believed they were about to tip, the boat slammed back down. Her knees collided painfully with the deck. She barely kept her head from knocking against the rails. Someone was screaming.

Reyna looked up in time to see the captain dragged from the helm. Something was wrapped around his neck, tugging him back. Racing to his side, she attempted to help him, but it was too late. He tumbled over the edge.

“No!”

All that remained were ripples churning and writhing—there was no sight of him in the dark waters boiling around her.

Eyes wide, she abandoned the edge, slipping on the deck as the boat tossed on the waves, making for the helm. The radio buzzed and crackled uselessly. The ship’s meager contents were scattered on the ground, knocked loose during the ferry’s assault. Reyna dropped to her knees, searching for a weapon of her own—something—anything she could use to protect herself.

There…

Bright orange and already loaded, Reyna held the small object in her hands.

Her last hope.

Launching to her feet, she tore through the door just in time to see Orm run his trident through the serpentine form of a merman. Blood wetted the deck, pooling about his feet as he withdrew his weapon and the body thudded loudly against the ground.

Voice caught in her throat, Reyna froze. She’d never beheld violence like this—not even when the Black Manta abducted her. This was entirely different—on a scale so grand and monstrous she could hardly fathom it. The man standing before her now was unrecognizable—a violent stranger meeting death on any who came near him.

Perhaps he’d be merciful when he uncovered the truth. Perhaps he would treat her kindly as his prisoner. He’d protected her from these strange creatures, after all. Or perhaps, he would be as unforgiving toward her as he’d been to Arther…

Her finger found the trigger, and the muscles in her arm tensed. 

“Reyna,” Orm warned, holding his hand out as he noted the device.

She raised her arm high overhead…

“Stop—”

And fired.

It was gentler than she imagined—no kickback. The orange flare shot seamlessly through the air, bursting in brilliant, bright orange fireworks.

/Hope./

Help.

Orm was running toward her now, reaching out as something wet and slick wrapped around her ankle—trapping her in its sinister grip. With one fell yank, Reyna was knocked bodily from her feet and dragged over the edge of the deck into the sea.

There was no escape; she was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Sound was muffled, and light faded. She reached for the surface, toward home, hope, and sunlight as it drifted farther and farther away.

Trident in hand, Orm dove after her.

“Reyna!”

Kicking her leg, she attempted to free herself. But whatever had her refused to let go. Reaching down, her fingers fumbled with the whip biting into her skin. The effort cost her precious time and energy—forcing her to lose her breath faster than normal. Was her vision darkening from lack of oxygen or the descent? Was she shaking from cold or fear?

She was dimly aware of Orm’s figure racing past her.

/Too late./

Unable to hold her breath a moment longer, Reyna opened her mouth and sucked in, desperate for air—water pooled in her lung—cool and salty.

The pressure around her ankle eased as Orm engaged the adversary beneath her. But it was no use—she was…

Breathing?

Reyna blinked, taking another tentative gulp of seawater. Her hair floated about her, and her jacket fluttered open, rippling in the water. Kicking her feet, she slowed her descent, free of the whip. Her lungs did not hurt, her mind was clear, and her vision—she could see through the murk—lights—bioluminescence budding all around her on the ocean floor. Panting in shock, Reyna took in the sight of the Atlantean warships, great sharks, and scores of merfolk—the Fishermen…

And she was among them. Breathing the water like one of them. Seeing their world like one of them…

This wasn’t possible—it couldn’t be real…

She was…Atlantean?

Reyna looked down at her hands, unfamiliar to her now, searching for answers—for clarity. She watched as they trembled. “What’s happening to me?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Cold Spell

Song List:
What I’ve Done by LINKIN PARK

“Karshon would never back Orm publicly. It’s too risky a move to make outright. Anything she does must be shrouded in speculation. As we speak, rumors are spreading through back channels that she’s funding his army—siphoning him weapons. Orm has many allies yet remaining in both Xebel and Atlantis, and now, with Delphine at his side, he has a stronger claim to the throne. Vast numbers of supporters are flocking to his ranks.” Nereus declared.

“He doesn’t have the Fisherman or the Brine,” Atlanna argued. “He may be able to strengthen his claim, but it still does not surpass Arthur’s. He was chosen by Atlan himself—”

“They’re calling it a civil war,” Nereus countered, looking at him. “My King, I understand your resignation in striking out at Orm. He is your brother. But your throne is in jeopardy. Becoming Atlan’s chosen was only the beginning. Now, you must rule—and rule strong. We need to retake Corelia before he has the opportunity to ally himself with Xebellion royal blood—”

“I’m afraid it’s too late to take Corelia. That is, if your aim is to avoid an advantageous marriage,” Vulko’s voice drifted to where they sat around the war table.

“Vulko, you rusty old starfish, where the hell have you been?” Arthur asked, overjoyed to see his most trusted advisor. Though Atlanna and Nereus were wise and experienced rulers—he was not. And he desperately needed someone who understood his ridiculous situation.

/Thank god—someone to help me knock some sense into the micromanager duo from…/

“Wait, what do you mean too late?”

“I’m afraid I come baring dire news,” his gaze was locked on his mother, who looked nervous. “Orm has abducted Reyna Avenell.”

“What?” Arthur asked flatly—more out of disbelief than anything else. It was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all day. Why on Earth would—

“She was taken early this morning from Amnesty Bay while attempting to flee the island via ferry. Orm’s forces met her midway through the crossing.”

“What about the blockade? No one should have been able to get past them!” Atlanna protested.

Vulko sighed, seeming pained. “Orm’s forces were not the only soldiers present for the abduction. Queen Mesmeria’s troops were also involved.”

“My god,” Atlanna murmured. “What happened?”

“Why would the Fishermen Queen attack Amnesty Bay? Her quarrel is with Orm—not Arthur.”

“It would seem,” Vulko turned his calm and collected gaze to the king. “The Queen’s spies discovered a secret. One that could turn the tides of this war—one that could offer Mesmeria true recompense for the murder of her father.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Arthur spat, confused and growing angry.

“Reyna Avenell is pregnant.”

Arthur blinked. “Huh?” This was a joke. “No way…you’ve got your information wrong.”

“Orm is the father.”

“An heir,” Nereus breathed, leaning back against his chair. “This is worse than we thought.”

Orm and Reyna?

/Gross./

“He has taken her to Corelia, where she will be made his queen.”

“But Reyna can’t breathe underwater!” Arthur blurted, still struggling to wrap his head around the grimy truth. “She can’t withstand the sea.”

Vulko said nothing—he just stared at his mother as if he were waiting for something.

Arthur turned to look at her. “You know something, don’t you?”

“I—”

“Tell me—for fuck’s sake. Explain this situation because it makes no fucking sense as it stands.”

“I thought it was harmless—truly, I…” Atlanna sank into her chair, looking exhausted. “David Kane was never meant to take Reyna. It was your father he wanted—your father Orm sought to relinquish. But when he got to the house, Reyna was there, and she must have seemed a more worthy prize, so he took her instead. Orm miscalculated. We all did our best to retrieve her, but by his own design, Orm was the only person who could save her—the only person who knew where she would be. The second he discovered what had happened, he rushed to her aid, as you know. But what you do not know is that he didn’t make it in time to save her. So he did the only thing he could—and turned her.”

“Turned her, what do you mean turned her?”

“Sirenize…” Nereus cringed, seeming disturbed. “It’s an old custom—outdated for several reasons.”

“One of which is the unpredictable manner of the magic—it does not always work. But in Reyna’s case, it was the only chance she had of surviving the wreckage. And Orm took it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The damage was done. The change was underway. Orm had me researching how to reverse it—”

“Gah!” Arthur threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. “So you lied to me. You.”

“You would have separated them the moment I informed you of what happened. And they could not be separated. Reyna is bound to him by blood now.”

“Your story sounds awful familiar, /mom/. How could you let him do this to her after everything you’ve been through?”

“That’s enough!” Vulko barked. “I can only assume the queen did her best with the hand she was dealt, as your people say. And of everyone in this room, no one knows more about the consequences of being tied to a tyrant than her. You’ve no right to question her to that end.”

“You don’t understand, Arthur. He loves her. She changed him as much as he did her—”

“But he hasn’t changed, has he? He’s gunning for my throne again. He’s hunting for power and tearing Atlantis apart in pursuit of it. He manipulated you—played on your soft spot for him. I should have known—should have seen it. He’s your son.”

“He did not manipulate me,” Atlanna bristled. “He may have acted in a fashion unpredictable to me, but he does love her. She would not have survived the change if he did not!”



“An old wives tale,” Nereus countered. “But one with ample evidence to back it up. Your mother is right. Likely, his feelings for the woman are true. Especially now that she is carrying his child.”

“Ugh, gross,” he didn’t want to hear any more about it. It made his skin crawl. The thought of them—

“That must be why he left,” Atlanna reasoned. “Furthering Atlan’s line is risky. He needed to fortify, to find a place to keep her safe…”



“Securing his crown so he could put his son on the throne, just like his father before him. Save it, Mom. I don’t want to hear it.”

“This is what Queen Mesmeria wants. She wants us to turn against each other—“



“Well, looks like she just got her wish.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: Persephone

Song List:
Together by The xx
Heavy In Your Arms by Florence + The Machine
Give Em Hell by Everybody Loves an Outlaw

“Say something, Reyna.”

The walls of the place were cold—foreign. A fishbowl, but for a creature of the land. A terrarium, built to house her—a pretty jail cell.

“Am I a prisoner?”

He rushed forward, his white robe flourishing about his legs, his golden armor glinting in the bioluminescence glowing outside the vast windows of her keep. He was a marvel to behold—a King, regal and powerful, coming toward her to cup her face in his palms. He looked pleadingly into her eyes, beseeching her to understand him. She desperately wished she could; she desperately needed him to…

“Yes.”

Her heart stopped.

“You are a prisoner of circumstance—the same as all who carry royal blood in their veins, as you now do. I apologize. In my brazen selfishness, I condemned you to this fate. After the attack, when I found you nearly dead in the water, I bound you to me forever. It was short-sighted, I know. But I wished never to lose you, to protect and care for you always. However, in doing so, I sealed your fate. You cannot leave this palace. The transformation has begun. Our child grows strong inside of you.” He murmured, touching her belly. “Every moment I spent apart from you was torture. I thought of nothing else but you and our child. Everything I have done has been for you.”

Reyna couldn’t look at him. In this form, this golden, sovereign creature standing before her was not the man she loved—he was something else entirely. “I thought you’d kill me for bringing your bastard into the world.”

His lips parted, and he drew back, shocked.

“I know how you feel about children born out of wedlock—children born of the land and the sea. You’ve made your position on their existence quite clear.”

“You don’t know what you’ve done, do you?” He asked, seeming pleased with her. “You thought you’d escaped me. You thought you could walk away. But you must know, I will never let you go. I refuse to. This fixation, this obsession born within me, will not break. I may have bound you to me, but it was by your own doing. You led yourself to this fate when you cast your spell over me. I am helpless to fight it. I desire you above all others—and because of that, there will never be anyone else for you but me. You are mine and mine alone, Reyna Avenell.” He gripped her arm, pulling her close. A muscle ticked in his jaw as his blue eyes drank her down. “The mere presence of you is intoxicating. Knowing you carry my child only increases the narcotic effect you have on me.”

Reyna stiffened, pressed against his golden armor like a doll.

“I did all of this for you. I did all of this for the child in your belly—my child. This place will one day be his. This place will be an allied force for Atlantis, for Arthur. It will be what he needs. What he is missing now in his campaign as new king—backing. Soon, he will come to see that for what it truly is. And it is also for you. A place for you to be safe. To make a difference—where I can protect you—where I can offer you something in return for all you’ve done for me.”

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to believe. This violence—it was alien to her…

“I robbed you of your choice,” he admitted, eyes shining. “Now, it is my job to make you comfortable. To provide for you—the only land dweller in the world truly worthy of Atlantean protection. And you think to spurn me for it? My dear Persephone, you cannot escape me now.”

——

two months later

“How is she faring?”

“Her condition is stable. The pregnancy adds an element of complexity we’ve not much documentation on. However, I’m confident this will not be an issue. Our therapeutic intervention has improved her quality of life drastically. She is no longer ill or uncomfortable, but—”

“But what?”

The walls of Corelia’s throne room were porous, elaborately lined with brilliant coral scapes of unique design. The stronghold itself was so near the surface that sunlight could be perceived within certain areas of the palace. The throne was carved from a great mound of calcareous material. Little fish and sea creatures swam in its midst, flitting in and out of their hiding places—a consequence of the stronghold remaining empty for so long.

His father, King Orvax, had bolstered its stores in the event that his bastard brother came calling—and succeeded. A general of war, he accounted for every possible outcome. Civil war, included. The stronghold’s weapons and reserves were vast. Its location was highly advantageous. In the few weeks since his arrival, allies had swarmed to his ranks from both Xebel and Atlantis. Members of the Fishermen Kingdom had even made an effort to join, though, considering Queen Mesmeria’s hatred of him, he could not allow them entry. It was too great a risk.

“Her mental health is declining.”

Orm leveled the physician with a killing glare. “Come again?”

“The Princess fares well physically, but her imprisonment—”

“Imprisonment?” Orm snapped, enraged. “You accuse me of holding my bride hostage?”

The physician paled, stuttering under his abject display of fury.

“No—no, your Highness—they are her words. Not mine.”

“Her words,” he repeated, sighing loudly. “She was set upon by a fleet of foreign mercenaries the last time she was on the surface—and still, she is not convinced of this necessity. What of her state of existence is so unbearable?”

The physician opened his mouth, but it didn’t matter what he had to say. Orm surged upward from the table and swam from the great hall, through the doors, and toward the living quarters and Reyna’s terrarium.

It had been difficult to construct, but he’d made it work. The dome rested on a flat rock bed and was constructed of reinforced Atlantean glass. Reyna could see all of Corelia and the beautiful reef that rimmed it. It was a spectacular view. Perfect for one such as her, as the dome was bathed in sunlight during low tide. She still retained a glimpse of the world from which she had come, safely ensconced in a manufactured habitat. There were gardens, grass, and plants from her home. A series of rooms, a kitchen fit to her liking. He’d fashioned it with several amenities, the likes of which she’d introduced him to during their time together at her cottage. She had everything she could possibly want, and yet…

He swam through the transition chamber. The doors slammed closed behind him, and the water receded. As he entered the hold, he swiftly changed into something dry before making his way through the gardens and up to her keep.

As he entered, he was promptly forced to duck in an effort to avoid her heated assault.

A crystal vase shattered against the wall, raining shards across the floor.

“I see you are in high spirits today…”

“Ugh!” Reyna threw her hands in the air, stalking toward the massive overlook that offered sweeping views of the coral reef.

She was frustrated—he understood—but…

“Your anger is not good for the baby.”

“My captivity is not good for the baby,” she snapped.

“Your presence here ensures your safety as well as his. You know this.”

“Do I? Do I really know that? Because it seems to me all I know is what you’ve deigned to tell me. And you could be telling me whatever suits you. It doesn’t have to be true. It doesn’t have to be real. Just as long as it keeps me in line with your plan.”

“My plan is to ensure your safety and his. My plan is to strengthen my line—which, despite what you may believe of me, includes Arthur’s success. He is Atlan’s chosen. It is no longer my intention to battle that anointment. He is the one true king. That much is certain.”

“You expect me to believe you? After everything you’ve said? After everything you’ve done?” Her tone was agonized—pained.

Orm sighed, feeling the full weight of his failures. “I’m not a slow learner, little nymph. But unlearning the teachings of my forefathers has been a new and unfamiliar challenge. It took time for me to see things as they are. It took you.”

Reyna’s cheeks were flush. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly with anger. But she remained silent, listening.

“I understand your apprehension. It took me a great deal of time to overcome my prejudices. And I will be honest with you: I am still choking on them. It still feels aberrant, cleaving to his rule—unnatural. Yet, Atlan chose him. Not me. I still fight against the teachings of my father, alive and warring within, unrelenting in their fury. But I am adaptive. And what I want is still within reach.”

Reyna calmed, regarding him with unease. “What is it that you want?”

He was getting to her—good.

“If Arthur is king, then I am a prince. By my own right, I have taken what I am owed as next in line. I have asserted myself and declared my power—my relevance to the throne is strong, Reyna. Stronger now with you and our son growing inside of you,” he gazed into her eyes, craving her more with each passing moment. “I meant what I said. I could have been happy with you there. I could have set aside my birthright and my purpose. But the second I sensed our son, I knew neither of you would ever be safe. I couldn’t protect you there. I couldn’t convince Arthur of my value there. But here, he shall see, as will you, the value of what I still have to offer.”

He took a step forward, and Reyna stepped back, still unsure. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“After everything you’ve seen of me—the good and the bad. The worst, lowest part of my life, and the fabled tales of my rule. The stories of my war against Arthur. You’ve heard of what I sought as Ocean Master. You have seen it all. You’re a clever little nymph. Have you not figured it out? Have we not spoken of it, you and I?”

“Spoken…”

“Life is fragile and precious. There will be no collective movement to save Earth. We will always be at odds. Someone has to step up. To intervene. You once told me you would choose to preserve life over morality. After all, it is a concept we created. Do you not remember?”

“I—you’re taking my words out of context.”

“Am I? This world needs saving. You understand that. I understand that. Arthur understands that to a certain extent—but he is so caught up in the just way—the right way, that it will never be done. Not unless he has people like you and me to check him. To hold him accountable, to push him to do what he must—together, we make the world a better place. Together, with my extremist tendencies, your compassion, and Arthur’s nobility, we have a fighting chance at succeeding.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: All Hands on Deck

Song List:
Under Control by Ellie Goulding
Apocalypse Please by Muse
New Heights by Ellie Goulding
Mother Earth by BANKS

“Now that this meeting is adjourned, there are several issues we need to address—first and foremost, Queen Mesmeria. If we wish to establish ourselves as an independent province of Atlantis, we must abscond all diplomatic oppositions. The Fishermen Kingdom is our main contender. Their hostility has been made abundantly clear in their aim to eliminate Reyna Avenell and their continued effort to undermine our borders. In reference to the former offense, this deliberate attack will work to our advantage, as it was not only a target of our budding enterprise but also an assault to Arthur Curry’s newly established regime. Which leads me to my second order of business—Mesmeria’s lack of forethought in her brazen attack has opened a door for us to establish positive negotiations with Atlantis, given the right circumstances. Now, Arther may not be entirely amenable to said talks, given the nature of his—is she his sister? Someone correct me. I’m unaware of the proper lineage…?” Delphine pressed her fingers to her temple, swaying with the tide.

“There is no relation by blood, your grace.”

“Then what is she?” The princess snapped.

“She is my wife and the mother of my child,” Orm declared, swimming up to the war table. The throne room was sparse—open concept. It sat at the highest point of the castle, the closest to the surface. To swim outside of its windows, one could travel but a mere few feet and find themselves breathing fresh air. It was a little too close to the surface for their liking, but they had proper security measures in place to protect them from approaching threats, both above and below the water. The throne sat empty, a crumbling relic not to be trifled with. The table was a new edition, constructed of pink granite. “Arthur and his kin see her as family. There is nothing more you need know, Delphine.”

The Xebellian princess pursed her lips. “Still, she’s an enigma, your paramour.”

“Bride,” he corrected. “And soon to be Queen of Corelia if we succeed.”

“I was unaware your nuptials had already taken place,” she feigned.

“Don’t play coy, Delphi. The conditions of our arrangement were made clear. You will lead as head of Corelia’s council upon our emancipation. But you will not be Queen.”

She waved her hand, “My liege, you misunderstand. Title is not what concerns me. It is blood. Mesmeria will not view this alliance the same way Arthur does—the same way my people do. Xebellians are fickle. They’d value an alliance between the two of us far more than you and this—this…”

“Careful,” he warned.
“I’m not trying to insult you. I am merely pointing out the obvious. This is a strategic alliance. No one is arguing that. I am simply pointing out the limits of its existence. It forces Arthur’s hand. He will fight for her—in that, he will allow negotiations to take place between our two kingdoms. Others will not see the benefit in aiding us. Our corporation is limited beyond Atlantis. And we need to reach proper channels beyond Atlantis if we are to succeed.”

“Your lack of faith in my existing alliance is disheartening,” Orm claimed.

“We’re not speaking about the Sunken Citadel and your backwater allegiances, my King. The necessity of that evil is certainly both beneficial and in good standing. What we are discussing is the cooperation of the kingdoms of our forefathers. These are the allies we must capture.” Seaton steepled his fingers, assessing the board. With bright white hair and skin covered in age lines, the old man had once been one of his father’s most trusted advisers. However, unlike Vulko, Seaton was unwavering in his loyalty to the general—after all, blood is thicker than water. “If we do not secure amicable terms with the Brine /and/ the Fisherman, then this entire endeavor is for naught.”

Orm settled in place at the head of the table. The sun was gleaming through the waters, bathing the chamber in yellow light. It was golden and glorious—entirely different from what he was used to—but perfect for what he sought. “I agree, Uncle. Reparations with the Fishermen will be difficult to attain, but not impossible. Opening communications with Atlantis is the first step. Arthur and I will set a new precedent. Once we have his blessing, the Brine will soon follow.”

Delphine sighed dramatically. “I don’t see that coming about so easily—for all he knows, Reyna is a prisoner of war!”

“Do not speak to me as though I don’t know the rules of this game, Delphine. I know them better than anyone. I lived and breathed them for my entire life. I am a King, remember that. A station higher than anything you could ever hope to claim. I understand the rules. I understand the ramifications. This endeavor will not suffer for lack of support. My father made sure of that, I made sure of that. Our future profits, suffice it to say, are strong and will yield great value to us and to Atlanteans within and without its borders. The people know this, and we have their support. That gives us power—a compatibility with the population. They have a vested interest in our success.”

“How, sir?” Delphine was cross. He didn’t blame her. She was an intelligent woman trapped in a cloistering role. As she was within the walls of Xebel, she could not rise beyond her station, unless through marriage, but here?

“Hm,” he rubbed his jaw, smiling at her naivety. “Arthur’s claim upon the throne was a distraction. It roused the people. Atlan’s chosen finally revealed—the trident and the Karathen restored. It resulted in a brief allotment of peace—a time of…celebration. But when the dust settled, the same discrepancies remained.”

“The landsmen…”

“The people of Atlantis still view them as enemies—as the responsible party for the rapid decay of our world. And Arthur has not proffered any solution to this dire circumstance. That is where we come in—that is what we provide—a voice. Not just for our cause, you and I, but for theirs. For we are one. We want retribution, reformation, and an end to the pollution. We want a better world—a brighter future. We do not need the Brine King’s support—we don’t need Queen Mesmeria’s support—we have the ear of her people beyond borders. And our whispers are just as prolific as the pollution of those who dwell above us. Our cause is a righteous one.”

“The people are behind us,” Seaton agreed. “It is the monarchies that concern me. More plainly put, their militaries—forces that could overrun us if given the right opportunity.”

“So we won’t give them the opportunity,” Orm countered. Things were falling into place…

Delphine threw her arms up in the air. “All right, I’ll take the bait. How is it /exactly/ you intend to align yourself with Xebel? They still think my mother and I are held hostage by a foreign threat. They think my sisters are a prisoner of war. For all Arthur knows, you’ve abducted a member of his family as well. What measures are you prepared to take that will convince each of them of our collaboration with you?”

“My strategy is truth, Delphine. What could be stronger than that?”

“Truth,” she repeated. “Truth?” She swam from the dais, surging up to look out at the reef. “Truth only goes as far as your story is believed, Ocean Master.”

“Would you not speak to its authenticity?” He countered, abandoning the table to join her at the window.

“It is not my attestation that concerns me—it’s /hers/.”

Delphine surveyed the scintillating beams of light as they cast through the water. A small school of brilliant angel fish swam by. Flashes of orange, yellow, and blue rippled through the turquoise sea.

“How fares your family?” Seaton asked. “I’m sure this transition has been difficult for them. Are they still confined to their chambers?”

“The Lady Caprina is wary of our endeavor—moving against King Nereus troubles her,” Orm revealed.

“Malia and Cora are young and malleable. They hold no fear,” Delphine continued. “Despite this, they have not wandered far beyond their halls. They miss Paralian. However, I believe it is still too soon to return. There is much work to be done here. Establishing a new regime takes time.”

Commander Pike entered the room, swiftly approaching the table. “My Lords and Lady, I bring news from the front. The Fishermen Kingdom continue their assault along Paralian’s borders. Our forces hold strong.”

“Queen Mesmeria hopes to break the line and gain ground, encroaching on this stronghold. She will not succeed,” Seaton reasoned. “The Fishermen are not fighters. They may have the manpower, but they don’t have the skill or the weapons to match us in a fight. What more do you have for us today?”

“Still no sign of Atlantean intervention. However, my forces intercepted a sentry early this day. We are questioning him now.”

Delphine’s eyes glittered with mischief at the news. “Fascinating. I would like to sit in on the interrogation, if I may,” she turned to Orm, seeking permission.

He nodded in proper kingly fashion, “dismissed, both of you.”

Pike and Delphine quickly disappeared, swimming from the chamber.

“Clear the room,” his uncle ordered.

The rest of the guards filed out, leaving them alone.

“Prone to flights of fancy, that one. But a strategic choice nonetheless. We’ll see how she fares once our Council of Houses is established. Worst case scenario, we replace her once the water clears.”

“She serves a purpose—connecting us to Xebel. A bond like that cannot be so easily severed.”

“Any bond can be severed, given the right weapon.”

Orm slowly turned to face the man, unnerved by his tone. He sounded so much like his father.

“We need to discuss the upcoming talks with Atlantis and how they will be handled.”

“I can assure you, I am more than prepared. During my arrest, I studied Arthur and his family extensively. It will be easy to direct the talks to more profitable ends. He’s in over his head, and he knows it.”

“Of course he does. It’s obvious to everyone. King for barely a year, and Atlantis is already tearing at the seams. He’s a foreigner—a usurper.”

“Uncle, our goal is not to upset Arthur’s claim to the throne. It is merely to establish a kingdom of our own.”

“Yes, so you’ve said. Forgive me if I’m not convinced by your little charade,” he muttered, staring at the war table. Coral fixtures representing each of the Atlantean Trides and their neighboring kingdoms were scattered across the pink granite slab.

Orm tilted his head to the side. “I assure you, it’s not a charade.”

Seaton looked up. “Oh, of course, my King. Everyone is convinced of this endeavor—we are all on board. That is not what concerns me. The involvement of Reyna Avenell is.”

“She is an integral part of our alliance. Arthur will not agree to talks unless he can see and speak to her freely.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. If left unsupervised, I fear Reyna may undermine this endeavor before it begins. All we have built could come crashing down at a mere misspoken word. She cannot be allowed to speak. Not without proper intervention.”

“What do you suggest?”

“She will need to be coached—their interactions, supervised.”

Orm chuckled. “Believe me, that won’t be necessary. You’ll find that my bastard brother takes the term ‘krill-brained’ to new depths. Most intelligent conversation floats over his head. No cryptic messages will be exchanged. If Reyna wishes to communicate something to him, she will quite literally need to spell it out. If such an instance were to arise, there would be ample time to intervene. However, I assure you, her allegiance is to our cause.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Reyna did believe in what Orm was fighting for. She just didn’t agree with his methods…

Seaton raised a bushy, white eyebrow. “Whether or not that is true remains to be seen. Nevertheless, it matters little. Vortia will be taking over as chief executive in Reyna’s education with Atlantean political affairs.”

“Vortia?”

“Sian is returning with her on the morrow. I’ve taken the liberty of appointing him General Marius. I didn’t think you’d object to your own cousin at the head of your armies. We are a monarchy, after all. No one is capable of protecting our line as well as we are.”

“You can see how that might look to the unsuspecting, Uncle. Your son and daughter, arriving at my court, taking on positions of power by your decree.”

“Orm, you are as much a son to me as any of my offspring and more capable of ruling by far. It is the health of our great nation that concerns me. You were groomed from birth to sit at that throne. My children were trained for equally as important but vastly different roles. The Marius line is strong. We each know our place in the theater of war. This is what we do best. It is for the good of the family that we succeed. It need not matter who holds the reigns as long as it is one of us steering the ship.”

“All it takes is one power-hungry, over-reaching renegade to topple a regime. Remind your offspring of that before they invade my court,” he snapped, swimming from the table. “Meeting adjourned.”

——

Am I a prisoner?

/Yes./

Every morning, someone came into her terrarium to dress her—feed her—bathe her. They checked her vitals. Monitored the pregnancy. Asked her questions. Poked, prodded, and pricked her. She felt like a pin cushion.

Today, the dress someone else had chosen for her was long and light pink. It swished about her ankles when she walked, airy and fluid. Cinched just beneath her bosom, it rested gently against her belly. If she held the fabric tight, she could see the bump…

“There you are, little sea monkey,” she murmured, staring down at her stomach. “Safe and sound.”

/If I’m a prisoner, does that mean you are too?/

She rested her head against the glass, staring out at the sea. The coral forest was intriguing. The wildlife, spectacular. Once upon a time, a view like this would have enchanted her. Yet now…under the circumstances, everything was different.

Life at the palace was strange. Reyna felt like a fish out of water—yet she was quite literally trapped beneath it. Everything was alien. The adjustment was difficult. Her transition, tedious. Her pregnancy, complicated. But the strangest of all was Orm.

He was a new man. Commanding and domineering as always, but here, everyone listened. Everyone looked up to him. He had power—the likes of which she could not have fathomed in her wildest dreams.

“How lost we are, little one.”

/Lost at sea./

“You are not lost, Reyna.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at the sound of his voice.

“This place may not yet feel like home, but it will, given time,” he declared, approaching her from behind.

“Home is not a place, Orm. Home is where your family is,” she murmured, not bothering to meet his eyes. When she didn’t look—it still seemed as though she was talking to the same person. The longer she held out, the more she could pretend he was just as he’d always been to her.

“Reyna, look at me.”

“I don’t want to.”

She knew it would hurt—but she didn’t care anymore.

There was a moment of silence. Then his fingers found her chin. As he turned her face, she took in the sight of him.

Golden, coral crown. Long white cape. Sinuous, breathable fabric. His hair was cut short, the way he liked. There was no more stubble at his jaw. He was clean-shaven—clean-cut. Blue eyes bore into hers as he surveyed her face in return. “Why do you continue to resist me, little nymph?”

“Why do you insist on holding me prisoner?”

He sighed, releasing her chin. “Reyna,” he sounded exhausted. “It is more complicated than that, as you are well aware.” He murmured, his hand wandering to her belly. Gently, he pressed his palm to the steadily growing swell. “How are you feeling today?”

“Does it matter?”

“Reyna,” he warned, encroaching on her space further. “We’ve discussed your position at length. To set you free is a death sentence.”

“Arthur could protect me…”

“Arthur /failed/ to protect you on more than one account. Do you not recall who it was that rescued you from the deep? Do you not remember who it was that came for you when Mesmeria’s forces lay waste to Amnesty Bay?”

“I remember whose fault it was!” She snapped, shoving his hand away. “On both accounts.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he shadowed her steps across the room. “Your proximity to a war between kings perhaps could not be helped. But neither could my actions. If I am to blame for this violence, so is Arthur. It takes two to war!”

“Arthur would never do what you’ve done,” she assured him, holding nothing back.

“Exactly,” he murmured, eyes alight with menace. “That is why he is losing his kingdom. His ranks are splintering. He has lost the ear of his people. He needs help, Reyna. He needs us, now, more than ever.”

Pretty words—but she’d heard him talk like that before…and paid the price. She shook her head, hopeless. “I can’t trust you.”

“You don’t have to trust me. I have invited our family here—we will discuss, as we have in the past, how best to move forward. Corelia will become an independent faction of Atlantis. I will be a ruler, in my own right—but one who answers to Arthur. My allegiance will strengthen his reign. I have no doubt that his advisors, at least, will see the benefit to my strategy. And you—what more could he wish for you than a position of power such as I am granting you? Security and comfort, the likes of which only I might ever provide you—and our son. Once they understand the full scope of your condition, Arthur will agree that this is the safest place for you.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “They would take my opinion into account,” she hissed.

“Would they? Arthur can barely keep his forces in line, let alone prevent another attack from Mesmeria. This fortress is the safest place for you until her threat is eliminated.”

Reyna fell silent—shocked, still, by the gravity of her situation. It was unfathomable.

A sly smile alighted his lips as he approached her. “If you wish to entreat with someone, entreat with me, little nymph. I am the most apt to grant you whatever you wish. Arthur cannot save you from me. I’m afraid it’s too late for that. But I? I can give you whatever you want. Now tell me, what is it you desire?”

“A choice,” her lip trembled as she spoke.

“You made your choice,” he purred, placing his hand on her belly once more.

“How can you say that? You lied to me—kept me in the dark for months!”

“How long will you keep singing that same song, siren? You have always known what I am—who I am. And you chose to lay with me anyway. You allowed me in! Why do you continue to punish me for keeping you safe?”

“Is that all you’re doing?” She whispered. “I can’t tell. Truly, I can’t tell what you mean and what is manipulation. I was naive, Orm—and now, I am frightened.”

Orm gritted his teeth, growling. “You are more frightened of me than those who seek to kill you?”

The fish outside the glass swam with haste, fleeing in the wake of a great white shark as it crested by, fin swishing nefariously, cutting through the open water.

They were standing so close. She could feel the heat of his breath against her neck, smell the salt on his skin, and the seawater in his hair. Was she afraid of him? Logically, she knew she should be—had every reason to be. And yet…

They were both right to a certain extent. But this fight didn’t matter anymore. /Because of him./

This wasn’t what she would have chosen, not by a long shot. And yet, here they were—expecting a child together—one of royal blood. If Reyna was being honest, she still didn’t entirely understand what that meant—what the future would look like for her—for /them/. It was all so much to take in—her new abilities, the baby, the monarchy?

The weight of it all pressed down on her shoulders, and she sagged, resting her head against his chest.

The concession surprised both of them.

It was a moment of weakness—a moment in which she gave in to his allure because what else did she have here except for his beautiful lies? Did he truly love her? Or was he planning on using her for political gain? Or was it both?

Orm pressed his lips to her hair, kissing her gently as he enveloped her in his braw arms. “I will protect you, Reyna. You and our child.” They stood like that for a moment longer before Orm tugged her away. “Come, no more talk of politics. Let us eat.”

Every night was the same.

How many days had it been now?

Orm would disappear in the mornings—dressed in gold and white, glory regalia. He didn’t speak to her of his days, nor of what he did when he was away. She knew he was plotting, /ruling/—but all she had to go on was his word.

Arthur would tell her not to be stupid.

/Orm’s a shit. It’s not lost on us. He targeted you. You were nice, and he took advantage. Hell, I was nice! I wanted to believe I could change him. That he could be different—the kind of little brother that was in the game with me./

/I’m not some unassuming schoolgirl, Arthur! I knew exactly what he was all along. My decision to trust him wasn’t something I merely gave away. It was /earned/./

To this day, she still couldn’t figure out if she was wrong. After all this time, Orm had only ever acted to keep her safe. Yet, he’d also put her directly in harm’s way. She knew he desired her physically. She knew that their child would change Atlantis. But was he telling her the truth?

/I don’t know the ways of your people—these Atlanteans. But your grandfather would be cuffing our heads for allowing such a snake into our home, no matter the connection./

Now, she was trapped in his den—no way out.

He returned every evening. They’d eat together. Lavish, extravagant meals covered the massive table each night. He’d ask her questions. She’d answer quietly.

/Shut in, shutting down…/

As the hour grew late, he’d loom outside her door, his hulking form casting long, dark shadows across the floor. He’d wait, gazing at her with a look so scorching, it felt like a touch—with the promise of every sinister urge sizzling beneath his skin. She could feel his lips on her neck—the weight of him hovering over her…

Yet, each night, she denied him—denied them both.

Despite her continued rejection, he seemed patient—knowing. He’d kiss her hand, caress her belly, and bid her goodnight. Eventually, he’d grow tired of this game. She could tell, even now he was frustrated—hungry.

So many unknowns: was he telling the truth—how long could she keep him at bay—what was happening outside of her terrarium walls?

The answers would not come anytime soon.

There was only one thing she knew for sure: he’d never let her go.

——

Reyna was exhausted—and scared.

/As she should be…/

Atlantis was a treacherous place. Corelia, likely, would be the same. And she was right to fear him—he’d always been a ruthless leader. That would not change with his renewed reign. Only his political stance and the nature of his message would—adapting to be more in line with the current regime. There was still much he could accomplish toward similar ends. He was merely approaching the issue from a different angle—based on Atlan’s wishes.

As far as Reyna was concerned, well…

Though mercy was not the way of his people, he would always be lenient when it came to her. Even now, her petulance was endearing, but if delivered in front of the wrong people, the effects could be disastrous. She needed to learn that, and quickly.

Vortia’s arrival was well-timed. Trained in Atlantean geopolitics and espionage, his cousin would make the perfect companion for Reyna. The two had much to learn from one another. Vortia would have trouble wheedling her way into Reyna’s good graces, but eventually, he believed she would succeed—a thought that both comforted and unnerved him. Though the spy’s allegiances were to her family, placing her close to Reyna granted her greater influence over them both. Then again, they needed more allies, and Reyna needed to learn…

Though Seaton and his children were indebted to Orm by lineage, they were equally as conniving and twice as prejudiced as he’d ever been. The reception of his marriage to a woman of the land would be mixed—they’d respect the strategy and reject the woman. In their eyes, she would be little more than a placeholder—a means to an end.

Orm would need to ensure that mindset was altered—/permanently/.

Reyna was here to stay—Reyna was who he wanted. If they treated her with anything less than the reverence she deserved, well, there would be violent consequences.

There were some who had already suffered for their petty slights. Of course, Reyna had no idea. She was still being sequestered due to the pregnancy. The staff that attended to her needs was fully vetted and terrified of displeasing their King. Others, outside of her walls, were not so forgiving of her bloodline. And Orm withheld forgiveness in return. Meeting out punishment to those foolish enough to insult his bride was the only avenue he had for release these days.

Perhaps if Reyna allowed him back into her bed, he wouldn’t be so pent up—brimming with rage and frustration. He understood her reluctance. But it didn’t mean he liked it.

/Not/ touching her required more self-control than he cared to admit. But he knew he had to patient or else risk losing her before barely getting her back.

Orm swam through the halls of the coral castle, heading for the training ring. It was not as grand as the Atlantean Ring of Fire. Modest but well equipped, the Devil’s Keep was suitable for their purpose, however less ostentatious.

Vortia and Sian were at the epicenter of the ruckus. Tridents in hand, they dueled with the ferocity of barbarians. Sunlight glittered through the water, illuminating their foul play. Metal sang as they struck, blocked, and fought desperately for power. Vortia was smaller than Sian, though no less lethal. More cunning and possessing greater speed, she was well-matched to his size and brute strength. Snarling wickedly, she tossed him across the ring. Flipping through the water, he righted himself before shooting back in her direction. Baring her teeth, she rode the current of his assault until he slammed her back against a giant column of coral. Pink, calcareous stone rained down upon the soft sand below as Sian claimed victory.

/A mistake./

As he raised his hands in the air, basking in his triumph, Vortia slammed the hilt of her trident against his groin. The man doubled over, dropping his weapon to grip the offending organ between his legs. The cheers of the surrounding soldiers morphed into ‘boos’ of disapproval as his younger cousin sank to his knees against the sand.

“How is it that after all these years, he still hasn’t learned never to turn his back on you, Virago?”

“Well, he’s got shit for brains. You wouldn’t try to train a hagfish to talk—why teach this idiot to…”

“Careful, witch,” Sian snapped, swimming astride her to sneer in her face. “A move like that would get you killed anywhere else. We don’t fight dirty in this ring.”

“Aw, yes we do,” she purred, patting his cheek a little too roughly with her palm.

Sian ignored the offense, raking his gaze over Orm. “Father tells us you’ve wedded a land dweller,” his smile was sinister—knowing. “And bedded her, too. The act must have been vile—you have my sympathies, cousin. Tell me, is she as dry down there as the oceans of sand that pollute her land? Does she expel smog from her lungs with every breath she takes?”
“I bet she reeks of pollution,” Vortia agreed. “Her skin is probably rotting—putrid and soft to the touch. Best not poke at him,” she jeered. “To be saddled with a land dweller is an unlucky feat indeed. There’s no need for us to remind him of his suffering, Sian. He’ll know the shame well by now. I applaud you, cousin, for your great sacrifice. However unsavory, this union has spurred the kingdoms like never before. If Atlan decrees that a child of the land and sea is to rule, I’d much prefer it be a child of yours than that oafish outlander currently seated on our throne—”

Orm held his hand up to silence the pair. “That is enough.”

“I hear the welp she carries is male—you must be /so thrilled/.”

Orm didn’t give the man a chance to catch his breath before leveling the blow. Sian spat blood, baring his teeth in a snarl—ready to fight back.

“That’s my /wife/, and you’re future /Queen/! You will give her the proper respect, or I shall have your tongue for a trophy!”

Sian seethed but did not retaliate—violence was a dialect the Marius family understood well.

Vortia tittered, laughing musically at the display. “Oh, Ormy, don’t tell me you have feelings for the mouth breather? She’s a landlubber, for Atlan’s sake!”

“That she is,” he declared, eyes burning. “And a sovereign princess of Atlantis!” His voice rose, echoing off the walls of the Devil’s Keep. The soldiers fell quiet. “To question my choice of mate is to question my rule. And that, no matter kith nor kin, is an act of treason. I advise you to remember that when next you seek to speak of my /wife/.”

Sian gritted his teeth while Vortia grinned, enjoying herself far too much.

“Now, come…”

——

“Reyna Marius…”

/Ugh…/

It didn’t sound right. She didn’t like it. Likely because she never really agreed to it…

“Reyna Avenell.”

That was who she was.

Not Reyna Curry.

Not Reyna Marius.

Reyna Avenell.

Daughter of Finn and Luna Avenell,

Adopted sister of Arthur Curry—King of Atlantis.

Wife to Orm Marius—former King and Ocean Master.

And now…

Mother?

She stroked her belly absently, sitting beneath the cool shade of a large willow tree. Its sweeping branches kept her well hidden from the watchful eyes of the servants—her keepers. They never spoke to her unless prompted, and even then, they were curt and quiet. But they watched. Their unusual eyes were always upon her. She found it was better to keep out of sight. So, often, she either hid in her rooms or strolled through the gardens, secreting away under the cover of trees and flowers.

In the weeks since her arrival, the symptoms of her transformation had dissipated. However, the doctors insisted that she remain indoors. She wasn’t allowed to swim in the ocean or test her newly developed abilities. “It is too great a risk with the pregnancy. We do not know how it may affect you or the baby. The side effects are unpredictable at this stage. We must wait until he arrives before we begin testing the bounds of your talents.”

There were too many unknowns, and she knew the risks of such experiments. She was a scientist, after all. With that many outliers and a baby in the mix, no laboratory would sanction unnecessary trials. Their logic was sound—though frustrating. Not that she was eager to explore; rather, it was simply that she was eager to escape. She missed her family. She missed her life.

Her dress today was emerald green. The fabric was soft velvet. It rested low on her arms, leaving her shoulders and clavicle bare. The sleeves were long, with small loops fashioned around her middle fingers. The skirt was long as well and, once more, cinched beneath her breasts. All of her dresses were of this style now that her belly had popped. The fabric was comfortable. Walking barefoot, a small train of the verdant fabric dragged along the moss and grass in her wake.

Abandoning her perch beneath the willow, she meandered over to a patch of white flowering peonies.

/Come, Reyna, let’s make crowns…/

Her mother’s voice sang beyond the grave, ringing through her memories as she began to pluck at the extravagant plumes. Carefully, over the course of what must have been hours, she crafted a headdress her mother would have been proud of. Using willow sprigs, lambs ear, and the grand white buds from the peony plant, the final product was certainly regal.

Wandering to the freshwater stream that ran across the length of her oasis, she stared at her hazy reflection as she donned the garland. Tilting her head left, then right, she surveyed her complexion.

/Reyna Avenell, Princess of Atlantis./

Princess of the land and sea…

/What would Arthur think?/

She crinkled her nose in distaste and abandoned the riverbed, drifting among the carefully crafted forest canopy.

He’d ask her to make him a flower crown, too. He always did when they were little. At first, it was because he knew she missed her mom. But after a while, he truly began to enjoy wearing them—it was sweet. She missed him so much…

“Reyna!” Orm’s voice rang out across the grounds, loud and commanding. The order of a King. It snapped her from her stupor. For a brief moment, she considered running and hiding amidst the greenery—but she knew it was no use. He’d find her. Instead, she remained frozen, startled by his abrupt arrival.

“Reyna!”
She ought to move—to go to him, but she found herself taking a step back. A stray twig snapped, and she whirled in the direction of the sound, only to discover one of the gardeners watching her with stern eyes. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to.
Squaring her shoulders, she held her head high and stepped in the direction of her King.

“I’m here,” she called, somewhat reluctantly.

Footsteps echoed, and she brushed a low branch from her path, rounding another willow to face him. The fronds fell across her arm, caressing the soft fabric of her dress and bare shoulders as she emerged.

Orm held out his hand, marching forward. “I want you to meet…” the words died in his throat as he took in the sight of her. Mesmerized, he blinked, halting in his tracks.

He was not alone.

A woman stood behind him. She had the same white hair, partially pulled back in a French twist. Long tendrils hung in wisps down the side of her face. Her jawline was a sharp edge, lending to a harsh complexion. Eyes swathed in a severe smoky visage, she looked gaunt. Slim and slight, she was far shorter than Orm but unmistakably of the same bloodline. Yet, where Orm looked shining and regal in his golden armor, she looked more comfortable existing in the shadows. Her attire was entirely black, stretched taut against her slender form. The only bit of color was the ruby hue at her lips—which parted as she looked Reyna up and down.

Once, such a blatant perusal of her form would have had Reyna’s hackles up. Now, she was used to it. Everyone looked at her that way here. Though, for some reason, Reyna felt the strange woman before her was not simply staring because of her lineage, but rather, she was also assessing Reyna’s weak points—and how best she might endeavor to kill her.

Orm, at a loss for words, was also staring.

Reyna looked between the two of them, a bit confused by the display.

Finally, after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Reyna broke the dead air, mustering a quiet “hello.”

Orm coughed, remembering himself. “Vortia Marius, meet my wife, Reyna.” He spoke slowly, never taking his eyes off her. “Reyna, this is Vortia, daughter of Seaton Marius, my uncle.”

Vortia looked stricken, still as a statue.

Reyna didn’t bother to offer her a smile. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she whispered, folding her hands neatly below her belly.

It was certainly interesting—Orm mentioned he had living relatives on his father’s side, though this was the first one he’d brought to meet her.

“Reyna…” Orm tilted his head, regarding her carefully. “Are you well?”

“Perfectly,” she assured him quietly, gazing into his eyes. Why did he look so concerned? Had something happened?
“What is that?” Vortia snapped, finally deigning to speak.

Growing more confused by the second, Reyna frowned. “What is what?”

“That thing on your head,” she sneered. “It’s absurd.”

“Oh,” Reyna felt her cheeks flush instantly as she recalled the flower crown, but she held her composure. Gently reaching up to retrieve the artifact, she pulled it from her hair. “The garland…”

Orm’s eyes were locked on her face.

“My mother and I used to make them when I was little. I took one look at the peonies in bloom, and I just…” she held the crown in her hand, staring down at the petals. “I just…”

Now, she really wanted to run. A bout of exhaustion settled in, and her vision tunneled.

“Reyna,” Orm materialized in front of her, gently pulling the crown from her hands. “How long have you been out here?”

“Hmm?” She blinked, confused. Her eyelids grew heavy—the grass looked so soft. She wanted to lay down and sleep.

“Two hours, my liege,” someone was speaking behind her—reporting on her movements. They were always watching…

“Come, you need to rest.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: Message in a Bottle

Song List:
Dark Water by FERR
Deep End by X Ambassadors
What Kind of Man by Florence + The Machine

The servants drew the curtains, and the room darkened swiftly. Strolling across the floor, they hastened to prep the space, quickly fleeing the chamber as he laid her out on the lavish bed. Though he was more himself than he ever had been—and she was safe, carrying his child—he felt so far from her.

Feinting in his arms only moments before, it felt good to hold her close. He wanted nothing more than to join her among the sheets and shadows, feel her sinuous curves pressed up against him…fill his palms with her generous—

A door slammed closed in the distance, leaving them in isolation. Brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, Orm fought the urge to kiss her as she once allowed.

Since their arrival at Corelia, she had not permitted him entry into her bed—a fact that left him more sexually frustrated than a wild sea stag. Not to touch his pregnant wife? Not to assuage her mounting desire? He knew she needed him….

He could smell the sweet scent of her lust rippling off her in crashing waves of pheromonal bliss.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, basking…

/It was intoxicating./

Clenching his fists, he bent low, brushing his lips against hers—it was barely a caress—but he wanted more—he meant it to be more—all he had to do was press down—she belonged to him, she possessed him.

By some miracle, he managed to drag himself away from her slumbering form, leaving her unscathed. The rooms passed in a blur as he stormed from the chamber, seething with tension. Every muscle in his body was on fire. Every step he took was physically painful. The grand doors to the reception hall were opened for him, and he entered.

Tall, marbled walls stretched two stories high. Chandeliers dripping with crystals hung from the ceiling. A long table stretched across the center of the room with twelve seats. Vortia stood at the opposing end, resting her elbows on the chair back at the head of the table.

“You understand what is expected of you?”

“I’m a glorified bodyguard,” she griped, scrutinizing him with her unsettling eyes. “You are agitated,” she observed. “Your heart rate has increased, and you are perspiring.”

“And?”

Narrowing her eyes, she shook her head with disdain. “That woman is more than you claim.”

“How so, Vortia?”

“That is no mere mortal you court, cousin. She is a dryad.”

“Dryads,” he scoffed. “Even if they did exist, they’re thought to have gone extinct during the bronze age, along with all those who worshipped them.”

“Extinct or forgotten?” Vortia murmured, staring past him in the direction of the dark hollow where she slept.

“Superstition—Reyna is not dryad,” he insisted. But even as he spoke the words, they felt half-hearted. Could his little nymph actually be…a nymph?

“You saw her in that grotto—same as I—standing amidst the trees as if she’d stepped from one. It explains everything!” She threw her arms wide. “Dryads attract unwanted attention from men—when have you ever been interested in women? I mean, for Atlan’s sake, Mera’s the most beautiful woman in all of Xebel, and you barely gave two shits about her—don’t tell Delphi I said that,” she turned, pointing at a warning finger in his direction. “The last thing we need is more animosity sewn among our prestigious battalion. Hah! I can’t tell if this is good luck or bad—for our movement, does it undermine our cause that you’ve fallen prey to a creature of mythological origin, or does it save it? In that she is no mere land dweller, sickly and poisoned—”

“That’s enough!”

“Is it? You want me to watch her—to be there for her, as though her essence doesn’t change everyone around her! As if it hasn’t changed you. Look at you, a man nearly undone with yearning. It’s pathetic!”

Nonplussed, Orm subtly rolled his eyes at the comment.

“You trapped her,” Vortia hissed, rounding on him. “You turned her. And now, you’re feeding her.”

“She’s not a succubus, Vortia.”

“I don’t know the extent of her powers. Neither do your doctors. Neither do /you/. Who is to say she isn’t?”

“Me,” he growled. “Your /King/.”

The reminder of her station and his did not sit well with his cousin. A muscle ticked in her jaw, and her shoulders tensed as she made a visible effort to hold back. “Fine,” she conceded. “Have it your way, Ocean Master. But mark me, that woman is more than she seems.”

“And what of you?” He asked, growing wise. Perhaps too wise for the likes of his family. The Marius line had always proven itself to be strong and resilient. But what more? Nothing. They did not see eye to eye when it came to matters of the heart. They did not share their inner struggles. Nor did they waste time discussing such tedious symptoms of existence. They’d all been born and bred for one purpose and one purpose only.

“What of me?” She asked, brushing by him as she marched toward the exchange tank that would allow her exit from Reyna’s waterless terrarium.

“What untouched ocean exists in the pit of your soul? What power commands your tides?”

“Power?” She scoffed. “What power do I have, cousin? If only the one that lingers between my legs?”

“Typical female,” he boasted. “Griping about your lot in life…”

“What do you know of my lot in life?” She snapped, voice hoarse and steeped with emotion. “Are you so blind, cousin? To have buried the tragedy of your mother’s plight? To have ignored the suffering of your forced betrothed? Do you think I do not endure the noxious fumes of that same fate?”

“You exaggerate. As a Marius, you have your pick of the litter. No one could force your hand—”

“And yet still, I have not chosen a mate. Tell me, cousin, why do you think I’ve so vehemently avoided the institution of marriage? It is because the men in our family treat women like property—seeing their only value in the production of offspring. Well, I refuse to be treated so poorly. Any man who took my hand would view me no differently—and I refuse to be reduced to such squalor. I am not a thing to be bartered in trade, and neither is she!”

The rage in her eyes kept him quiet—as did the history they both bore…

“My plight is not one you would ever understand. Nor one you would deign to. It is beneath you, Ocean Master, to consider the troubles of women.”

——

Vortia was angry with him; he supposed she had a right to be after all this time. He could not argue her points, as the beliefs that fueled them were firm. Even still, they undermined his very way of life. All he’d accounted for. All he’d reasoned, in his acquisition of Reyna Avenell…

It goes deeper than that—he assured himself, pacing the length of the table. The waters outside the terrarium windows were dark. The sun had set. Evening was upon them—perhaps deeply so. The movement of the celestials usually did not concern him. However, despite her submersion, they still ruled over his terrestrial paramour.

Reyna slumbered quietly in the dark at the end of the hall. As he paced the length, glancing occasionally in the direction of her chamber, he was reminded of how he’d once wandered the expanse of her little cottage while she slept. To see how far they’d come now—so far, yet still, the same walls existed between them. There had been times when he thought they’d fall down around them—times when he’d been able to touch a part of her, possess her…almost. Yet always, she’d disappear from him again. As she had now.

He’d been patient. He’d waited long enough for her to concede. But she’d resisted. Now, because of it, she’d isolated herself. She was alone—and it weakened her.

And what weakened her—weakened /him/.

He couldn’t allow it any longer.

Pulling the strings at his neck, the long, white cape he wore fluttered to the ground. The armor was next. He made no effort to keep quiet as the metal clattered upon the floor. He wanted to give her warning of his impending tour de force…

Chest bare and wearing nothing but his breeches, and those would certainly be short-lived, he approached Reyna’s slumbering form. She was so peaceful—beautiful. Dark curls sprawled across her pillow and the pale hollow of her clavicle. The swell of her belly was exposed. Orm reached down and splayed his hand across the delicate fabric covering her skin, feeling the firmness of her womb as it swaddled their babe. He closed his eyes, feeling, keenly, the loss of her—the chasm that separated them. Agonized, he leaned over and kissed the crook of her neck. She stirred beneath him as he continued his amorous advance, running his hands along her figure, hungry for more.

Her hands found his chest, pressing him back. “Orm, st—”
“Do not tell me to stop, Reyna, not unless you truly mean it,” he felt the wet shame of tears track across his cheek. She must have felt it, too, for she quieted beneath him. “Unless you truly do not need me, as I do you—as I scent upon you. Tell me your body lies—and then I will stop. Tell me you are not starved for my touch—and I will stop.” He whispered against her lips, desperate for her compliance—for her admittance.

“Orm…”

Her hand found his cheek. Her thumb caressed his jaw. Her lips parted…

/Cleave to me, little nymph./

“Orm…”

“My blood runs through your veins. My child flourishes within your womb. You are bound to me. Yet you deny me—time and time again. I vowed that no power of the land or sea could separate us, and yet you have…you, of all…have decreed that we be apart. You have separated us. Drawn a line in the sand and kept me from your bed. But I cannot bear it any longer. I need to feel you—I need to feel him—us—together—united…”

“Please…”

“If you wish me to leave, I will. I swear it. But I beg you…”

Before he could finish, her lips found his. The contact was like an electric shock coursing through his veins, rendering him rigid above her. It took a conscious effort to shake himself free and hold himself back from ravaging her, but somehow, he managed. As if gripped by fire, he smoldered above her, running his hands over her arms, her breasts, between her legs, stroking the sensitive flesh, slick with want. Even though he could sense her need, feeling it, acting on it, sent him into a lather. Her moans of pleasure didn’t help, either. Writhing beneath his touch, he realized rather quickly that neither of them was primed to last long this night. But it did not matter.

Possessed by the frenzy, they gave in together—and it was euphoric.

——

He was everywhere, all-consuming and relentless.

Orm’s touch was scorching as he pulled the slim gown over her head. His tongue lashed torrid kisses along her breasts and belly until…

With a gasp, Reyna’s fingers found his hair as he kissed the apex of her sex, tonguing the sensitive bud that reigned there without mercy. It was as if he could feel how close she was—as if he understood there was no need to go slow. In response, the tension within her mounted quickly. So fast she could scarcely hope to keep up.

Swept up in the current of him, he chased the orgasm from her body, demanding his due as it shattered over her form. Reyna arched her back, crying out in ecstasy as he rose up on his knees and dragged her across the sheets to the edge of the bed. Her fingers found his arms, gripping his muscles as he loomed over her, primed and positioned. She could tell he was doing his best to be gentle with her—struggling to keep his hunger in check.

“Now,” she whispered, laying her head back. “Now!”

With a growl, his shaft slid home, piercing the veil between them. The sensation was raw and pulsing—blood pumping and flesh searing. There wasn’t enough of him—there wasn’t enough of her…

Body shuddering, Orm held himself steady, but it was no use. With three quick thrusts, he was done for. She felt the warmth of him inside her as he was felled, and he bent over, breathing heavily, chest heaving. He kissed her forehead and murmured her name, placing his palm over her belly again.

It was just the two of them in this quiet, dark place—no, not the two of them…

/Three./

“Reyna, I…”

And there it was. The mark of change. Once upon a time, in the dark moments such as this, when they’d been safely ensconced in the solitude of her island cottage, sequestered away on the shore of Amnesty Bay, she would have believed what he was about to say. But here?
Beyond those doors lay the halls of her prison—pretty as it was, it was a prison all the same. Reyna was caged by the man who now held her…

As the haze of lust cleared from her mind, reality came crashing down, and Reyna remembered the danger of the man still lingering inside her, twitching with renewing need.

“I…”

“Will you let me go?” She asked, fingers curling into fists over his chest. “Will you ever let me go home?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “When the time comes, and you and our son are safe.” His blue eyes were piercing, burning with possession. “Then /we/ will return to Amnesty Bay.”

/Liar./

——

Fire—it was a funny thing to miss. Reyna never thought of herself as having a kindred relationship with the element, yet after so long underwater, she found she craved the crackle and whip of flame like never before. There would be no having it inside her cage—so instead, she lit the match inside her soul.

Feeling strong, for the first time in months, she waited for Orm to fall asleep before she crept from the bounds of her newfound estate. The air was balmy as she stole through the dark corridors and out into the starlit yard. She moved as if possessed, skirting through the trees. She didn’t have a plan—more…an experiment.

She’d existed parallel to their world for decades. Though she may not understand the how or the why of it, she knew Atlanteans were…different. Orm had once tossed the contents of the sea upon the shores of her country—miles and miles of debris—the damage, unfathomable. How was he able to do it? Was it magic? Was it the power of the sea? It did not matter. That same blood now ran through her veins, as he so claimed, which meant…she was not without weapons. She just had to figure out how to use them.

First and foremost, she was a biologist. So, there were certain deductions that needed to be made. One: water was a requirement. From everything she’d witnessed or heard tell of, water was always involved.

/The river…/

The greenery was a blur as she made for the pinnacle of power—the only source within the cavern in which she was now trapped.

At last, she made it.

Dropping to her knees on the dewy grass, she glanced over her shoulders. There were no gardeners watching her tonight—no maids or servants. They’d granted the king space as it was due. So this was her moment. It was now or never. The clearing was quiet. There was no sign of anyone else.

Would it work?

Reyna squeezed her eyes shut.

She didn’t know. But she had to try.

Reaching her hands out, she hovered her palms over the crystal surface of the gentle stream and called to her brother—called to her family…

/Arthur./

She invoked his name. Invoked his spirit. The memories of him swirling within her—the ones that made her who she was—defined her…defined her life.

Arthur.

He was her only hope. There was no one else but him that could rescue her now. No one else could keep her safe.

“Arthur…”

She felt the water stir beneath her pull—she felt the tide turn—she felt the salt and the brine and the cold…

“Arthur…”

Her voice grew louder, her call more insistent. She needed him to hear her…she needed him to answer!

“Arthur!”

The surface stilled, revealing an image—the likeness of the King of Atlantis…

He looked startled at first, glancing to and fro for answers. Then he gaped. “Reyna?”

“Arthur!” She cried, tears pricking her eyes.

“How? How are you doing this?”

“I don’t know…” she whimpered happily, folding her hands in her lap. She wanted to hug him—she wanted to jump into the water and teleport directly to him—

“Is Orm there—is he with you, Reyna? Is he telling you what to say?”

“No, no, I’m alone—he’s asleep…he doesn’t know…” she faltered, glancing over her shoulder again.

“Reyna, you need to tell me. Are you in danger?” Arthur asked, clenching his fists. His hair floated about his broad shoulders, swelling above him like a great crown.

“I—it’s complicated, but yes,” she murmured. “He—he won’t let me go now…” she touched her belly. “He won’t let /us/ go.”

Arthur’s eyes drifted to her abdomen. “So it’s true, then?”

He’d heard. Of course, he had. “It’s a boy,” she confirmed.

“A boy,” he echoed. “An heir.”

“Arthur, I’m—”

“What are you doing?” The voice was gruff and angry, unfamiliar. Reyna pulled her gaze from the pool to that of the garden—green and glowing in the din of the fairy lights strung about. It took a moment for Reyna to recall where she was, crouched before the makeshift river, staring at her reflection—at Arthur’s visage rippling in the soft waves. She turned, still on her knees, wearing only the slim, white gown she slept in when his enraged face came into sight.

“Insolent chit! Fraternizing with the enemy, were you? Well, there is a heavy price to pay for treason—even for you!”

“Reyna!” Arthur’s voice was so far away—so removed, so helpless. “No!”

The man rounded his arm, prepared to strike her…

Orm materialized between them. Grasping the interloper’s arm, he glared, equally as furious but twice as menacing. “You dare to lay a hand upon the future of my line, cousin? You dare to strike your queen?”

“She is no queen of mine,” he spat.

“Hold your tongue—or I will have it removed!”

“The slattern was cavorting with Atlantis! Tell us, harpy, what did you reveal to your bastard kin and his unholy claim? Come now, don’t be shy!” The man cackled tauntingly as Orm shoved him back. “Speechless, now, eh? Why, only a moment ago, you were full of traitorous words!”

“Guards!” Orm bellowed, clenching his fists. “Get him out of my sight before he incriminates himself any further!”

The man sneered. From her vantage point, Reyna could see the similarities between the two—white hair, piercing blue eyes, broad build…

“Oh, cousin,” he hissed. “Dismissing me before I deliver the happy news? Another mistake. You seem to be so full of them now. Perhaps that crown might be better placed on another’s head!”

“Out, Sian! Or there will be blood this night.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: Flotsam and Jetsam

Song List:
Born to Be Wild by Steppenwolf
Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum
Every Breath You Take by The Police
Apocalypse Please by Muse

“And just where the hell are you going?” Mera’s voice trailed after the king as he swam from the throne room, attempting to leave the council meeting mid-session. “We haven’t finished this discussion!”

“Oh, yeah we have. No way am I sitting down to chat with Orm about the conditions of his /emancipation/. And that’s just the main course. The appetizer is negotiating Reyna’s internment. Screw that.”

“So what, then? You’re just going to declare war without even trying?”

“Hell no! I’m gonna sneak into Corelia, bust my little sis out of prison, take back Orm’s best shot at manipulating me, ruin his chances for reinstatement, and boom—Bob’s your uncle! No more war. Orm is neutralized. Reyna’s back home safe and sound.”

“You really think it will be that easy? Have you even put any thought into what that will do to Reyna? We don’t know anything about her condition. Orm does.”

“Yeah, I’m not buying this whole pregnancy thing. Seems like a scam. Reyna’s too smart to get knocked up so easily. She’s got like four degrees—I know damn well that girl knows how to use birth control, and I can’t see Orm poking holes in his own condoms. Ugh…” he winced, closing his eyes. “I just grossed myself out.”

Mera caught up to him, swimming past a school of fish. “What if you’re wrong?”

“Come on, Mera. We all know Orm’s obsessive-compulsive when it comes to lying. And even if I did sit down to chat with him, there’s no negotiating with a tyrant.”

“You may be right about that, at least, but we still have to try. If only for Reyna. Undergoing sirenization can be extremely difficult, and if she is pregnant, she’ll need the best doctors we have on hand. Orm knows that. It makes sense that he would reach out and organize a meeting for that end alone. If he truly cares about Reyna…”

“Orm doesn’t care about anyone but himself,” he argued. “This is all bullshit, I’m telling you—”

“It is not,” Atlanna declared. Nereus and several guards stood clustered around her by the throne. The rest of the vast, white keep was empty. Though the room was badass to command, when there weren’t people filling the stands, the room gave Arthur the creeps. “Orm cares for Reyna, and my sources confirm she is with child.”

“Sources can be wrong,” he argued.

Atlanna shook her head. “Regardless of what you believe, this conflict is beyond mere acts of bravery.”

“What do you mean?” Mera asked, growing concerned.

“Seaton Marius has joined the ranks of those swelling about Orm, bringing his armies and his generals along with him.”

Mera groaned, flourishing her hands through the water and returning to her post. “Well, we all knew this day was coming. I just thought we’d have more time to prepare.”

“The Marius line has regrouped, and they are readying for war. Sian has been made General of Orm’s forces.”

“And Vortia?” Mera asked, eyeing the queen with a quirked brow. 

“No word on the Sea Witch or her whereabouts, but if the men are gathering, she will soon follow. If you march into Corelia, odds are you will not escape with your life. With you out of the way, Orm will have Atlan’s trident, an heir of the land and the sea on the way, and open access to your crown. He is still next in line, despite his crimes.”

“The talks must take place, then,” Mera declared, glaring at him.

“Ack, I don’t see how you can expect me to play nice with this fucker after everything he’s done.”

“You won’t. It will need to be one of us,” Atlanna declared.

“No. Way.” He barked. “Now you’re talking crazy.”

“You don’t know the Marius family. You don’t know Atlantis as well as they do. It will need to be someone they have experience with. Someone who knows Reyna and Orm well enough to gauge what is going on. Someone who won’t reveal anything.”

“I’ll go!” Mera volunteered. “I need to assess Delphine’s involvement. There have been whispers that she’s joined their cause.”

“No, Mera. You are too valuable. Your connection to the king makes you an asset. They’ll not relinquish you if you set foot upon their sand. Besides, your judgment is clouded. It must be me.”

Arthur huffed. “Her judgment’s clouded, but yours isn’t? Are you joking?”

“I won’t be going alone,” Atlanna revealed. “King Nereus has agreed to accompany me with a small regiment of soldiers. Together, he and I shall assess Delphine and Reyna’s situation and meet with Orm and Seaton.”

“Seaton is an old chum of mine,” Nereus revealed. “And he knows better than to court a war with Xebel. My troops will ensure our safety. And who better to parle with the Ocean Master than his former ally and mother?”

“You think to patronize him?” Mera seemed surprised. “Orm will not be so easily mollified—”

“At this time, we only hope to glean a better understanding of our situation. We need to get to know our enemy,” Atlanna countered.

“Assess their strengths and weaknesses, and the validity of certain…” Nereus glanced warily in Arthur’s direction. “Claims.”

The king rolled his eyes.

“If Reyna truly is with child, the emergence of Orm’s heir could turn the tides of this war against us for good,” Nereus stated, caressing his beard. “Unless…” he paused, canting his head toward Atlanna.

“Unless what?” Arthur snapped, growing irritated.

His mother sighed, clasping her hands in front of her torso. “Unless you take a wife.”

The room was silent as they all waited for him to respond. Arthur looked left, then right, then left again. “Oh no.” They were kidding—they had to be. He wasn’t gonna marry someone just because Orm managed to one-up him in the baby department. That was ridiculous. “Oh no, no, no…”

This wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go. This wasn’t…

“Father, will you please give us the room.”

King Nereus and his mother bowed their heads before swimming from the chamber, accompanied by the guards—leaving Mera and Arthur standing before the throne. She gazed at the chair, floating passively beside him.

“It wasn’t a fate I chose for myself,” she finally spoke, red hair swaying in the tide, held back by her golden headdress. “But ever since I was a little girl, I was born and raised for one purpose—to be queen. I always wondered what I would become if I did have the opportunity to make a choice. And when you came along, I was finally granted leave to explore the possibilities. So it’s funny—free of the throne, free of an arranged marriage, free of a tyrant, and here I am, facing this choice again. I didn’t want it then,” she turned to face him, taking his hands in hers. “And I don’t want it now.”

Arthur released a breath, “wha—”

“What I want is much simpler—to be by your side. To support you, whether or not you sit on the throne. Now that I finally have the opportunity, I choose you. It’s time we stepped out of the shadows.” She pulled his hands to her stomach. “And into the light.” A soft smile graced her lips as his fingers splayed out across her abdomen. “Besides, in a couple of weeks, people are going to get pretty suspicious when my stomach starts to show.”

Dumbstruck, Arthur’s mouth fell open, and his voice raised an octave as he spoke. “Are you serious?”

Mera smiled mischievously. “Orm’s not the only one with an heir on the way.”

Arthur laughed, running a hand through his hair in shock.

“But we’d better make it official before I start to show, else we might find ourselves in more hot water than we can handle.”

“Pregnant,” he mumbled, a sense of joy overtaking him, filling him with—

Wait…

“What were you doing volunteering to go to Corelia if you knew you were pregnant?”

Mera shrugged, swimming down the grand steps of the dais. “You think because I’m pregnant, I won’t work? Arthur, come on, you know me better than that.”

——

Arthur was still reeling from the news when they parted ways. He could hardly believe it.

Arthur Curry.

Aquaman, King, and now…

Father.

What a rush—what the fuck was he gonna do? Be a dad?

“Christ.”

Swimming through the kelp forest, he made for Amnesty Bay. Pops wouldn’t know what to make of all this political mess. But he would know what to do about Mera—the answer was obvious to anyone with a brain.

/Marry her./

Hell, he wanted to. Mera deserved the world—he wanted to give it to her. The land and the sea and the sun and the stars and every damn thing in between, but…

/But what?/

It wasn’t the way he wanted to do things—that didn’t matter anymore.

The kid took away the choice—it was out of his hands.

A done deal.

Arthur smiled, surging through the tall fronds of flowing weeds. So distracted by the news, he didn’t notice, at first, as the water rippled and changed…

A burst of light exploded in an eruption of bubbles before him, knocking him back. He spun through the water, sputtering as his hair caught in his eyes and lingered in his mouth. “What the hell?”

/Arthur./

“Ah—hullo?”

/Arthur./

“Is someone there?” He asked cautiously, swimming toward a steadily growing bubble of light.

“Arthur!”

The voice came through loud and clear as a visage emerged before him…

“Reyna?”

“Arthur!” She cried, tears welling in her eyes.

“How? How are you doing this?” He asked, glancing around.

“I don’t know…” she whimpered, folding her hands in her lap. She looked so small. Arthur peered into the orb, trying to get a look at her surroundings. She was outside, sitting beneath some trees. She appeared alone, but he couldn’t be sure…

“Is Orm there—is he with you, Reyna? Is he telling you what to say?” It was a stupid question. If Orm really was there, she wouldn’t be able to answer truthfully. But she might be able to say something to tip him off—recite a false memory or something. He’d seen that in spy movies.

“No, no, I’m alone—he’s asleep…he doesn’t know…” she faltered, glancing over her shoulder again. She seemed nervous, like she was on guard, watching for someone.

“Reyna, you need to tell me. Are you…” he faltered. Are you in trouble—are they hurting you—are you pregnant? There were so many options to choose from—he hardly knew where to begin. Lamely, he settled with “in danger?”

“I—it’s complicated, but yes,” she murmured. “He—he won’t let me go now…” she touched her belly. “He won’t let /us/ go.”

/Us./

The dread truth.

His voice was hollow as he spoke, eyes drifting to her growing belly. “So it’s true, then?”

“It’s a boy,” she confirmed.

“A boy.”

Anger coursed through him. He wanted to punch something—he wanted to punch Orm right in his smug fucking mouth. That snide bastard—had he not done enough? And now…

“An heir.”

“Arthur, I’m—”

“What are you doing?”

Reyna whirled, staring frightfully up at the enraged armored guard advancing upon her.

“Insolent chit! Fraternizing with the enemy, were you? Well, there is a heavy price to pay for treason—even for you!”

The man rounded his hand over his shoulder, preparing to backhand Reyna, kneeling helplessly in the grass.

“Reyna!” Arthur bellowed. “No!”

The last thing he saw before the bubble disappeared was Orm surging between them. Grasping the interloper’s arm, he absorbed the strike. As he pushed the man’s arm away from Reyna, he snarled. “You /dare/—”

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: Elixir

Song List:
I Can’t Do This by K3NT4!
What It Cost by Bad Omens
Just Pretend by Bad Omens

“What did you show him? What did he see?”

The words echoed about the dark chamber, but Orm saw only red.

“What did he see, whore?”

Whore.

As the insult escaped his lips, Orm leveled a vengeful blow. Blood sprayed. “You think to question my authority, you ingrate?” his fury was palpable, an unending fire in his veins.

“An authority you undermine,” Sian shouted. “With the desecration of our bloodline!”

“You want desecration?” His eyes were wide and wild, his muscles taut with tension. “I’ll give you desecration!”

“That’s enough!”

Sian’s lip curled into a smile at the sound of the command, and Seaton emerged on the grass. “Your comportment over the female is a disgrace.”

“She’s just a woman,” Sian sneered, attempting to excuse their outburst.

“That is precisely my point. Though her blood is tainted, she is the most favorable option for our cause. Do not think to question our careful planning. You know no more of cunning than what your fists may meet, son of mine.”

Sian’s sneer of satisfaction morphed into one of indignation, and he fell silent.

“You will beg her forgiveness,” Orm snarled. “On your knees—”

“Do not think to castrate your commander at arms so easily—”

“Do not think to question my authority! Careful, /uncle/, for I demand your apology as well.” Orm barked, shoving his cousin back.

The man closed his mouth, glancing carefully between the two as Reyna rose to her feet.

“And what of her?” Sian asked. “What punishment will she bear for her act of treason?”

“That is your queen!”

“Not yet,” the old man decreed.

Orm grew eerily quiet, offering his uncle a look so sinister it could kill.

“There has been no coronation—for either of you. We’ve yet to have arrived at that stage of our operations.”

“You forget yourself, uncle…”

CRACK.

——

The sound of the glass breaking overhead was deafening—like thunder.

Reyna covered her ears, wincing against the noise as a torrential water fall poured over the gardens. Glass crackled across the dome, splintering beneath the might of the ocean. Water spirted from the steadily growing cracks, hissing and spitting as the damage spread. Birds screeched, flitting about frantically, sensing imminent danger. Trees fell against the water’s force. All hell had broken loose.

“Reyna—get back—”

Orm lunged for her, but he was too late. A stream of water burst through the glass beside him, and the current knocked him back. Reyna looked up in horror at the crumbling prison he’d built for her. Droplets of moisture clung to her hair, dampening her clothes as the water level rose above her ankles, approaching her knees. The cold was shocking—spraying and splashing in every direction, swirling about like the contents of a snow globe. Salt water laced her tongue and stung her eyes, wetting the skirt of her dress with its violent arrival, knocking her to her knees. Wrists submerged in the surf, Reyna gasped, weighed down by the child growing in her belly. It was like the submarine all over again, but worse. He was so heavy, like an anchor.

She clutched her belly, wincing in pain as he twisted and kicked inside of her, sensing the danger. “Work with me, baby.” She muttered, pushing her palm against her abdomen. “We’ll get through this.”

Uprooted grass and torn leaves swirled around her as the tempest spun out of control. Attempting to stand, she struggled for purchase, feet slipping against the submerged turf. A cramp gripped her midriff, rendering her low once more. She could barely see about the salty spray. It blocked everything out. She couldn’t see Orm. She couldn’t see anything.

A wave of salt water slammed into her, sending her spinning into a patch of steadily cracking glass. Her palms scraped against the splintering shards, drawing blood as the water pushed her up—dragging her feet from the ground, the same way it had in the submarine, in her parents car—Reyna squeezed her eyes shut—willing courage to find her. Willing herself to push past her fear. She had to—/she had to/.

It wasn’t just her now.

It was the both of them.

Orm bellowed in the distance as the glass beneath her fingers shattered into a million pieces. As the terrarium he’d built to house her came undone. Water filled her lungs and covered her head.

But she did not drown.

She would not drown.

/She was new./

A cyclone formed, tunneling up from the bottom of the tank, pushing them all towards the sun. There was nothing to hold onto as it took her—no way to fight for air—but she didn’t need to. The salt water tasted good on her tongue—in her lungs. She suddenly felt as though she were starved for it. She sucked in a large gulp, guzzling the liquid, satisfying an unknown yet ultimate craving. As it filled her lungs, her fear dissipated. But she was not free from danger yet.

The whirlpool quickened as the last bits of the dome shattered, dragging Reyna and the trees through its swirling abyss. The current tossed her about, twisting and turning—too powerful to deny. As she spun, she searched for the others, but she couldn't see them among the floating debris. She did her best to cover her head, tucking her knees up to protect her belly as part of a torn rose bush came her way. Thorns scratched against her arms as it passed. And when she looked up again, watching it fly past her, a bit of broken glass grazed her cheek.

The contact stung, narrowly missing her eye. She had to get out of here. To protect the baby. She had to fight her way free.

The open wounds at her palms burned against the salt, and as she spread her legs to swim, a shard embedded in her thigh. She grimaced against the pain, watching as red wisps of blood swirled around her, but she didn’t stop.

Turning into the current, she swam with the cyclone, determined to save herself and her child.

——

Orm could feel his heart beating. No, hammering, in his chest.

Thrown from the fray, he watched the sickening display—the last of the glass breaking, the dome, ruined. Reyna was in there. His son…

Surging through the water, he pierced the whirlpool that had formed, knocking trees and bits of splintered wood aside as the pieces pelted him.

“Reyna!”

There was no answer but the roaring tide as it tore through the gardens, washing everything away in its path.

“Reyna where are you!”

“She was on the South side—I saw her, just before the swell,” Seaton declared, cutting through the current. “The surge took her.”

——

Reyna was swimming with all her might, using the power of the current to guide her. Yet, as she neared the surface, new threats emerged. The cyclone began to drag her towards its inner wall. Pushing her against the funnel of air at the whirlpools center. If she breached the wall between the two elements, she’d plummet to her death—spat out of the vortex and dropped off the edge of a cliff.

It was stronger than her. There was no denying that. And she was losing the battle. She was losing—

Something heavy slammed into her. The impact knocked the wind out of her. Reyna choked, clutching her chest, her hands roaming instinctively to her belly.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you!”

Arms wrapped around her back and beneath her knees. She grabbed on to what she could, bracing herself as the chaos intensified—as water wizzed past her head at a sickening speed.

And then…

/Calm./

Water and air collided, thundering as the whirlpool imploded like a black hole, decimating everything in its wake.

“Reyna!”

She was dizzy. Her body ached as she shook her head, blinking against the tumult.

Looking up, she made to thank him—because even after everything, he was still saving her. He was still there, cradling her in his arms—trying to keep her safe. And wasn’t that all that mattered? Orm was right. Mesmeria had tried to kill her and would again. She wasn’t safe on land. She wasn’t safe anywhere. But she had a chance with him.

“Or—”

The words died in her throat as her eyes met Sian’s face. She stiffened in his arms, shocked.

“She’s here!” He bellowed, eyes roving over her body. “No major damage.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: Sharks and Minnows

Song List:
The Summoning by Sleep Token
F**k it I love you by Lana Del Rey
Can't Stop by Red Hot Chili Peppers

“You’re little queen is fine, cousin. Stop pacing.”

Reyna sat at the end of the great table. Medics hovered around her, tending to her wounds and checking for internal injury. Through the glass, he could see her lips moving as she answered question upon question, but he couldn’t hear her.

“She took to the sea like a fish—”

Orm clenched his fists, “No thanks to you.”

Sian’s lips twisted into a sneer. “If it weren’t for me, she’d be dead. She would have been alone by that river when the glass broke. There would have been no warning for you. Atlan only knows what would have happened if I hadn’t caught her there. And with the bastard king bearing witness all the while. Imagine the repercussions if she had perished.”

“That’s enough, Sian,” Vortia hissed, shoving a swab of vitamin-infused kelp into the bloody hole at his shoulder.

Sian barked out a complaint, swatting his sister away. Orm wasn’t sure if he wanted to throttle his cousin or salute him. He’d insulted Reyna…then saved her life, sustaining a severe injury in the process: a metal spoke through the shoulder. Orm had watched as the medics pulled it, albeit painfully, from his chest. He’d bled profusely. Thankfully, no major organs had been punctured. His general remained intact for the moment, but he wasn’t sure how much longer that would last. If he let his temper get the better of him, it wouldn’t be very long indeed.

“We must summon an emergency council meeting. Wake Delphine. There is much to discuss—”

His uncle’s voice drowned out in the background as he barked several orders to guards and servants. Orm stopped listening. His mind was racing. He’d very nearly lost it all this night—the loyalty of his council, his queen, and his heir, and with those gone, his kingdom would soon follow, and his claim as an Atlantean sovereign would undoubtedly lose all meaning with not one but two failed attempts to rule. However, none of that seemed to bother him so much as the sight of Reyna’s blood and the notion that if Sian hadn’t arrived, she might not have survived. It bothered him—grating against his nerves. She had changed so much over these weeks. But so had he.

Once upon a time, he’d craved vengeance above all else. But now it seemed all he craved was her, insatiable. His blood burned as he stared at her—his little nymph.

How could this night have taken such a harrowing turn? He’d had her. By Atlan, he’d /had her/ splayed out beneath him, swelling with his child, submitting to him. She’d fallen asleep in his arms, as she had often once. He’d drifted alongside her, content. And then it all fell apart.

“I want a diagnostics team in here within the hour. Full inspection. Full report by morning. I want to know what caused the glass to break.”

“Yes, my King.”

He didn’t know who it was that responded. He didn’t bother to look. His eyes were still locked on Reyna’s face. “We’re finished here.”

“Not quite,” his uncle spoke, his demeanor calm despite the looming catastrophe. His lip was bleeding, and several cuts ran along his left arm. Whether it was from shards of glass, loose metal, or thorns cast adrift, he did not know. “We’ve received word from your mother. An envoy is set to arrive in three days.”

“An envoy,” Orm felt himself smile, narrowing his eyes slightly at the news. “Not an army.”

“They respect your claim,” Vortia’s tone was low.

“And covet the restoration of your hostage,” Sian stated, glaring at his sister. “They’ll want to make a deal for the woman.”

“Atlanna will respect the deep magics,” Vortia insisted. “As will Mera—”

“Really? Do you think?” Sian teased, disbelieving. “In three days' time, she’ll still be covered in cuts and bruises. The shattered remains of her little green garden will still be strewn across the ocean floor. That bastard usurper will believe the worst. If she hasn’t already begged him to rescue her, she’ll likely do it in person if granted an audience.”

“He cannot deny Atlantean law,” Vortia argued. “By blood they are bound. She belongs to Orm, he—”

“Maybe he’ll execute her. A mercy killing, as your father attempted with your mother.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vortia scoffed. “He’d never—”

“Who’s to say? Some men grow so furious when they believe their women have been defiled they’ll—”

“That’s enough!” Vortia shouted, red in the face. “You take pleasure in the downfall of a member of our tride, by law and by blood. I’ll not hear another word!”

Orm knew it wasn’t for Reyna’s sake that his cousin was now shouting. Some wounds never heal, no matter how much time might pass. Vortia had always displayed an open hostility toward the men in her family, though they rarely took the sea witch seriously. Her outspoken opinions on the treatment of Atlantean women was the reason she’d never married, and likely never would.

“And what of her cry for help?” Sian barreled on, ignoring her outburst. “How was she able to do that, by the way?”

Vortia’s eyes darted to Orm’s, then away again. The brief acknowledgment was enough. He knew what she meant to convey.

/Say nothing./

Not until they knew more.

“We cannot deny the usurper an audience with the woman. That is the hook on which we have drawn them for negotiations. Any proceedings must take this into consideration. They’ll expect her to be present. Vortia, you will need to prepare her. We must ensure her cooperation and loyalty by whatever means necessary. Can this be assured?” His uncle asked.

The room was silent as they awaited his word—the final word. That of their sovereign king. He who held their fates in his hands. He remained quiet for longer than necessary to remind them of that. They were nothing without him. “Assemble the council and begin planning for their arrival. Set up the living quarters in the west wing. My /brother/,” he drew out the word to remind them of the respect they now needed to convey when discussing Arthur, though he, too, hated it just as much as all the rest. “Likes to imbibe. Make sure there’s plenty of food and drink available to him.” Orm rubbed his chin. “And extend an invitation to Tom Curry. His presence will please my mother. Now leave us. I must attend to my wife.”

They left without a word—a wise course of action, considering his mood—but he still felt the heat of their glares on his back as they did so. Their derision was palpable. His message had been received.

They were all about to be tested. Arthur’s arrival would cast waves rippling throughout the kingdoms. No one could deny the acknowledgment. An envoy…not an army. That was a great concession on his part, no doubt. Atlan knew Arthur was reckless. He preferred flexing his muscles, breaking down doors with his head rather than using it for more diplomatic means. Orm knew that would work to his advantage. He was skilled in the art of negotiation. Arthur would be in over his head. He’d need to rely on Atlanna, a queen of Atlantis, by right, but one who’d held very little actual power and had been away for a very long time. Her understanding of the trides and the council of houses would be outdated at best and naive at worst. Vulko and Mera were his greatest threats, but Delphine and Seaton equally matched them. Orm’s inner circle, the Marius axis of power, his bloodline, his army, his heir. None of them—not his mother, not Mera, not even Vulko could deny his claim was growing in strength.

There was only one weak link.

“Reyna,” she didn’t look up as he entered the chamber, but the medics ceased their idle cleaning, quickly packing their supplies and hurrying out the door, bowing slightly and averting their eyes in the presence of their king. Her face remained downcast as he approached her.

Slipping his fingers beneath her chin, he drew her face up, and her eyes finally met his. Her beauty left him speechless for a moment. Then his lips parted as he readied to lay down his law. “Arthur is coming to Corelia.”

Reyna’s eyes brightened instantly, and a breathy gasp escaped her lips. She sat up a little straighter in her chair, and hints of a smile teased the corner of her lip. By the gods he wanted to kiss that mouth. He wanted to be inside her again. But he had to be careful now. There was too much at stake.

“Mera and my mother are meant to accompany him, and I have extended an invitation to Tom Curry.”

This seemed to surprise her, for she suddenly scowled. “Really?” There was a note of suspicion in her tone, and he was reminded of the games they used to play so long ago. When he decided to tempt her and when he’d finally succeeded in seducing her…his clever little nymph. Always so hesitant to trust him.

Gathering her hands in his, he pulled her to her feet and stared deeply into her eyes. “I will not lie to you, Reyna. There is danger in allowing them entry, but for you and for the kingdoms, we must find a way forward and mend the bonds between Atlan’s remaining heirs. We cannot undo the past, but we may work to rewrite the future, to strengthen the kingdoms and our line.” He reached forward and stroked her cheek. “A line you are now a part of.”

“How do I know you didn’t send for them to make a point? To paint yourself in a heroic light?” She asked, suspicious.

Orm stilled, fixing her with a piercing glare. He would not shy away from her question. He would turn it on its axis. “Do you truly think so little of me?” He did his best to sound pained, preying on her emotions.

“Yes,” she said flatly.

Orm blinked, taken aback by her bluntness, then laughed, delighted. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, though I was hopeful that the answer would be no.”

“You’ll say whatever you can to get your way.”

“Does that make it any less true?”

“Well, no, but—”

She gasped as he pulled her against him, forcing her palm over his heart, forcing her to feel every miserable beat—all for her. “You almost died tonight because of your reckless attempt to contact Arthur. In defying me, you risked your life and the life of our child. I am /right/ to keep you here. You may not like it. You may hate me for it. But I will protect you, whether you like it or not. Whether you want it or not. Whether I have to lock you in your rooms and keep you under guard twenty-four hours a day. I’ll chain you to my bed if I must. /I will/ see you safe. I’d let the world burn for you!” He pressed his lips to her temple, inhaling her sweet scent. She shuddered beneath his touch, trapped against him. “I’ll do whatever it takes—go to any length to keep you safe, even if it means you’ll despise me forever. At least you’ll be alive to do so.”

She struggled beneath his grasp, pushing herself away. “You can’t just—just!” She released an exasperated breath and then lunged for him. Her lips met his, and she seared him with her kiss, urgent and wanting, pulling his neck down toward her.

With a growl, he snatched her legs and propped her on the table, kissing her so fiercely he thought she might break. But she didn’t. She met his fire with a passion of her own making, raking her nails across his back and shoulders, tearing into him with a hunger like no other. Their teeth clacked as she tugged at his clothes. Hot, wet, breathy moans and the clatter of metal and glass filled the air as they knocked wayward objects out of their path. And before he knew it, he was shoving up her skirt, laying her across the wood—freeing himself. But he didn’t take her yet. Not yet.

Rising over her, he began to slide the hilt of his cock up and down the apex of her sex. She twitched and writhed beneath him, moaning as he teased her entrance and rubbed her clitoris, edging her closer and closer but never fully satisfying her, never giving her quite what she wanted. The swollen head of his shaft slipped tantalizingly over the slick folds of her sex. It was so tempting to slide home. To give her what she wanted—what she so desperately needed from him. But she needed to give him something first. He needed to hear the words.

“Tell me, little nymph,” he demanded, his tone domineering, his muscles taught as he held himself back from fucking her until she couldn’t walk. “Tell me who you belong to!”

Her head thrashed, and she tipped her hips up in offering, lost with lust. The head of his cock bobbed in and out just enough to drive her wild. But he’d give her no more. Not until she surrendered.

“Tell me!” He bellowed, not caring if the servants heard. Not caring if the whole of Corelia heard his command. “Tell me who you belong to!”

“You!”

Music—divine and decided. Orm was burning with triumph. He’d won. Now, it was time to claim his prize.

“I belong to you,” she cried, breathless and wanting. “Please—”

Just as she began to beg, he sank into her hard and fast. She jolted at his sudden and abrupt invasion, but before she could move, he had her pinned beneath him while he fucked her with raw abandon. All she could do was hold on as he stated himself, as he took the pleasure she’d been withholding from him for so many weeks.

He felt the pressure build inside her as she grew wetter and tighter, her body quickly approaching release. He clenched his jaw as the frenzied pulsing of her sheath bore down on him, greedy for release. She threw her head back, crying out in ecstasy, but he wasn’t done with her yet. In fact, it would be several hours yet until he’d allow her any rest at all.

——

“How are you feeling today?”

Reyna blinked, focusing on the question. Her mind was elsewhere. Her cheeks quickly heated as she registered all eyes upon her while she’d been sitting there thinking about /him/ and all the wicked things he’d done to her the night before.

/I’d let the world burn for you!/

How did she feel? Uh…

“Good,” she said, though she wasn’t quite sure. “Fine, I mean.”

Everything had changed. The dome and the gardens lay in ruin. And Reyna? After it had all come crashing down, the only thing she’d wanted to do was…him.

She exhaled, pushing the water from her lungs in a steady stream. No bubbles formed, as they once would have—for there was no oxygen in her lungs. Only salty seawater.

/Tell me who you belong to!/

She shook her head, attempting to focus on the now—on the medic surveying her stomach—on the screen that pictured the baby growing inside of her. But her mind kept wandering back to Orm and his scalding touch.

“The child is progressing nicely. And how are your symptoms?”

“Not as bad,” she said, blushing again. “I think being in the water is helping. Though, there does seem to be some more pressure on my bladder than usual, and the morning sickness has returned.”

/Not to mention my sex drive is suddenly through the roof, and all I want to do is devour the man who revels in controlling my every movement./

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, smiling demurely. “The baby is adjusting. And as for your symptoms, I understand our King’s desire to err on the side of caution. However, your body craves a chrysalis.”

“It’s definitely craving something,” she muttered under her breath, thinking of Orm’s big hands—how easily they wielded a trident and yet how gentle they could be when he was using them on her.

“The sea provides a nutrient-rich environment that’s good for you and the child,” she continued, not noticing Reyna’s comment.

Of course, it made sense to her. Any creature undergoing metamorphosis requires the proper environment. To a certain extent, she’d been denied the right medium for transition—the ocean itself. At least if what she knew about the process of Sirenization was true. She only had the few tidbits she’d received from her doctor and what Vortia had reluctantly relinquished to go on. But nevertheless, the process was, unfortunately, very mysterious, varied from subject to subject, and largely based on ancient Atlantean magics, which she didn’t have any knowledge of.

Nevertheless, she felt good. She was /good/. She just wasn’t sure how she felt about that…the good. Feeling good with all the different and new. With all the surrender…

“How much longer is this going to take?” Vortia complained, picking her nails.

The doctor’s fingers fluttered over the sheer screen, pressing Atlantean symbols unfamiliar to Reyna. Staring at them, she realized she’d need to learn them. One day, someone would have to teach the baby how to read. How to speak in Atlantean tongues. The child would be more of this world than hers.

A melancholy mood settled in her heart as she thought of her little cottage in Amnesty Bay, so far away. She always thought that Stella would be alive and alongside her when she had her first baby. Tom and Arthur, too. They’d have meatless Mondays and pasta Wednesdays all together as a family. Football Sundays and holidays would be at the lighthouse, as was their tradition. Tom would teach him how to throw, and Arthur would…

She closed her eyes. “I’d like to go back to my rooms. I’m feeling tired.” It was too hard to think about the life she’d envisioned…a life that could never be. The child would never be safe on land.

/I was right to rescue you from the deep. I may have made mistakes with you along the way. I may not be as /good/ as you wish for me to be. But I /am right/. With our son stirring in your womb, everything has changed./

She’d listened quietly the night before, after they’d made…well, she couldn’t quite call it love. It was more carnal than that.

/Half of Atlantis still wants to see the surface burn. The people will see our union and his arrival as a sign—the evolution of our species. An emergence from the old ways into the new. His conception is a complex encounter. Already, he is changing the shape of Atlantis./

“Well, it doesn’t look like the excitement from yesterday has had any negative effects on the fetus. Rest, you’ve earned.”

/Mesmeria will do everything in her power to prevent the birth of an heir of mine./

He’d grow up under guard, underwater, as a prince of a foreign nation. Foreign to her, at least. It wouldn’t be foreign to him. It would be home. It would be his. In a way it never truly could be for her. She’d always be somewhat of a stranger. She’d always feel out of place. “Yes, rest,” Reyna agreed, drifting from the table and swimming toward the exit.

Vortia followed quietly in her wake. Reyna could feel her scrutinizing gaze but refused to meet it. She’d know something was wrong in an instant—the woman was far too keen in the art of reading people.

“What’s wrong with you?” She snapped, her tone biting. Vortia seemed to perpetually exist in a foul mood, though Reyna had a lingering suspicion that it was all a front to keep people at bay.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Reyna didn’t answer, and Vortia didn’t push. This wasn’t the time or the place. And besides, Reyna wasn’t even sure how to accurately articulate what /was/ wrong at that point. It was all so confusing.

As they arrived at her terrarium, the doors drew open with ease, allowing them entry. The walls of the transitional chamber were bright white and smooth to the touch, unblemished. The control panel was translucent, similar to the ones she’d seen on the Atlantean ships and in the infirmary. The technology was entirely alien to her. Encrypted with strange letters and symbols, they seemed to do everything backward compared to their terrestrial cousins. They used different colors to signify different things. Everything was soundless and customizable. It was like looking at a smartphone on steroids, but in a different language and from an entirely different culture. As the door sealed shut behind them with a hiss, Reyna’s ears popped. Water began to drain away shortly after, racing away through the drain that had opened up beneath their feet.

As the water level approached her nose, Reyna exhaled, expelling as much water from her lungs as possible. It burned, leaving traces of salt water corroding in her esophagus. Coughing into the crook of her arm, she purged the last bit. Vortia was more demure in her display, seeming unbothered by the change of medium in her lungs.

The two remained silent as they crossed the next doorway and into the private suite. Reyna quickly shed the layers of wet clothing while Vortia disappeared, likely headed for the kitchens to boss someone new about and give Reyna a few minutes of privacy to change. There wasn’t much left for her to do today except wait.

In two days' time, her family would be here. In two days' time, everything would likely change again. What would she say to them? Would they be ashamed of her? Would they be worried? The more important question that continued to race through her mind though, was what did she want?

/What did she want?/

Orm had claimed her. There was no denying the spell-binding connection they had—the heat, the passion, the possession. He’d never let her go. Once, that notion frightened her, but now? She didn’t want to be kept. But she desperately wanted to be near him. She didn’t want to be possessed, but she certainly wanted him to devour her. Yet there seemed to be no middle ground.

He was never meant to be a commoner living amongst the landsmen, and she was certainly never meant to be a queen of Atlantis. The entire concept was absurd. It also wasn’t something she would have chosen. But there was no going back now. So where did that leave her? Caught between the land and the sea? Trapped in a tyrant’s castle, pregnant with his child, in love with him despite his ceaseless plotting and manipulation tactics.

/Tell me, little nymph. Tell me who you belong to!/

God—and she got off on it. Some part of her wanted to give in—she wanted to be his. But not like this. It was too insane. Too alien. Too /everything/.

“Middle ground,” she muttered, pacing back and forth along her seascape window, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “Need to find it.”

Orm had to compromise—that’s what this meeting with Arthur was all about. Some way, somehow, she had to convince him. She had to—

/Arthur./

She didn’t know anything about Atlantean geopolitics. But Arthur, he could help her to find that middle ground. He’d been raised on the surface, after all. If she could…maybe adopt the Persephone concept… half-life on land, half-life in the underworld—or, in this case, underwater. Then maybe she could feel more in control of her life. Maybe she didn’t have to give everything up. Then maybe she could have her cake and eat it too.

——

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Tom said, shoving another pair of pants into his travel bag. “But I’m going.”

Arthur crossed his arms and blew a tuft of wet hair out of his eye. “It’s probably a trap.”

“Probably.”

“Orm definitely has an angle.”

“Definitely,” Tom agreed cheerily, zipping his satchel and tossing it over his shoulder. “And you know what else he’s got? Reyna.”

“Exactly, which is why you need to stay here—”

“Look, son, I don’t expect you to understand. But I’m going. When Reyna was born, I promised her father I’d take care of her if anything happened to them. I stood up in a church and everything. That’s what a Godfather does. Then, after they died, I raised her like she was my own. I don’t care what Orm’s got planned. He took my girl—maybe to keep her safe, maybe to use her as a pawn to get to you. Either way, I gotta go make sure she’s okay.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 33: Even Tide

Song List:
White Flag by Bishop Briggs
Never Tear Us Apart by Bishop Briggs
Nightlight by ILLENIUM & Annika Wells

The sand was fine and pink, matching the sun-soaked sky as the day began its slow transition into dusk. The sea was turquoise and gentle. The waves lapped effortlessly upon the shore, offering the bones of dead starfish and vacant seashells. The water sparkled in the sunlight all around them, frothing against the shoreline in foamy delight with each tumbling caress of the receding tide. It was barely a sliver. A curved piece of sand bar only exposed at low tide, submerged at high. A few black volcanic rocks rose up from the surf, sharp and devoid of life. All around them, the coral reefs of Corelia’s base stretched, bustling with the constant flow of life.

Orm’s father had built this place for him—fortified it. But he never could have predicted the circumstances that would lead him here. Nor would the late King Orvax approve of the choices he’d made. But Atlan had set a new course for them all. His was a journey not for the faint of heart, nor would his father ever truly understand what it meant to be a descendant of that line. He did not share the blood of their ancient and most revered king. Orm did. His mother did. And so did Arthur. There was a certain savoir-faire that came with that blood right. Traditions handed down, expectations that extended beyond his father’s military mind—a destiny.

Glancing across the sand, he awaited the arrival of his greatest enemy with bated breath. There would be no turning back from this moment. All was about to come to light.

“The water hears and understands,” Seaton prayed. “But Atlan gives grace only to the worthy. My King, long may you reign.”

“Long may you reign,” the group chanted, bowing in prayer. Even the guards dipped their heads in respect as they should.

The sun began to bleed as they stood there, waiting. Delphine offered the most trained gaze of them all, staring forward as though she were hungry for the future. Awaiting its arrival like the ferocious rising star she was. Shoulders back, hair poised, she barely made an effort to acknowledge any presence other than the impending arrival of their adversaries.

“They’re here,” she whispered, eyes aglow. “I can feel it.”

“Of course you can,” Orm shook his head, coming to stand beside her.

“Don’t patronize me,” she hissed. “I’m an heiress of Xebel. The next best thing after precious Mera.”

“You are the leader of our high council—”

“Only if that council survives this visitation. Their review of our insurgent coalition could be the end of us all. I intend to do everything in my power to prevent that. We /must/ succeed.”

“It will be an extremely entertaining meeting, I can assure you of that,” Orm said, rolling his shoulders. “I believe you’ll find our intellectual sparring partners are far less cunning than you give them credit. As the land-dwellers say, it will be like taking candy from a baby. The only problem is, this baby likes to pummel his enemies and use his cranium to render buildings to dust.”

Delphine clicked her tongue in distaste. “Translation, he’s a giant toddler.”

“Precisely,” Orm agreed, delighted with her inference. “A giant toddler who, in his words, packs a major punch.”

“How eloquent,” she snapped, sighing loudly. “Our greatest adversary is an imbecile.”

“Does that not make for easy fodder?” He asked, purring at the notion.

“Not always,” she grumbled. “Sometimes the most stubborn, no matter how stupid, are the hardest to sway.”

“Stubborn, he is—however, the voices in his ear will soften him. They understand what hangs in the balance: civil war. If I should fail, half of the population will lose their voice. Someone else will take my place—likely by bloodshed. No, right now the greatest risk to Atlantis isn’t the landsmen or our disobedience, it’s her people. They teeter on the brink of tearing each other apart, and Arthur’s infantile dynasty along with it.”

“A captain always goes down with his ship,” she agreed, smirking.

“Let’s see if we can prevent that, shall we?” He stepped back, giving Delphine the floor as their watercraft crested the surface.

Here, on this sand bar, surrounded by emissaries and armed guards, Orm prepared to face his bastard brother—the usurper—not as a the high king of Atlantis—not as a prisoner—but as himself, delegating on behalf of his people, vying for a lasting peace treaty, reparations from the surface, and the ratification of Corelia as the eight kingdom of Atlantis.

Everything rested on this reception. Arthur would set the tone, offering the first move, and Orm would play the game. He wore a simple golden crown with matching armor and a white cape—similar to what he wore the day they first met, in the great throne room of Atlantis—when Orm had his bastard brother in chains.

Arthur, too, had decided to don similar garb—the drab clothes of his surface dweller kind. Barefoot, he traipsed onto the beach with Mera at his right and Vulko on his left flank. He wore black pants and a slim black shirt that revealed quite a bit of skin on his chest. He undoubtedly saw this as a show of strength, revealing his physical prowess. But to Orm and those on his council, it only conveyed an air of disrespect—sloppy.

Delphine stepped forward, “My king,” she let a hint of contempt seep into her tone as she looked him up and down, pausing ever so briefly to convey her disapproval of his garb. “Cousin,” she turned to Mera, “and esteemed high council member, Vulko—welcome to Corelia—the eighth kingdom of Atlantis.”

Arthur scoffed, swaying to the side and glancing briefly back at Mera, who stood tall and sharp, never taking her eyes off Delphine. “Get a load of this,” he said, swaggering toward the blockade. The guards trained their weapons, but Orm halted them with a flourish of his hand, wary but not yet feeling threatened. Though it was in his nature to shoot off half-cocked, it was also his general prerogative to posture a bit first.

Arthur approached Delphine, who did not cower. She held her head high. “We are honored by your presence—oh!” He had her in his arms and off her feet in a flash.

“Ah-hah, come here!” He kissed her cheek loudly before setting her back on her feet. “It’s nice to meet the famed cousin of my bride-to-be finally. We’ll have to get a pint sometime and exchange stories. I’d love to hear all about the shit you two got up to as kids. Bet you got into some real sasa growing up!”

Delphine looked as though she’d been licked by a whale. Startled, she gawked at the man, smoothing her skirts and sputtering.

“Unfortunately, that will have to wait, though. I came to deliver a lesson of the ass whooping kind to my little brother for defying his king’s orders,” he said, coming to stand before Orm and crossing his arms. “So how bout it? We doing this now or later?”

“We have come,” Vulko said, projecting his voice across the beach. “At your behest to survey Corelia and discuss measures of peace.”

“My former Vizier is correct,” Orm smiled slyly, offering Vulko a killing glare. “Welcome to Corelia, Atlan’s chosen,” he decreed, carefully side-stepping the title of king. “We have much to discuss.”

“Yeah,” Arthur scoffed, rubbing his thumb over his nose. “Starting with where the hell is Reyna?”

“We were informed that she would be present,” Mera noted, looking at Delphine. “It seems we have been misled.”

“Her majesty, the queen…my queen,” Orm clarified, grinning. “Is exactly where you’d expect her to be at a time like this.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Arthur hissed, stepping so close to Orm that he could smell the brine on his breath.

Orm leaned back and took a deep breath before continuing. “Why, she’s preparing a meal for her family, of course,” he couldn’t help the taunting lilt his voice had taken on, as though he were speaking to a child. “She insisted on preparing it herself, despite her condition.”

Arthur glanced left and right, stupidly searching for what he would not find.

“She awaits your arrival with great anticipation,” Orm declared. “She has missed all of you so and has longed to celebrate the happy news of our marriage and the conception of our son. There will be much for you all to discuss, and there will be a time for that. But first we have more pressing matters to consider—”

“Reyna,” Arthur hissed. “Is the only thing you and I are gonna talk about.”

Orm cast his brother a quizzical look. “Is that why you’ve come here?” He asked, tilting his head in feigned astonishment. “To take Reyna from me? The father of her unborn child? Her husband?”

“I call bullshit,” Arthur said, glaring down at him. “Reyna’s not stupid enough to fall for your tricks. You did something to her.”

“No, Reyna is not stupid. In fact, she is one of the more intelligent and compassionate members of your species. That, at least, I believe we can agree on.”

Arthur shrugged, taking a step back. “Yeah, quit stalling, Count Dooku. Where is she?”

Orm sighed, his patience wearing thin. “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll take you to her? We can resume negotiations from there.” He looked beyond Arthur, over his shoulder at Vulko, seeking reason. “This is, after all, why you have come. Is it not?”

“It is,” Mera answered, stepping forward. “Delphi,” she whispered, looking to her cousin. “I put my trust in you.”

“It is well placed, cousin.” Delphine reached forward and took her hands. “Together, I have no doubt that we may strengthen Atlan’s line for the betterment of all our kind.”

——
Reyna was nervous. /Very/ nervous.

She stood in a dark corner of her room, watching through the glass as the watercraft carrying her family latched onto the transit port of her terrarium. Corelia’s briefing team had gone over the schedule with her several times.

Orm would meet them at a neutral location, then lead them here. Servants would direct them to the guest chambers upon arrival to dry off and change. Then she was expected to greet them alongside Orm, as…a unit.

She didn’t like to think of them as king and queen. It still didn’t feel right. So a unit is what she’d taken to calling them. They were very much a unit. There was nothing special about that. There were no great expectations aside from a little inner turmoil, a slight abduction, and…several near-death encounters. Nothing serious.

“What are you doing in here?” Orm’s voice was calm and steady, so unlike how she felt. He must have seen it in her eyes, for he was by her side in an instant. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, fiddling with the pendant hanging from her neck. “I’m ready.”

She didn’t allow him the chance to say anything more before marching from the shadowy bedroom and out into the grand dining hall. Three elaborate candelabras made of coral sat at the center of the table. Piles of soft, pink roses spilled from several dozen vases, cluttering the corners of the room and filling the air with a perfumed scent. Glittering seashells, starfish, and broken bits of coral were mixed in with the decor. Soft piano music emanated from a hidden speaker.

It was /too/ lovely. The staff had outdone themselves, surely.

“It’s ceremonial, Reyna. Hopefully, just this first time. Future visits should be far more relaxed. But for now—”

“Gotta give them a good show, right?” She was staring at the door, waiting for the moment it would open, but she could still feel him looking at her.

Finally, she faced him. His eyes looked pained. Brows drawn, jaw clenched, his expression as severe as ever—and she was reminded of the man she’d fallen in love with on a little island off the coast of Maine. The man who’d lost it all. The man who’d protected her. Taken care of her. Loved her.

Closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around him. It was a simple gesture—a hug. She wasn’t sure who needed it more, him or her. Resting her head against his chest, she closed her eyes, feeling him press his lips to her hair. They stood like that for a moment. Just the two of them. And Reyna realized it didn’t matter where she was. It was moments like this that she lived for. The quiet ones in between events. When the whole world fell away and it was just the two of them. And she realized there would be fewer of these moments here, in Corelia. That was the real future she mourned. The little moments in the bath, walking through the woods, swimming in the pond—teaching him to paddleboard, introducing him to new foods. She wouldn’t mind so much being under the sea so long as she still got to have moments like that. Where he taught her new talents or cooked for her, as he once had.

She needed that kind of connection, and she always would. But more than that, she wanted it for her child. She wanted the quiet moments. She wanted the calm.

How was she to reconcile with its absence?

“Reyna!”

Her eyes popped open to see Arthur advancing on them, fists clenched, his lips thinned into a grim line. His eyes were on fire.

In one swift motion, Orm threw his arm out, sweeping her behind him and shielding her with his body. “That’s close enough!”

“You mother fu—!” Arthur threw his arm back, aiming his fist for Orm’s face.

Guards came out of nowhere—in full water suits. One for each arm and one for his torso. They managed to keep him from hitting Orm, but he didn’t budge from where he stood. Locked in place, Orm gently pushed Reyna back, heading toward the bedroom from which they’d just emerged.

“Arthur!”

“That’s enough!” Reyna felt her cheeks heat at the command—for it came from her lips, and it did sound rather queenly. “Arthur,” she hissed, pushing Orm’s arm out of the way. “What are you /doing/?” That part sounded less queenly. She was the irritated little sister of his again, embarrassed by his brash behavior.

“Well, I,” he sputtered, furrowing his brow at her. “Rescuing you?”

“Is that so?” She asked, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “Well, you missed the deadline, I’m afraid.”

Suddenly surrounded by her family, Reyna felt emboldened. She felt more like herself than she had in weeks. Stepping forward, she offered them a pointed stare. “Everyone sit down. I need to talk to you,” she looked back over her shoulder at Orm, who was slowly approaching her. “All of you.”

——

Reyna was furious with him. That much was crystal clear. But he really couldn’t take her seriously in that dress. It flopped around her like she was a flower—one of the roses polluting the air with their cloying scent. She crossed her arms, and the plumes of fabric shifted and swayed, waiting for them to take their seats.

“You look ridiculous,” was all he could manage to say, not moving from where he stood.

“I know,” she snapped, her eyes darkening.

Orm frowned, casting her a sidelong glance. “I don’t think you look ridiculous,” he whispered, reaching out to touch a piece of the wispy pink fabric.

“I look like a stick of cotton candy,” she said, easing her tone just a little.

“I don’t know what that means,” Orm murmured, perplexed.

“I’ll explain later,” Reyna said, brushing past him to take a seat. It scraped against the floor as she pulled it out, huffing as she sat. Orm followed her lead, seating himself at the head of the table. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he did so, reaching out to grasp her hand, she took it, though she still seemed irritated.

/Gross./

There was no way this was his Reyna. There was /no way/. “What is this—”

“I said sit!” Reyna snapped, turning to glare at him.

Okay, maybe it was her.

Mera was the first to bend at the command, picking the seat on the other side of Reyna. “How far along are you?” She asked. “I mean, it’s good to see you, Reyna. You seem okay, I’m glad. We’ve all just been very worried. The news of your abduction was…and then the pregnancy…”

Reyna closed the space between them, resting her hands over Mera’s. “It was shocking for me, too, to say the least. I found out I was pregnant shortly before Queen Mesmeria’s men came for me. I tried to reach you, Arthur. I went to the house, but no one was there. Tom’s boat was gone. I tried to call,” she shook her head. “I knew I was in danger—someone had left a threatening message—a few, to be frank,” she said, glaring at Orm.

Orm scoffed, arching a brow. “Teaching that cretin a lesson was not a message, it was a necessity.”

“Be that as it may,” she hissed. “Certain /conflicting/ information led me to believe that I was in danger. On so many levels. So I boarded the ferry—afraid and alone.”

“I’m so sorry,” Atlanna murmured, taking a seat at the table. “We didn’t know.”

“Neither did I,” her expression grew fraught. “Tom should really be here for this. Wh—where is he? I thought he was supposed to be here?”

“We thought it best to survey the property before he descends,” Atlanna said, voice soft. Though she wore a smile on her face, it didn’t meet her eyes.

“Yeah, just in case the place was booby trapped,” Arthur agreed, somewhat jokingly. Mostly seriously. “Or…just a plain old trap.”

“It’s not a trap,” Reyna insisted, seeming distraught.

“Please, go on,” Mera urged. “It’s better to get it out now, with us, first. We may have some questions regarding the attack that would only confuse him.”

“Confuse him? What’s confusing about it? The ferry was attacked. The captain was killed by a…some kind of creature, with a tail and gills and—”

“The Fisherfolk,” Orm said slowly, looking at Reyna with a measure of concern. “Can be quite jarring, I’m told, to those seeing them for the first time under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, they sank the vessel while Reyna was still on board. My men and I managed to extract her, unharmed for the most part.”

“For the most part,” Arthur repeated, crossing his arms. He still hadn’t joined them at the table—he was the only one still standing.

“Well, she was clearly traumatized—”

“I’m five months pregnant, Arthur. I was more than two months along when Mesmeria’s men tried to kill me. For the sole reason of /being/ pregnant. They sent threats to my house.”

“Yeah, you wanna explain to me how you got pregnant to begin with? I mean, you expect me to believe that you two?” he pointed between the pair, but he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “Ugh,” he shuddered, leaving the question open-ended.

“I thought you’d be pleased,” Orm said, smiling. “With Reyna by my side and our child flourishing, we strengthen your claim. We strengthen Atlan’s line. You have an unyielding ally. I will back you as the chosen one and provide you with support in your endeavors. And you will give us Corelia in return. You will give it to me for her, and for your nephew.”

“See, that right there—that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” now it was Arthur’s turn to smile.

“I know why this upsets you, Arthur. And Orm, my son, shame on you for using the woman you love in this way,” their mother spoke. “But—”

“Using? I am not using her, I am blessed with her heart,” he said, taking her hand and placing her palm firmly on his chest. “She is my redemption. Everything I do now is for our son. Is for his safety. You all failed to protect her, time and time again. Not I. And beyond that, Atlantis needs this. Your people are on the brink of civil war. This serves us all. Deny it,” he said, looking at Atlanna. “Deny the supremacy of my plan.”

No one spoke.

“We did not intend for this to happen,” he claimed, “our child is a blessing, albeit an unexpected one, and we refuse to see him as anything but a blessing. Am I clear?”

“We’ve both needed time to adjust,” Reyna added, beseeching him. “We didn’t intend for any of this. It sort of just…”

Orm smirked as she gazed at him.

“Happened,” she finished, rolling her eyes slightly.

“After a while,” Orm purred. “It got harder and harder to resist the damsel repeatedly in distress.” he turned his gaze towards the crowd. “Especially when she kept repeatedly saving me from myself.”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough of this crap. Your plan might be backed up with good points, but you were still shady as fuck in it’s execution. You still went behind my back. You still /lied/. Again.”

“As if you would have given us your blessing?” Orm shouted, rising to his feet. “As if you had the authority to stop us? Since when is it the duty of the king to play matchmaker to landsmen and exiled nobles?”

“She’s my sister, for fuck’s sake!”

“And she chose /me/.” He seethed, smiling. The smug bastard was rubbing it in, like salt in an open wound. “It seems only fair, doesn’t it?”

“What?” Arthur asked, caught off guard by the question.

“Fair?” Mera repeated quietly, looking puzzled.

“You took everything from me. Well, brother, I think it’s only fair I take something of yours in return.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 34: Three Sheets to the Wind
Song List:
Trap (J Paul Mix) by Elizaveta
I Wanna Be Yours (Violin) by Joel Sunny

“My Queen, we’ve found them.”

“Excellent,” Mesmeria purred, staring out at the dark waters. “The fools led us directly to their keep.”

Arthur may be Atlan’s chosen, but he was stupid—a brute, who understood only one language: violence. Well, if that’s what it took to get what she wanted, she’d speak its tongue. She’d send him a message he’d never forget, taking what her kingdom was owed—blood.

“My people were robbed of justice, for our king. We fought beneath the Ocean Master, forced to partake in a war we never wanted. Shackled with a destiny we despised. Yet we continued on. And when Atlan’s chosen rose amid that strife, riding upon the waves of the great sea monster of legend, we knew what it meant. All the signs pointed to the fated king—Atlan’s one true heir, wielding the gifted trident. We Fishermen /understood/. We have always dedicated ourselves to the teachings of our kings, historians, and artists. We were loyal to the ancient way. Until that way was cast aside by the one man chosen by its most sacred law. He stole justice from us; ever since, I have fought to restore it. Orm Marius will pay for the murder of our beloved king, and Arthur, Atlan’s chosen, will hear our wrath and never again betray our esteemed kingdom. Together, we will right this wrong. Together, we will show Atlantis that our kingdom will not go quietly. We may vie for peace!” She cried, her words echoing over the crowd. “But that does not mean we won't settle for war. Today, we rise to the occasion! Today, I call you, Fishermen! I call you to war for our fallen king! I call you to war for your kingdom! I call you to war for revenge!”

The lights of her warships lit as one, revealing the army that had accompanied her to this place at the end of the world. This gentle, tropical oasis.

Corelia.

“We will set fire to it all.”

Cheers rose all around her, as her people cried out in unison, hungry for revenge.

“Take them down.”

——

“Now that initial introductions have passed, we may move forward with negotiations. Tomorrow morning, the council will convene before this court to greet our guests. Atlan’s chosen will be given a seat of honor, as will the dowager queen Atlanna and King Nereus. Princess Mera and the attending council members of Atlantis will be seated adjacent to the rulers, as per tradition dictates. Are you listening?”

Delphine was cross, hands on her hips.

“Of course,” Orm said, scratching his chin. Reyna had been quiet since they’d disbanded after dinner—an abysmal endeavor, but a start, all the same. “It could have gone worse, I think. No one left bleeding.”

“Not physically, no,” she agreed. “Though I’m sure a few egos were bruised. And one heart certainly appears in need of mending.”

“We need to schedule her meeting with Tom Curry; they must speak. Reyna needs to reestablish her connection with their inner circle.”

“It will go a long way,” Delphine agreed, glancing outward at the dark chamber. The council room was empty. The water, void of sunlight. It was eerie. Too quiet. “What of Seaton and Sian?”

“The other members of the Marius faction would only complicate matters. My mother is no fan of Seaton’s. She won’t even consider any opinion that seeps from his mouth. She’ll see it all as poison. Sian is much the same. Vortia, maybe. She and Mera were close as girls. My mother always treated her kindly, likely out of pity.”
“Vortia has always commanded respect from those around her. I doubt it was pity,” Delphine countered, swimming back and forth around the table perimeter. “I think you need to ask for forgiveness.”

“What?” Orm snapped, turning cold at the idea.

“I believe it would illustrate a measure of growth on your part, to Arthur and Atlanna. And to reject that forgiveness…now that would be,” she inhaled slowly, smiling slightly. “That would be freeing enough for our cause to break new ground.”

“Explain.”

“We entreat. We offer all they could desire—give them what they want. If they accept, we vie for Corelia and settle for nothing less. We hold the sister and nephew to the king. You remain the second in line to the throne. We have the power, whether or not they want to admit it. If they deny us, we use that power to strike. We use it to take what we are owed. We use it to win.”

——

“I think that went well,” Vortia said, sounding chipper.

“You weren’t even there, how would you know?” Reyna asked, fiddling with the fronds of her dress. “Can you help me get this thing off? It’s driving me insane.”

“Thank Atlan, you finally asked! You look like a glorified beta fish.”

“I know,” Reyna grumbled, shrugging out of her sleeves.

Vortia laughed under her breath, quickly helping Reyna to disrobe. She groaned involuntarily as she stepped out of the gown, her stomach weighing on her.

“Does the child pain you?” Vortia asked.

“Pain—sometimes I feel discomfort. Or nausea. Right now I’m just tired. He’s heavy.”

“Does it frighten you?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. “The…idea of bringing life into the world? Of /creating/?”

“It did, once. Both my parents are dead. I have no blood relatives left to speak of. Arthur and Tom are the only family I have. If I’m honest, having a child will be like having a piece of my parents back. There will be more of them. More of me in the world. To someone who has been alone since she was a girl…that means something. Maybe it means everything. I am not afraid to have the child, but I'm afraid of what I’m leaving him with. There’s so little left in the world of his mother’s family, and his father’s legacy is so tainted. This world is too big. Much bigger than what I could want for a child. That frightens me, Vortia. Not the birth. Not the child. Merely the life he will lead. Is that horrible?”

“No, Reyna. I think that’s very fair. Very fair indeed.” She was quiet for a moment, lingering near the window. It was obvious that Vortia was uncomfortable in the airy landscape, even if submerged beneath the sea. Still, she remained. Maybe out of duty. Maybe even out of affection. Reyna couldn’t tell.

Vortia opened her mouth, her shoulders tensed. “Do you love him?” She didn’t meet Reyna’s gaze as she posed the question, merely stared out the window at the dark waters surrounding them.

There were so many lies scattered there. Manipulations, calculations, and deceits. Reyna resigned from adding one to this day. At least, not between her and Vortia.

“Yes…I do.”

Her shoulders rose and she sucked in a breath. “Does it help? Does it justify the coercion? Does it make his bullshit feel any better?”

Silence rang between them like a gong. The seconds pounded away, each poised as though they were standing upon the edge of a cliff.

“No.”

——

“You can’t be serious.”

“Arthur, he loves her. That much is known. It’s decreed, required even by the sacred magics of our people. Reyna would be dead, otherwise.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t excuse the conniving bullshit that preceded the events of her change. He’s a schemer, mum. He loves her, and she’s a part of his plan. Both can be true.”

“How very wise of you, my sweet son.” Atlanna conceded, folding her hands over her lap. Their sleeping chambers were lavish...were lovely, by design. Orm, her second son, was certainly putting on a show. Though she believed it was more than that. He was impressing upon his family his ability to provide for his wife and child. He wanted independence. How better to convince Arthur of that? “But you overlook the desperation of a father attempting to provide a better life for his son—for the mother of his child!”

“Maybe,” Arthur conceded. “Maybe, I don’t know. There are too many layers for my taste. Give it to me straight. Always. In my opinion? If you have to hide your truth behind that many levels of crap, your purpose is likely just as shoddy. Orm has grown. I see that. But he’s still not there yet, mum. There’s still too much darkness in him. Not even Reyna can battle that back. Whatever this situation is, it’s a trap. Whether for me or her, I don’t know. Either way, someone’s caught. It’s up to me to determine who.”

“That’s pessimistic, son.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But in my opinion, everyone here is drunk off hope.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 35: Belly Up

Song List:
Alive Again by Reed Wonder & Aurora Olivas
dark things by STARSET
Eyes On Fire by Blue Foundation

*Two Years Later*

“…Just, unbelievable footage coming in from all around the world. Good evening, folks. In the past five months we’ve seen an extraordinary rise in temperatures reported around the world. And that has resulted in some of the wildest weather we’ve ever seen. Yes, this is thunder snow in Dallas, Texas. Visibility is near zero, and there’s more snow expected tonight than Dallas usually sees in an entire year. It’s only one part of a worldwide weather phenomenon unlike anything we’ve ever seen before.”

“Admiral Avenell…”

Reyna stood with her back propped against the wall, arms folded over her chest, just as cross as she was. The television set droned on, picking up on channel frequencies above the surface. It was bad news. Then again, it was always bad news these days.

“Admiral Avenell,” the grunt repeated, doing his best to keep form. “I’m told to notify you, there’s been another plague outbreak. King Arthur and Princess Mera have been called to court. The ninth tride suffers infection rates we’ve not seen in centuries. The contagion is spreading rapidly—”

Reyna listened to the grunt as he droned on about the spreading sickness of the sea. She listened to the news anchor on the screen, too, as she detailed the weather anomalies rampant upon the surface. There was a connection. But Reyna couldn’t pin it down. No one could. The world was rapidly approaching a precipice…a turning point in which the environment, both the land and the sea, would be irrevocable changed.

/Just like he feared…/

She shook her head, casting thoughts of him away. Turning her attention back to the problem at hand: environmental catastrophe, a plague, and kingdom ready to revolt, and a family that required protection, same as always.

So here she was. Floating like a buoy…waiting to snare an intangible prey. Waiting, drifting, bobbing…helpless in the worst way. For she did not even know who or what to call enemy.

“Scientists are at a loss to explain. But the real question is, how long will it continue and how much hotter is it going to get?”

“Bad news,” Reyna murmured, not bothering to meet the soldier’s eyes. She remained staring transfixed at the holo-screen, thinking of Arthur. Thinking of Mera and Tom and Atlanna. Thinking of Junior and the toxic, fucked up world he was inheriting.

“Karshon has called an emergency council meeting.”

“Karshon,” Reyna spat, shaking her head. “Of course she did.” Of course she /would/. The woman was waiting for an opportunity to overthrow Arthur. Just itching to make a republic out of a self-supposed failed monarchy…

But it was failing. Reyna hated to admit it. But anyone could see. Arthur didn’t know what he was doing. Mera was a new mother, doing her best to council her husband, but it wasn’t enough. Which meant, Karshon was a threat. But she couldn’t be eliminated. She was head of the high council. Reyna grimaced, remembering Delphine. Her mistrust of council leaders was well placed, yet still unacceptable to the average Atlantean.

/Average.…that’s the operative word here, isn't it?/

What was she supposed to do? Who was she to rely on in moments like this? The council was a vat of self-serving leeches. People, creatures intent upon enforcing laws and regulations that suited their needs. Maybe some of them cared about the well being of the planet. But Reyna didn't. Not anymore. She’d given everything to that cause once or twice before. Whether or not it was entirely willingly. Nevertheless, she was done losing things to a doomed cause. Karshon wanted to seize power. But seizing power meant danger, it meant risk for Arthur and little Junior.

Reyna couldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t. She had nothing left to lose but them. So she was willing to risk all for them. But her knowledge of Atlantean alliances…of the sub currents and underlying forces, hidden agendas, and latent power was limited. The shrouded influence of Atlantis’s unseen agents plagued her like nothing before—insidious mysteries, hidden like venomous snakes in the garden, lying in wait to strike. She reviled them. She did her best to peal back the dark shrouds, pursuing dead ends and cornering agents, forcing them to her favor. Reyna, Admiral Avenell, had a job to do. But it wasn’t to defend the wall of the great kingdom. Nor was it to save the world. It was far simpler. It was to protect the perimeter of Amnesty Bay. It was to keep Tom and Junior safe. Which meant, no one kept secrets from her. And if they tried? She’d go to extreme lengths to extract them. Occasionally, she lost sleep. But when she did, she simply thought of Junior’s sweet face and all was well again. For he was worth it all.

It made sense that Arthur would put her in charge of the island’s security. Logically, she could see that. After everything. All the violence and the loss. There was no one more qualified for the protection of her nephew. But sometimes that meant crossing the line.

Reyna kicked off the wall, swimming toward the ships helm.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m seeking council of my own,” she declared, exiting the vessel. The doors groaned as they parted, granting her entrance to the abyss.

“Shall I report to the king?”

“No,” she snapped, glancing over her shoulder. “No, he has too much to worry about now. Too much on his plate. Bad news on bad news,” she muttered, eyes wandering the tides. Somewhere out there, he lingered, waiting for moments just like these, though she knew he hated it. Knew he hated her.

The world had changed. Orm was gone. Delphine was gone. Mesmeria was slain. And Vortia…

She closed her eyes against the burning salt. She couldn’t think of that now. She couldn’t think of Corelia. Everything had been turned upside down—lost in time, at the bottom of the ocean. She couldn’t change the past. No one could. But she could navigate the future—she could direct their path to safety, she only needed to ask how.

The plague was one thing. Navigating a pathological crisis was easy, organized. Aside from the rampant death, of course. But there were steps—clear and laid out. Clean, isolate, cure. But that wasn’t the problem. At least, not the true problem.

Reyna clenched her fists at her sides, bolstering her resolve. She hated to call on him. And she knew he despised her. But duty bound them. Duty, and spilt blood.

More would spill if Karshon had her way…and that blood wouldn’t just be hers…it would be Mera’s. It would be Arthur’s and God forbid, sweet Junior. Reyna would not allow that. Never. Not after everything she had lost.

She took off like a shot, treading with ease and great speed—like a true Atlantean.

Salt water and dark scenes rushed by as she shot through sea, salt water splitting at the seams. She didn’t have to go very far to find him. She never did. He had a habit of sticking close to her stations, following her like a poltergeist.

Reyna steeled herself as she drew near, pausing the catch her breath. The water in the cave was still ebbing with the tide, and a glimmer of light shown from above—a pocket of air. He’d be there. She knew he would. It was how he sought to punish himself for all his failing. All /their/ failings. They were one and the same in this. Held apart from the world they lived in. Tied together in shame.

As she emerged from the salt, face shining in the scant, scintillating beams of sunlight that pierced the gloom, he turned to face her.

“Hello, Urchin.”

“Sian.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 36: Hook, Line, and Sink[h]er

Song List:
Dynasty by Miia
The Hunted by Snow Ghosts
Decode by Paramore
The Winner Takes It All (Unplugged) by Natalie Madigan

How did this happen?

I’m not so sure I care anymore. I’m not so sure caring would make a difference.

The world was on fire. But the Earth continued spinning. People got out of bed, got dressed, ate breakfast, and went to work.

And I’d lost everything.

They attended meetings. Ate lunch. Went to doctors appointments. Went grocery shopping, maybe. Went to school.

And I was dying.

They were eating dinner and watching movies.

And I was dying.

The world was ending. My world. In blood and fire.

Fire underwater. Fire in my womb. Blood flowing—a river between my legs. Death. Death. Death…

“She’s burning up!”

Fire in my blood. Bones turning to ash. Flesh rotting, aflame.

“Someone, do something!”

I was drowning in fire. Drowning in flames. They filled my lungs, burning the oxygen away. The great sirens of the deep were dragging me down, pulling me under. Pushing me deeper and deeper into death.

I tried to scream, but I was choking on the petals of blood red flames, scorching my throat, burning me from the inside out.

“Reyna! Reyna, can you hear me?”

My eyes flew open at the sound of my name. “Orm?”

Light exploded around us. People were screaming. Or were they cheering?

Soft hands brushed the sides of my face, cupping my chin—and I knew we were doomed. We couldn’t be saved. It was all ending.

The sirens attempted to spare me, using death to cloud my mind, to set me free.

“Reyna, you need to live!”

My vision cleared, salt water spraying my eyes as we emerged from the sea. It didn’t burn. It didn’t blur, for I was of the sea as much as the fire now.

“Sian,” I murmured, as my vision cleared and his familiar face came into view. “Sian, where is he? Where is he?”

His fingers interlaced with mine as he peered down at me, lying still on the sand. He opened his mouth to speak as the tide ran out, crabs scuttling and gulls screeching. The sun was setting in a blazing red dusk, slowly disappearing beneath the horizon.

“Get to the ship!” Someone called.

My dress was heavy. I could smell iron. Iron everywhere. It soaked the sand in waves of red velvet, staining everything it touched.

My fingers were covered with blood, smearing red over Sian’s knuckles as he held my hand.

His eyes were angry, but his voice was soft as he spoke the words—a death sentence. “Corelia has fallen.”

——

8 Hours Earlier

——

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

“What are you talking about?” Vortia snapped, arms crossed. “This is what you wanted, isn't it?”

“Yes, but…” Reyna stared out at the sea, reading unseen currents. They were whispering to her. “Something in the water…” She tilted her head, entranced. “Something in the water says…”

Vortia pushed off the wall she’d been leaning against, staring at the queen-to-be. It was happening…right before her very eyes. The blood in her veins turned to ice as a chill ran down her spine. This was ancient magics—not born of the sea, but melded…warped, within her blood. Vortia didn’t know whether it was repulsive or…or…

“What does the water say?” She asked, slowly stepping forward, unable to deny her curiosity. “What is it telling you?”

“It’s telling me…it’s telling me…”

“/What/ is it telling you?” She couldn’t help the edge in her tone. Something in the way Reyna was staring through the glass window. Something in the way stood. It was too eerie. /Prescient./

“Hide.”

“Hide,” Vortia repeated, peering over her shoulder. “Does it say anything else?”

Slowly, Reyna turned her head to face her. Her eyes were glazed over, her hand at her neck. Shivers skittered over Vortia’s skin. The woman looked possessed. “We are not alone.”

Whatever Reyna was, whether an abomination or a new angel, Vortia didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Turning on her heel, she marched toward the end of the hall, and snatched the security com. As she held the microphone to her lips, she hesitated not one second. “Code black, I repeat, code black.”

“Code black,” Reyna repeated, whispering as her shoulders sagged. Her hands found her stomach, and she cradled the swell, rubbing her hands in circles over the mound.

“I need a medic and an evac team now. We’re heading to the transition chamber. The perimeter has been breached. Alert the fleet.”

“We’ve registered no threat—”

“I’m reporting one now. It’s registered. Now move.” Vortia hung up the com and dialed a new number. “Sian, we’re under attack. Get the king to safety, I’m moving Reyna to—”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What? No, I—”

He’d already hung up. Vortia huffed, but hung up the com and spun on her heel. She crossed the room in a matter of seconds, grabbing Reyna’s arm and hauling her towards the transition chamber.

“Where are we going?” She asked dreamily.

“We’re going to do what the water told you to do…we’re getting the hell out of here. We’re going to hide.”

——

Alarms tolled like bells in deep, undoing the peace that had formerly reigned at Corelia. The fortress was sound. Her people responded swiftly. After all, there was not one heir of Atlan shrouded behind its walls, but two: Arthur Curry and Orm Marius. The defense was strong. The grounds, impenetrable.

But there was one thing those within Corelia’s walls failed to consider. One thing that slipped their notice…

How far-reaching old alliances can stretch.

So confident Orm had been. So sure the Marius line was in their council, that they failed to notice the connection between Queen Mesmeria and one within their midst. A confidant. A childhood friend. A loyalist.

Delphine Coastaliano opened the gates to Queen Mesmeria’s troops. She alone laid open Corelia, an impenetrable fortress, to ruin. She alone was the undoing of its king. Traitor to the crown, loyal to a dear friend, and the desecration of the Marius line.

——

Fire raged beneath the waves, turning the water red. Time seemed to stop as Orm raced, futilely, to the terrarium.

“Reyna! Reyna?” He called, searching the empty rooms for the woman he loved.

But she was gone. The rooms were empty.

He stood at the window, overlooking the water, as bursts of color exploded, rendering the coral buildings to nothing more than rubble as his world came down. As everything he’d built for his unborn child was turned to ash.

There was nothing he could do.

“Orm!”

No. Nothing left. Nothing left to do but go down with his ship.

“Orm, we have to go now.”

Arthur’s voice was clear, but his message was hazy. Orm didn’t hear it. He didn’t hear anything. Not the bombs going off. Not the buildings crashing upon the sand. Nothing. The destruction was silent. The horror, muted.

“Orm!”

“I don’t know where she is,” he said softly.

“We’ll find her, but we have to get outta here to do that!” Arthur shouted, grasping his elbow and wrenching him towards the door.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not helping you,” he argued, throwing him towards the transition chamber. “I’m just…shut up and move, okay?”

The glass cracked behind them as they raced towards the exit. “Fuck!”

Water burst in, drowning the last bit of Reyna’s arid oasis in salt and brine. The force of the elemental invasion swept them both off their feet. Arthur emanated a slew of curses as he slipped beneath the surface, propelling himself off the wall and towards the now open sea. “Come on!”

“Do you even have a plan?” Orm demanded, following his lead.

“Don’t die!”

“/That’s/ the plan?” He barked, narrowly avoiding a falling chunk of coral.

A loud screech filled the sea, pinging off the coral and stone as a horde of Fishermen, armed with spears and water cannons, surged toward them. Orm clenched his fists. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and they’d lost all their defense.

“Yup, that’s the plan.”

——

“Where are we going?” Reyna asked, her voice breathy, distant, as if it belonged to someone else. She trailed behind Vortia, clutching her side, the weight of her child slowing her strides through the water, uncertain.

“The surface,” Vortia snapped, half-dragging her now. “Where the Fishermen won’t follow. Where /she/ can’t follow—ah!”

As the words left her lips, the water changed, and Vortia doubled over in the deep, clutching the hilt of the spear protruding from her side. The metal was lodged just beneath her ribs, blood blossoming like ink in the sea around her.

“Vortia!” Reyna cried, catching her before she collapsed. Her hands shook as she tried to hold herself upright. But it was too late.

Vortia’s breath hitched, jaw clenched tight as the shaft was suddenly ripped from her body. The soldier who had struck her gave a satisfied sneer, twisting the spear as he yanked it free. Vortia screamed—just once—and staggered forward, her body buckling under a fresh wave of agony.

But she did not fall.

The warriors bellowed in triumph, unaware they had only forged her resolve in fire. Because the Marius line did not fall easily. Every single one of their men had been a legend. And Vortia? She would be counted among them.

Reyna steadied her, eyes wide with horror and awe. Vortia looked up, steel bleeding into her gaze—and Reyna knew. She would not be walking away from this. But she would make it count. She would earn her place.

The temperature dropped, stinging cold against their skin. Shadows slithered like predators around them. And then came the sound: the clatter of armor, the deep hum of power-charged weapons. The water thrummed with bloodlust.

And at the center of it all… her voice.

/Queen Mesmeria./

Her silhouette sliced through the gloom like a dagger. Eyes sharp as onyx. Cold. Triumphant.

“Going somewhere, little usurpers?”

They were surrounded in seconds. Spears aimed. Trapped.

Reyna instinctively shielded her stomach, legs trembling beneath her. But something was wrong—terribly, sickeningly wrong. A sudden, tearing pain gripped her from the inside, like a storm breaking loose within her womb. She gasped, eyes wide, as warmth bloomed between her thighs. Her hands flew to her belly, but she already knew. Something was shifting. Slipping. Unraveling. The child she carried was being ripped away—taken by violence, by terror, by fate.

“You’ll never make it to the surface,” Mesmeria purred, her trident resting against her shoulder. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure what’s growing inside you gets… dealt with properly.”

Reyna sucked in a labored breath, pain blooming deep within her. Her body was already failing—too much blood, too much stress. She dropped to her knees, water caught in her throat.

Mesmeria advanced.

“One down,” she hissed with satisfaction, sensing the death of the child within her as she floated over Reyna’s limp, bleeding form. “And one to go.”

Vortia, shaking, half-conscious, reached for something—anything.

Her hand brushed the broken shaft of the spear discarded beside her.

She wrapped her fingers around it.

And moved.

With the last of her strength, she launched herself forward and drove the weapon into Mesmeria’s chest.

The Queen’s scream shattered through the deep.

Vortia snarled, twisting the blade, her eyes inches from her enemy’s.

“You won’t touch her,” she growled. “You won’t touch her child.”

They both sank together—one dying, the other already dead.

The sea roared around them, still burning. Still broken.

And then—Sian.

His soldiers burst onto the scene in a flurry of steel and fury, crashing against Mesmeria’s forces with unrelenting force, driving them back inch by inch. But he only had eyes for them.

He broke through the chaos, blood streaming from his temple, panic in his voice.

“Vortia!” he called, eyes sweeping the wreckage.

She was barely conscious, half-submerged in red-soaked sand.

Vortia looked up as he reached them, blood pouring from her mouth.

“Get her… out of here,” she whispered, pressing a hand to the gaping wound in her side and jerking her head towards Reyna’s fading form.

“Sister…”

“Promise me,” she rasped. “Protect her. Keep her safe. Don’t let them take what we died for.”

Sian met her gaze. And nodded.

“I promise.”

He turned, swiftly tucking Reyna’s slim and bloodied form against him, and then swam faster than he ever had before, kicking against the tide of smoke and wreckage. Toward the surface. Toward breath. Toward the fading light.

Vortia lay back, her limbs floating in the blood-warmed water. Triumphant. Satisfied.

And as her eyes closed, she smiled.

Chapter Text

Chapter 37: Forty Fathoms

Song List:
Royalty by Egged, Maestro Chives & Neoni
Let Me Sign by Robert Pattinson

The hall was silent except for the echoing voice of the tribunal. Orm stood shackled in iron, wrists raw, head bowed beneath the high arch of the Fisherman kingdom’s throne room. Water bubbled around him, filled with the sound of shouting bystanders enraged by his crimes. His once-golden armor was stripped, replaced with salt-stained rags. They wanted him to feel shame. He knew this.

Light filtered through long panes of sea-glass, dappling the floor in muted turquoise and gold. Mesmeria’s successor—young, stern, and cloaked in coral red—read the charges with clipped precision.

“Treason. Dereliction of sworn duty. The assassination of King Ricou, first of his name. Your insurrection led to the death of Queen Mesmeria, third of her name, who fell in battle against the flames of rebellion against the one true king, you helped ignite. These crimes stain the deepest trenches of our realm. By decree of the tides, and by the authority of the crown reborn, you are hereby sentenced to the Pit of Deserters. There you shall remain, nameless and forsaken, until even the sea forgets you ever drew breath.

Orm did not flinch. He welcomed the words like waves against stone. His shoulders sagged not from the weight of his chains, but from guilt heavier than the ocean floor.

Orm bowed his head. No protest. No plea.

He deserved no less.
——

“Reyna,” Arthur murmured. But she didn’t hear him. She only heard the crashing of the waves. The cry of the gulls. The music of Amnesty Bay, of a home she’d been torn from. But somehow, now, it was hollow. This life she’d led was lacking in every way.

“Reyna, he went willingly.”

“I know,” she said, hand hovering over her empty belly.

And somehow, that hurt more.
——

The Pit was older than the kingdom itself. Carved from the bones of the seabed, it was said to be where the gods threw their forgotten children. No light reached its stone corridors. No sound left its gates.

The Deserters were waiting.

Twisted shadows that once wore uniforms, now draped in dust and madness. They tore at Orm’s flesh with blunted teeth and broken bones. Drank of him. Beat him until he saw only water, a mirage in the endless pit of sand.

And in that darkness, in that suffering, came memory.

Reyna, asleep in her bed, at her cottage. Her books. Drinking wine and playing games, swimming in the sea.
The feel of her fingers, gripping his shoulders, just before he took her.

The way she whispered his name—not Orm, Oceanmaster, not the King of Atlantis—but just Orm, simple and aching and human.

He screamed once, not from pain, but from the weight of it all—the blood on his hands. The crown shattered in the wake of his silence.

And when the Deserters came again, he did not resist.

This was the cost of his failure.
This was what he owed.

For Atlantis.
For Reyna.
And for the child they never got to hold.

Chapter Text

Chapter 38: The Undertow

Song List:
Going Crazy by Kathel
Shadows by supwel

Orm scraped the dull blade across his cheekbone, peeling away weeks of the sand-caked beard one stroke at a time. He worked methodically, as if the act itself might rinse the filth of prison from his bones. As if reclaiming his face would somehow reclaim his pride.

The blade trembled slightly in his grip—not from weakness, but from restraint. Rage, when channeled, could be useful. Uncontrolled, it could get one killed.

Behind him, the currents still carried the scent of his brother, the Pretender. Although, at this point, he’d served as King long enough that Orm supposed he wasn’t pretending anymore. However, it helped knowing how tragic he was at performing the job.

Orm sneered, and the blade bit deeper than he intended. A ribbon of red bloomed in the saltwater at his feet. Fitting.

Maybe it didn’t help, actually. Maybe it was all the more maddening that Atlan had chosen an imbecile over him, the one true heir, son of Queen Atlanna and King Orvax. The only pureblood heir.

Imbecile. He’d rather rot in a Desserter pit than owe that man anything. Yet here he was—alive because Arthur decided it suited him. Dragged out like some half-starved dog, all for the sake of a kingdom that discarded and betrayed him.

He let his hand fall to his side, still gripping the blade, and stared into the reflection below, jaw clenched. This wasn’t who he was. This wasn’t who he wanted to be.

For a moment, Reyna’s face flickered in the mirror of the water—kind eyes, gentle hands, earthy hair that moved like silk through the tides. He’d betrayed her too, hadn’t he? Left her to grieve alone when their unborn child died. He hadn’t known. And when he had known, he hadn’t known how to come back from it.

That grief had hollowed her out. And it had hardened him.

He plunged his head into the water, letting the final strands of hair drift away like kelp severed from the reef, banishing all traces of her reflection. Then he reached for the wetsuit Arthur had given him—sleek, black, armored in Atlantean alloy. He hated how good it felt. Like purpose.

He pulled it on in silence, each movement a form of surrender he refused to name.

He didn’t need Arthur. He didn’t need redemption. But he would see this threat through, ensure the safety of a kingdom that had forsaken him, and when the time came…

When the time came…

What?

Orm looked around. The sea cave offered a dark pocket of air. They’d swum up into it from a shallow passage completely submerged in water. There was only one way in or out, and it was inaccessible by land, open only by a tiny crack high above, offering a glimpse of filtered moonlight.

The suit clamped at his spine with a hydraulic hiss. Orm rose from the rock, newly shaven, newly dressed, still every bit the fallen king. But unsure of the path that lay before him. Unsure of the man he was now.

“You clean up all right,” Arthur said, invading his train of thought. “For a guy who looked like a drowned jellyfish an hour ago.”
Orm didn’t look at him. “Your sense of humor remains as dull as ever.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?” Orm turned then, eyes cold. “Rescuing me from a grave you helped dig?”

Arthur didn’t flinch. “Still blaming me for everything, huh?”

“I blame you for what’s yours,” Orm said simply. “And I blame myself for what’s mine.”

Arthur gave a tight nod. “Fair enough.”

The reef moaned in the distance, tectonic shifts echoing through the deep—echoing through the empty, stone chamber like a whale song. The silence between them was thick, filled with the ghosts of everything unspoken. Orm approached the water’s edge and watched the sand through the distorted shimmer of water.

“You didn’t come for me out of brotherly love,” he said. “You need me. Just say it.”

“I do need you,” Arthur said. “I need the best damn strategist Atlantis ever had. And whether I like it or not, that’s you. Plus, you have experience with Manta. The devil you know who knows the devil you know is…the guy you break out of prison, apparently.”

Orm scoffed under his breath. “I suppose it helps that I don’t want to see my nation fall to fire and ruin, in the wake of your idiocy!”

“Good,” Arthur said, ignoring the insult. “Then we’re on the same side. That’s all I need right now.”

Orm turned his face slightly, eyes unreadable, and asked the question gnawing at him. “When this is over… what then?”

Arthur hesitated. “Then we figure it out.”

It was by no means a good answer. But was there a good answer to that question? Orm faced returning to prison. He faced exile. He faced…what? What kind of life could he expect outside of punishment?

“I assume there’s a plan,” he said at last.

“There’s the beginning of one,” Arthur said. “Get you out. Go from there. Together.”

Orm snorted. “Together,” he repeated, the word tasting like brine and ash. He gave a single, curt nod. “Don’t expect me to like you.”
Arthur offered a dry smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Orm started to move past him, but paused—just a moment—his gaze lifting toward the surface far above. The sliver of moonlight. Something flickered in his expression then. Grief, maybe. Regret. Something he would not name, especially not here, especially not with Arthur. The pain was still there, hollow and sharp, but buried deep. He hadn’t spoken of her since the day he’d lost her…them. He couldn’t. It would undo him.

Arthur didn’t press. He watched his brother in silence, recognizing the ache even if he didn’t understand it fully.

“So, where do we start?”

“I have an idea,” Orm revealed, somewhat cryptically. “Ever heard of the Sunken Citadel?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 39: Tidebound

Song List:
The Summoning by Sleep Token

The air shimmered with brine as the currents whispered past them, the kelp towers swaying gently in the tide. Moonlight cut in pale slats through the surface above, casting both of them in cold silver.

Reyna stood at the edge of the overlook, a swath of dark cliff rising over the abyss, arms crossed tight over her chest, as if she could keep her thoughts from spilling into the sea around her. She hadn’t spoken to him in days—not properly. Not since the news. Not since Arthur made the call.

Sian approached slowly, not like a soldier now, but something quieter. More dangerous.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

She didn’t turn. “You’ve been easy to avoid.”

His jaw ticked, and he stopped a pace behind her, hands loosely clenched at his sides. He’d taken off his armor—an uncommon thing—and floated in a simple training vest, hair slicked back from a recent patrol, eyes sharp as ever.

“And here I thought we trusted each other.”

She laughed, short and bitter. “You thought wrong.”

Silence bloomed between them like an old wound reopened.

“You think I wanted this?” he said after a beat. “You think I don’t feel conflicted about Arthur freeing him?”

“But you won’t stop him, will you?” she asked, turning now, gaze a challenge, one hand at her hip. “No. You won’t. None of us ever do. You follow orders. You follow bloodlines. You follow ghosts. And me? I just follow my stupid heart.”

His expression twisted. “You don’t know what I follow.”

“I know enough.” Her voice cracked like stone under pressure. “I know what happened the last time I trusted someone with Marius blood.”

His shoulders flinched. Just slightly. Enough.

“I’m not him,” he said, low. “I’m not Orm.”

“But you’re still loyal to him.” Her voice was quieter now. Raw. “And I can’t—”

She turned away again, hand coming up to press against her temple. She could feel the memory of it—the way Vortia died for her. The child she’d lost. The way Sian had pulled her from the wreckage, carried her through blood and fire like she was already dead.

And yet… he was here. Still.

“I don’t blame you,” he said, finally. “For hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she whispered.

That hurt more somehow.

“Then what is this?” he asked, stepping closer. “What are we doing?”

She swallowed. The space between them was thinner now—charged with something ancient, electric. Her skin remembered the way his hands had held her. The way he looked at her like he wished he didn’t…/want/.

“You want something that can’t exist,” she said, interrupting the chain of thought she didn’t want to acknowledge.

His voice dropped, hoarse. “I never said I wanted anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

Another beat of silence passed.

Then, barely audible, he murmured, “Tell me to stop.”

The words hung between them, aching.

Reyna didn’t move for a long moment. She could feel it now—feel it fully—the pull of her blood, her power. That old, endless song thrumming in her bones. The part of her that wasn’t soldier or woman or even human—but /siren/. The part born of salt and storms. The part that sang to men whether she wanted it to or not.

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cleaved through the water like a blade:

“Stop.”

Sian’s jaw locked, eyes flickering with a pain he couldn’t name. He stepped back immediately, as if woken from a trance.

Reyna exhaled, long and slow, like she’d been holding it for years. “It’s not you,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “It’s me. This… whatever this is… it’s not real. It’s blood magic. Old power. You’re feeling something that was never meant for you.”

“I know what’s real,” Sian snapped, but the fire dulled too quickly. He swallowed hard, gaze dropping. “I think about you when I shouldn’t. I want to protect you. And maybe I’d want you even if you didn’t glow like the sea when you breathe. But I don’t know anymore. I don’t know. And I don’t think I care.”

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

There was no safe answer.

Finally, he nodded once. Resigned. Ashamed. “I’ll see to the perimeter.”

He turned, armor whispering against his skin as he moved, and for a moment, Reyna let herself ache for the man he might’ve been, in another life. A life where she hadn’t been born half-ocean and haunted. A life where grief hadn’t made her dangerous.

Sian took three steps before freezing, his spine rigid. The water around him trembled faintly, as if responding to a silent storm in his chest. Then he turned—sharp, sudden—and the look he gave her was not the softened sorrow of moments before. It was fire, restrained only by grief.

“Gods, Reyna,” he hissed, “you don’t get to shut me out and pretend this doesn’t matter.”

She stiffened. “I told you to stop—”

“And I did,” he snapped. “But don’t act like that makes you invulnerable. Or innocent. You think I want this? That I asked for any of it? That it doesn’t twist my gut every time I look at you and remember what we lost?”

That stopped her.

He advanced, not close enough to touch, but close enough for truth to crack the space between them. “Vortia died in my arms, Reyna. Screaming for blood. For vengeance. For you. And Orm…” His voice broke, then hardened again. “He’s not even dead, and still somehow, we grieve him.”

“I know,” she said hoarsely.

“No. You don’t.” His eyes gleamed—fury and heartbreak. “Because you keep pretending your power is just a curse when it could be a weapon. You could make them grieve. All the ones who took her. Who broke him. You could command them—split the sea with a whisper.”

She swallowed hard. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he said. “You are Atlantean. You’re a soldier. And you’re something more. Something the rest of us barely understand, but we need it. We need you. Not just as a scout. Or a shield. As a godsdamned blade.”

A beat passed. His breathing slowed, lips parted like he wanted to take it all back. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. “They took everything from me that night,” his voice was deadly soft, promising ruin. “Not just my prospects, my station…but my whole family. My sister, my cousin…my father,” he choked, his eyes scalding. “All that’s left to me is you. All that remains of them is us. Now he might be coming back. Are you going to let it depend on Arthur Curry and the changing tides of his whims? Or are you going to fight?”

“I—I can’t control it, Sian!” She stammered, protesting.

Sian held her gaze with his ocean eyes, seeing through her skin and into her soul. “Then it’s time you /learned/.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 40: Tropic Thunder

Song List:
Seven Nation Army by The Glitch Mob Remix
No Church in the Wild by Jay Z & Kanye West

They cut through the water like twin spears, slicing past volcanic vents and sunken ridges, the ocean around them growing darker, sicker. Orm could smell the metal before he saw it. Orichalcum—sharp, acrid, corrupting everything it touched. The current itself seemed to recoil.

Ahead, the water shimmered with an unnatural sheen, as though the sea were rejecting the very island they approached. Black Manta’s poisoned throne.

“Faster,” Arthur said, his voice a low rasp over the rushing water. His arms sliced through the water like blades, propelling him forward with otherworldly speed.

Orm didn’t answer. He surged ahead, unwilling to follow Arthur’s lead even now, especially now.

The island loomed in the distance—once uncharted, now festering. The coral was wrong. The sand blackened. Fish floated belly-up along the reef’s edge, like drifting, polluted poltergeists.

“He’s turned it into a grave,” Arthur muttered, eyes narrowing behind as they drew closer. “Everything within a five-mile radius is dead.”

“He doesn’t care who dies. That’s what makes him powerful,” Orm said tightly. “And dangerous.”

A pause.

“You just described yourself a few years ago, you know?”

Orm turned his head sharply, scowling as water rippled over his features. “Spare me the redemption arc. We’re not doing this. Not now. Not ever.”

“You sure?” Arthur shot back as they hurdled like cannon fodder through the surf. “Because last I checked, you’ve got the same look in your eye I had when I thought I could fix Dad’s old outboard motor with a wrench and a prayer.”

Orm let out a humorless laugh. “So predictable. Aren’t you? When the going gets tough, you flex your muscles, toss out poorly prepared metaphors, and pretend this is all some bonding experience. But make no mistake, brother—we are not the same.”

Arthur’s face hardened. “No, we’re not. You wanted to drown the surface world. I’m trying to save it.”

Orm's eyes flashed. “And now I’m /helping/ you do exactly that. So perhaps you should just shut up and swim.”

For a moment, they moved in silence, the only sound the beat of their muscles and the whisper of their scant weapons humming at their hips. The water around them buzzed with tension—personal, political, and planetary.

Orm was the first to speak again, quieter this time. “If we fail, Atlantis falls. The surface chokes. He must be stopped. No matter the cost.”

“Then we don’t fail,” Arthur said, grinning stupidly. “What could go wrong?”

Chapter Text

Chapter 41: The Siren's Wake

Song List:
Breathe Me by Sia

The sea was wrong.

Not just tainted—poisoned. Not just wild—wounded. Something beneath the surface twisted with every tide, unseen and ancient, older than Atlantis itself. It sang in frequencies no surface ear could hear, and no Atlantean had dared interpret. But Reyna felt it. Not in her mind. In her marrow.

She stood alone on the shore as the sun bled out across the horizon, casting a copper sheen on the churning surf. Froth hissed at her bare feet. The sky bruised from plum to black. And all around her, the water shimmered with the hints of orichalcum—not gold, but something darker. False light. Corruption, veiled in radiance.

She hadn't told Arthur what the ocean was saying. She didn't tell Sian, either. Because how could she? She barely understood it herself. It wasn’t language. It was instinct, pressure in her bones, ache in her blood. An invitation. A warning. A reckoning.

Her reflection, cast back from the black water, flickered. For a moment, it didn’t look like her at all.

"You're not sleeping."

The voice broke her trance. Reyna turned slowly.

Sian stood at the edge of the trees, shirt damp, arms crossed, jaw tight. He looked exhausted. Haunted. Like something was gnawing at the edge of his resolve. His eyes never left her.
"Neither is the sea," she replied.

He stepped closer, careful. "You're drawing power from it. I can see it in your skin."

She looked down. He was right. Her veins glowed faintly, lines of luminous blue dancing beneath the surface.
"I don't want this," she whispered.

Sian's tone sharpened. "You don't get to want or not want. It's inside you. It's part of you. And if you don't learn to wield it, it'll kill you. Or worse."
Her jaw tensed. "You think I don't know that?"

"Then stop pretending you're fragile. You were born of something terrible and beautiful. You are not a soldier. You're not a queen. You're not even fully human. But you are the only one of your kind. And Atlantis needs you."

His voice was shaking. Not with anger. With desperation.

Reyna's heart twisted. She didn’t want him to look at her this way—with longing, with reverence. It wasn’t love. It was her blood calling to him. That ancient, magnetic thing no one truly understood. Her siren nature. /Nymph./

"Sian..." She shook her head. "Don’t. You don’t want me. Not really."

He looked like he might argue. But he didn’t.

Instead, he said, "Then prove me wrong. Master it. Make it yours. Because if you don’t, what took Vortia will take you, too. And I can’t... I won’t watch that happen again."
They stood in silence, waves crashing against the distant rocks.

A sharp chime split the air—the emergency relay.

A scout stumbled breathless from the treeline, armor dripping. He collapsed to one knee.

"Manta activated a new node," he rasped. "Coordinates transmitting now. Arthur and Orm are en route. They need backup. Now.”

“Alert King Nereus,” Reyna clipped, squaring her shoulders, and standing so tall she thought her spine would snap in two. Every inch of her was rigid. “They’re closer, can get there faster…”
“And what of us?” Sian asked.

Reyna met his gaze, fierce and unyielding. “We hold the island. We protect the perimeter. If this place falls, the bloodline falls. Arthur and Orm can’t do this alone.”

Sian’s jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his features. “You’re asking me to stay behind while they face the storm.”

She nodded slowly. “Someone has to keep the fires burning here, or the whole kingdom goes dark. You know that.”
/We hold the heir to everything here./

He exhaled sharply, the weight of duty settling on him like a chain. He knew. Reyna didn’t need to say the words.

“Fine. But if they need me—if things go sideways, you can’t stop me, I’m going.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 42: Black Tides Part I.

Song List:
Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine

The cavern was collapsing.

Manta’s men were fleeing, shadows slithering through falling debris. Sirens blared behind them, swallowed by the groan of stone and fire as the compound cracked apart. And in the center of the ruin, Orm stood, bloodied and breathless, a smear of defiance amid the rubble.

Painfully, he pried himself off the rock that Manta had thrown him upon. His shoulder screamed with the burn of cauterized flesh, and each breath stabbed his ribs.
Somewhere—above, beyond—he could feel it: Atlantis had finally rallied. Their forces were coming.

/About damn time./

He staggered toward the water’s edge, hand pressed to his side. The tide had begun to seep into the dying stronghold, pulling broken tech and bodies into its depths. But Orm’s eyes weren’t on the ruin. They searched for something else—someone.

Arthur.

The last he’d seen of his brother, he had dragged Black Manta into the abyss, the two of them disappearing in a cloud of fury and vengeance. Orm had thought it might be the end.

It wasn’t.

He spotted movement beneath the shattered surface, a flash of aquamarine and fire-bright red. Mera.

He dove without hesitation, following the ultramarine light of her power… instinctively rallying for the win.

As he approached, he saw her eyes burning with panic, scanning, seeking—and then she was moving. A blast of her hydrokinetic power tore a path through falling debris. And there, beneath a slab of crumbling stone, was Arthur.

Orm didn’t hesitate.

He surged forward, pain forgotten. Mera was already at Arthur’s side, lifting the debris with her grandiose power. Orm dove in beside her, throwing his weight beneath the slab, teeth gritted against the strain. Between them, they freed him.

Arthur groaned as they pulled him out, his body limp, blood trailing in the water.

Mera faltered, still healing from her recent wounds.

“I’ve got him,” Orm said, voice rough. And he did.

Mera nodded, and together, they hauled Arthur toward the breach. The sea roared in, consuming the last of the facility. Manta’s poison still lingered in the air, a bitter metallic tang that clung to their skin.

The current pulled them upward, through the debris. Orm kicked hard, Arthur’s weight heavy against him. Mera surged beside them, guiding, clearing a path with her power.

They broke the surface into chaos—Atlantean forces swarming the cliffs above, Xebel banners cutting the storm. Beacons flared. War cries rang across the wind.

Orm coughed, dragging Arthur to the rocks. Mera knelt beside her husband, pressing her hand over a deep gash on his side, trying to slow the bleeding. Arthur’s eyes fluttered open—just barely.

Orm stood over them, silent, sea-slick and scarred.

It wasn’t loyalty that kept him there.

But it wasn’t hate, either.

As reinforcements surged around them, Orm looked back at the sea.

Somewhere, Manta had escaped. Somewhere, the next wound to the ocean was already being carved.

And Orm knew this wasn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

Chapter 43: Black Tides Part II.

Song List:
Bury a Friend by Billie Eilish

Orm surfaced with a gasp, blood-slick and coughing, as the waves pounded the jagged shoreline of the poisoned island. Beside him, Arthur sprawled in the surf like a drowned lion, groaning and coughing sea brine as Mera and the King of Xebel’s guards formed a tight circle around them. The battle was over. For now.

But the taste of ash still clung to Orm’s tongue. The ocean here tasted wrong. Metallic. Sour. Like death.

He hauled himself to his knees, hands scraping against broken coral and scorched kelp. Around him, armored soldiers from Xebel moved with sharp precision, scanning the perimeter for any remaining threats. Orm looked up to see King Nereus himself speaking in rapid, clipped tones to his lieutenant, eyes occasionally flicking toward the brothers.

Mera knelt beside Arthur, helping him sit upright. The tide surged again, washing blood away from the beach, though it did nothing to rinse the memory of how close Arthur had come to being crushed beneath the collapsing stone.

Orm looked away.

He hadn’t hesitated.

He should’ve. It would’ve been easier if he had. Let the ocean finish what it started. Let the crown pass. Let it all go.

But his body had moved on instinct, diving for his brother as Mera lifted the sinking stones with her power, dragging him from beneath the crumbling tower even as the roar of crumbling debris threatened to split the sea in two. It was muscle memory. Not loyalty. Not forgiveness.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He stood slowly, squinting against the setting sun. The red light stained the ocean, making everything look like blood.

Behind him, Arthur struggled to his feet, groaning, one arm draped over Mera’s shoulders. Their eyes met briefly, tired, strained. No thanks passed between them. Just a silent truce in the wake of survival. He didn’t meet Mera’s gaze either, though she only had eyes for her husband. The one truest to her heart.

Something old and ugly twisted in his gut, and Orm turned from them, walking toward the bluff, where a ruined outpost of the island jutted like a broken tooth from the shore. The wind howled through the shattered walls, carrying with it the faintest scent of orichalcum.

This place was dead. And yet it pulsed, beneath the surface, brimming with toxic life.

"He’s not done," Orm muttered. "This wasn’t the end. It was only the beginning."

He didn't realize he’d spoken aloud until Nereus stepped beside him.

"You're right," the king said, voice like polished steel. "But that doesn’t make you any less dangerous either.”

Orm didn’t answer. He stared out over the waves, jaw clenched.

“Ocean Master, Xebel never forgets her traitors. Now your name isn’t alone. Black Manta has joined your ranks.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 44: Black Tides Part III.

Song List:
Outro by M83

“But even with the ice cap melting, Kordax still can’t be freed. Atlan used blood magic to seal Kordax in his prison,” Mera declared, ruby hair rippling in the light of the warship’s orange glow, engines burning in the deep. “Only Atlan himself could release him.”

Atlanna quirked her chin, turning in Mera’s directions, as though the words pinged something vital in her brain. “Manta doesn’t need Atlan himself. Manta needs Atlan’s blood,” she rose from her seat, eyes widening. “Blood magic isn’t really magic, it’s DNA. The key to Kordax’s prison is the royal bloodline itself.”

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Orm perceived the tension in the room as though it were a real, visceral entity rippling between them. But he didn’t know what it meant. Glancing about the hull, everyone was so still, holding their breath.

“That means he needs blood from either you, me or Arthur. We’re the end of the bloodline,” he said confidently, assuredly. Arthur, himself, and his mother. Safe and sound in the belly of one of King Nereus’s massive war ships. Surrounded by an army that one, old, outdated battleship had no hope of standing against, no matter how sinister a weapon it carted.

“No, we’re not,” Arthur said.

Orm blinked. His pulse thundered. “What are you talking about?”

Arthur turned to Mera. She was white as bleached coral. “We need to get to Amnesty Bay! Dispatch a rescue team, now!”

The warship churned as the fleet obeyed her command, rallying around their queen.

“We have to get to Junior, now!” Mera said, grabbing Arthur’s.

Orm didn’t breathe. “Junior?”

Junior?

Suddenly, the air felt thinner than any trench. He staggered back a half-step, sea-slick and stunned.

“You—everyone—” Orm’s voice cracked, raw and bitter. “You have a son?”

“We need to move, now! Contact the security team…alert them to the threat!” Atlanna commanded.

“You all knew. The Council. The guards. The kingdom. And I didn’t?”

Arthur flinched. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Wasn’t it?” Orm snarled. “You’ve always had everything. The crown. The people. The glory. The /family/.”

Mera opened her mouth, but Orm turned away, jaw clenched tight against the tremor in his throat. This wasn’t just surprise. It was grief. It was rage. It was the fresh cut of an old wound torn wide again.

Because Orm had once had a son too.

And lost him.

Nothing could ever ease that pain.

And now, the universe twisted the knife: Arthur, the golden brother, had been gifted the very thing Orm had been denied—family, legacy, the continuation of blood.
But even through the storm of it—his failure, his fury—one truth rose like a tide that could not be ignored.

/A child was in danger./

The comms crackled. Urgent. Distant.

“Can anyone hear me?”

That voice.

Familiar.

Sharp-edged and desperate.

“I repeat, can anyone hear me? Come in, control. Come in—”

/Reyna./

The sound of her, fractured and breathless, pierced deeper than it should’ve. It pulled something visceral from him—something he’d buried, something ancient and protective and aching.

His breath caught. Around him, the others moved—Arthur barking orders, Mera drawing her blade—but Orm stood frozen.

Not just because of the voice.

Because of what it meant.

Because if Reyna was calling for help, then everything—everything—was already coming apart.

The comm hissed again, rain and static blurring her voice—until it broke through, clear and sharp as a blade.

“We’re under attack. The lighthouse has been hit."

Orm's lungs seized.

His eyes locked on Arthur, who froze mid-step.

“Junior?” Arthur’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I repeat—” Reyna's voice cracked with strain, with something dangerously close to panic. “—we’re under attack.”

“Reyna? Reyna!” Arthur was frantic.

“She can’t hear us…the comm is damaged!” Nereus declared.

“Send backup,” Reyna’s voice was growing fainter. Her pleas for help more desperate.

“Reyna!” Arthur barked again.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

Then chaos erupted.

Arthur lunged for the comm, shouting. Mera vanished in a whirl of water and fury. Guards scrambled. Orders flew.

But Orm? He was already moving.

The rage that had threatened to consume him moments ago turned molten, repurposed, redirected. He surged toward the sea with one singular thought driving him forward:

They will not take this child.

Not again.

/Not on my watch./

He dove.

Not for Arthur.

Not for the crown.

For the boy.

For the bloodline.

For the echo of the son he would never hold.

Chapter Text

Chapter 45: Seaward

Song List:
Broken Bones by KALEO
I Can’t Do This by K3NT4!
What Have They Done To Us by Mako and Grey

The truck rumbled along the dirt road, lights gleaming and tires dipping, splashing through the many potholes as Reyna made her way towards the lighthouse. Music croaked out of the speakers, singing of freedom and devils, two things Reyna was certainly familiar with. Rain hailed upon the windshield, making it difficult to see the ragged road rolling out before her.

The radio crooned, doing its best to compete with the heavy sound of falling water. “The Devil’s gonna make me a free man. The Devil’s gonna set me free.”

/Sure he is./

The overnight shift ended several hours ago, and she was due home to check in. It was the third shift she’d taken in a row. Normally, she wouldn’t be able to do something like that. But after the attack on the night market, and Arthur’s ploy to break Orm out of prison, Reyna couldn’t relax. The work wasn’t difficult, and time underwater didn’t seem to move the same. The lines between the traditional periods of night and day were blurred. And the more time she spent scouting beneath the surface, the less she thought about /him/.

Radio static came through the walkie attached to the roof of her car, picking up on the Atlantean military channel. She had it hooked up for emergency purposes, but occasionally some chatter came through, especially during stormy weather like this. “Off duty, tonight.” She muttered to herself. “All work…”

No play?

Time to play?

All work and no play makes Reyna a dull girl?

She certainly felt capable of shoving her head through a window. Going full Stephen King on the world.

“Shit,” she hissed, throwing the truck into park. The beacon at the top of the light house tower was barely visible through the monsoon wreaking havoc across the island. The storm was causing mayhem both above and below the surface. Reyna probably should be out there canvassing the perimeter for signs of threats. Though, there hadn't been anything in months. The kingdoms weren’t at peace by any means, but no attempts had been made to infiltrate the island of late. It made for more boring patrols but Reyna didn’t mind. It meant Junior was safe.

/Everything is fine, Reyna. Relax./

Arthur was at sea, tracking Manta. Mera was still in the Atlantean medical bay, healing. Atlanna was in a council meeting. It was just her, Tom, and Junior—and well past dinner time. Reyna wouldn’t be cooking anything tonight. Not like she once would have. Likely, she’d find the pair knocked out together on the couch, Tom with a bottle of Guinness still locked firmly in his hand. The TV droning on in the dark. She smiled slightly at the thought. Some things never changed, no matter how much the world did.

She needed to get there. She needed a bit of peace. A little dose of normalcy.

The engine revved as she threw it back into gear, and lurched upon the rain-soaked road.

The lighthouse came into view in flickers—ghostlike in the storm, a silver monolith swallowed and spit out by rain and lightning. Reyna leaned forward in her seat, squinting through the blur. The road curved sharply, and she took it a little too fast, tires skidding just enough to jolt her out of her head.

"Easy," she muttered, easing off the gas. “We’re not chasing ghosts anymore."

But weren’t they always chasing her? Orm. Vortia. Luna. Finn. And—

/No. Don’t think of him./

Shaking her head, she rolled to a stop before the lighthouse, headlights cutting across the cottage and front steps. No light from inside. Porch lamp dead. No sign of movement. Except for the door…

It was ajar. Wagging in the wind. Something obstructed it from opening completely. Instead, it knocked repeatedly, banging softly, over and over again.

All thoughts of ghosts, of her past, and the people she lost fled. There was only the sound of thunder, crashing waves, and a sick, ominous feeling hardening in her gut, like a sinking stone, as she watched that door swing back and forth, back and forth.

Lightning flashed once more, briefly illuminating the lighthouse in a haunting display as she slowly turned off the ignition, in a daze. The radio hissed its final breath, static giving way to silence as rain hammered the roof. For a moment she sat there, hands still on the wheel, eyes locked on the darkened windows, scanning the building for signs of life—for threats. Thunder booming. Ocean roiling. The stone…the feeling grew in the stillness.

Then the unthinkable happened.

Light blossomed within the house, growing like a poison flower…a shallow bud at first, then it popped, expanding quickly—and the roof blew wide, catching fire. Flames erupted out over the expanse and Reyna bit out a desperate, guttural sound as she snatched her gear, and launched from the car.

Her boots splashed onto the flooded gravel. The rain soaked through her jacket almost instantly, but she barely noticed. The wind howled like something alive, like something mourning.
She mounted the steps two at a time, breath tight in her chest. Then something snapped. All the pent up rage. All of Sian’s lectures and demands. All that she’d lost.

A cry of pure, unadulterated wrath emanated from her throat as she kicked the door open, drawing on all her pain, all her loss, all her anger.

“Tom? Where are you?!” She screamed, holding the back of her hand to her mouth, as smoke burned her eyes, and threatened her lungs with its scorching embrace.

Something laced the haze—burnt ozone and an acrid, metallic stench. Her stomach dropped.

“Tom?” she called, pushing forward into the living room, dodging the flames licking at her legs. “Tom!”

As if some poltergeist were stalking her, the electricity snapped back on. Bulbs shattered and sparked, illuminating the wreckage. The television flickered in broken silence—blue light stuttering across the walls, glowing against shattered glass and overturned furniture, as the fire spread rapidly.

Reyna rounded the corner—saw a Guinness bottle shattered on the floor—saw Junior’s pacifier—saw…

“Tom!” she dropped to her knees beside him, hands skimming over his side. Blood soaked through his flannel, dark and sticky. His pulse was thready beneath her fingers, but there. Barely.
“Reyna…” His voice rasped like sand. “They took him…”

Her lungs squeezed shut. Somewhere over head, a beam cracked. Insulation rained down around them. She ducked, covering Tom’s face and her head, as flaming wood and residue hailed in a fiery maelstrom.

“Reyna,” Tom choked.

“Junior?” she asked, already knowing. Already rising.

“Junior…”

She had lost her own once—the ache of it never left her. It just learned to live quietly beneath her skin. But Junior had cracked something open again. In his laughter, in the soft weight of him asleep against her chest, Reyna had remembered what it felt like to hope. To love without fear. And she would not—could not—lose another. Not him. Not this child. Not after everything. If she had to bleed for him, break for him, burn the world to find him, she would. Her grief had forged her into something unyielding. And she would wield that pain like a blade.

/I can’t control it, Sian!/

/Then it’s time you learned!/

Fine.

Tom coughed. Her hands trembled, pressing harder against his side. The wound wasn’t fatal—yet. But it was close. He couldn’t be moved far. She reached for her comm and pressed the emergency band.

“Can anyone hear me?”

No answer.

“I repeat, can anyone hear me? Come in, control. Come in. We’re under attack. The lighthouse has been hit. I repeat, the lighthouse has been hit, we are under attack.”

“I can…get…out…myself, but…Rey…na,” Tom choked, but the words weren’t coming so easily now.

“I know,” she murmured, pressing the button on the comms again. “Control, if you can hear me…I am in pursuit.” A tear rolled down her cheek as she said it. “Backup and medic requested at the Curry lighthouse, immediately.”

She pressed the comm into Tom’s hand, and he offered her a fleeting grimace of approval as she hauled him to his feet. “Go…”

She took off, sprinting toward the back porch, not waiting to make sure Tom made it out. There was no time. No question. No choice.

/Junior./

Rain sliced across her face as she burst outside. Her eyes scanned the shore. The rocks. The tide.

And then—there.

On the rocks below the lighthouse, half-shadowed by the storm’s fury, Manta moved like a serpent in the grass, slick and armored, Junior clutched tight in his grip. The child kicked and screamed, sobbing into the night, but Manta’s gauntlet was firm across his chest, pinning him with brutal efficiency.

“Manta!” Reyna’s voice cut through the roar of wind and sea as she barreled down the steps and onto the dock. He didn’t turn as she approached. He didn’t consider her a threat. He didn’t know what she was now.

Full of fear…full of rage, Reyna sprinted a few feet out onto the dock, grasped the railing, and then vaulted over the side. Her knees screamed in protest as her feet splashed in the ankle deep water.

Panting, she clenched her fists, standing firmly between Manta and his ship. “You’re not going anywhere,” she hissed.

Manta tilted his head, surveying her through the strange, alien helmet that shrouded his face.

“You remember me, don’t you?” She asked, taking a threatening step forward, water sloshing around her legs. “You tried to kill me.”

“Ah, yes…the siren. Late to the party, again.” His voice crackled through the comm, as he began his approach with renewed purpose. “You should have stayed dead.”

“Let him go,” she demanded, as her hands crackled suddenly, with the power she always denied herself. The power of the sea. She’d called it before, when she was…when she was pregnant. She used it to call Arthur. She used it to protect herself when the dome cracked. And when the Fishermen soldiers sank her ferry. Time and time again, her strange power had manifested, and she’d pretended like she didn’t know why…or how. But now…now, as the water answered her call, spiraling up around her in sharp, needled ribbons, she knew, the same way she knew, instinctually, each and every time it came, but this time, this time she meant it. This time she wanted it. This time she called it.

“Put him down.”

“Make me!”

She surged forward, throwing her arms wide. The water moved of its own accord, slamming into Manta with the force of a cannon, sending him skidding backward across the slick rocks. Steady tendrils caught Junior, guiding him to the safety of the shore…but no farther.

The flames from the burning house cast an eerie glow on the water, painting her skin in flickers of gold and blood. “I did die,” she growled. “And I brought something back with me.”

Manta laughed—a sharp, grating sound behind the filter of his mask. “Spare me the theatrics. You think rage makes you dangerous? You think pain makes you powerful?” He reached behind him, grasping his trident. “You’re not a warrior. You’re just a stupid little girl!”

Reyna surged forward, striking first.

Her fist collided with the armor plating of his chest, sending a shockwave through the water. Manta reeled but recovered quickly, kicking out and slamming her against one of the dock’s support beams. She gasped, the breath knocked clean from her lungs, but rose again, blood trickling from her lip.

“You’re bleeding,” he noted almost casually. “Fitting. I’ll leave this place soaked in Curry blood. Aquaman’s finally gonna get a taste of his own medicine.”

Reyna snarled, a low, unearthly sound that wasn’t entirely human. “You want blood?” she rasped. “Try mine.”

She lunged again—faster this time, dodging his blade and landing a solid blow beneath his ribs. He staggered, then quickly regrouped. Fire raged behind them. The dock groaned above them. Junior’s cries pierced the veil of the storm, rousing Reyna’s adrenaline—every second counted.

She broke away from Manta, stepping toward the shoreline as her vision tunneled. She had to get to Junior. She had to get the baby out of here—

“I don’t care what you are,” Manta spat, catching her by the throat and slamming her back into a piling. “You won’t stop me.”

Spirals of pressurized water, were already rising to her defense, primed to pry him away, until—

The sensation of metal invading flesh—scraping against bone—tearing her open. Shock took over, and Reyna’s eyes blew wide as she sucked in a haggard breath.

And then Manta twisted the knife. The final strike.

Her legs gave out from under her, as blood bloomed hot against her ribs. He held her there for a moment, laughing arrogantly, before he wrenched the blade from her side, throwing her into the surf.

She landed hard on her hands and knees, palms scraping against the rocks and choking back salty sea spray, caught in the moribund between land and sea.
“There won’t be a next time, Siren,” he bellowed, yanking Junior back into his arms.

“No!” she cried, crawling through the surf, but he had already disappeared beneath the waves. Reyna followed his lead, clutching her side as she chased him into the ocean. But she was wounded, and the ship’s magnetic field had already locked onto him, yanking him up and into the vessel as its turbines roared to life—his own private riptide granting him speed beyond what she was capable of…

Beyond what /she/ was capable of…

At least…on her own…

/It’s time you learned to control it…/

Releasing her bloodied side, Reyna stretched both hands out behind her, splaying her fingers wide, and through sheer force of will, commanded the water to get her there.

Pressure mounted all around her as the water swallowed her like an old friend. Cold, familiar, electric. She kicked hard, cutting through the tide toward the ship as it descended beneath the waves, into the deep. The engine was humming, lights pulsing as it began its descent.

One shot.

One chance.

She breached beside the stern, and slammed the pocket tracker she always kept on hand beneath the aft stabilizer, and kicked off hard—just as the propulsion field roared to life. The blast sent her spinning backward into the waves, but she surfaced fast, eyes locked on the shrinking shadow beneath the surf.
“Got you,” she hissed, spitting seawater.

And for the first time in a long time, she felt triumphant. She felt in control. Despite all the horror happening around her, Reyna had managed to control it…to manifest it.

She spit salt water, holding back tears of fear. She had to get back to base, so they could track the ship, call for backup. She couldn’t take them alone, especially not with this injury. She needed to alert the fleet to track the signal. They had to get him back. They had to.

Blood stained the water as she swam, but it didn’t slow her, though it should have.

She swam for the shore, faster than she’d ever moved before, once again using the water to propel her. Desperate…desperate to make it right. Desperate for a different ending. Desperate for redemption. She swam to the shore and emerged…

Just in time to see the others arrive.

Chapter Text

Chapter 46: Hot Water

Song List:
Human by Rag’n’Bone Man
Sucker by Marcus King

Mera was screaming.

Arthur was raging—as were the sea and sky. Rain pelted violently from above, soaking him to the bone. Normally, Orm wouldn’t mind, but the tiny drops of water felt like shards of glass slicing into this skin.

Atlanna bent over Tom as he watched the house burn, crumbling under the weight of flames. Their world was disintegrating. Once upon a time, this would have been exactly what he wanted…but now?

Now all he could think of was the lost child.

/A son./

Orm staggered back, unable to help. Unable to provide support. He could barely breathe.

Flashes of Reyna’s smile interrupted the lightning. One minute the sky was a lit tempest, the next it was black as ink. In those moments, he recalled the swell of her belly beneath his palm, the little movements under the skin, her heartbeat and his—

“It’s a tragedy,” the Brine King declared, voice low and reverent.

Nereus was trying to contain his daughter’s rage while Atlanna attempted to connect to the Atlantean troops for medical aid. Tom Curry was fading fast—he wouldn’t make it—

Blue lights illuminated in the water, growing in might and magnitude. A ship.

“Someone’s coming!” The Brine King shouted.

Arthur surged forward, trident in hand. “Let them come!”

The waves bubbled as though a massive wellspring had erupted beneath the surface, harkening the vessels to come. But before they breached, a silhouette rose from the depths like something born of storm and vengeance. The sea shimmered around her in streaks of phosphorescent light, her blood trailing behind in curls of crimson ink. Her figure cut through the chaos like a blade. Salt-crusted hair plastered to her face, eyes blazing, drenched through to her very core.

/Reyna./

Orm’s stomach dropped, and his entire body went rigid.

/She’s here./

Of course she was here…where else would she be? A thousand times he considered what had become of her. What her life was like now. But he’d never asked. Even though he desperately wanted to know.

“It’s Reyna,” Atlanna cried, still hovering over Tom’s bloodied body.

Orm watched, locked in place, as unmoving as stone, as she dragged herself from the surf like a soldier returning from war, her movements stilted but purposeful—her utility belt hanging lopsided, suit torn, and sporting a long, jagged gash running down her side.

“Reyna!” Arthur took off in a run, trident forgotten. He met her halfway and caught her arm as she staggered. “Where is he? Where is my son?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she raised one shaking hand and placed something in Arthur’s palm—a small, obsidian disc, slick with seawater and blood.

“Tracker,” she rasped. “Planted it on Manta’s ship. He’s heading south. Fast.”

The light in the water become near blinding as Atlantean ships breached the surface, left and right. Soldiers spilled onto the beach, their armor catching the lightning as they emerged in a silent, grim tide—barking orders and aiming their weapons into the abyss, creating a protective perimeter around the lighthouse as medics and aids raced to quell the flames and treat the wounded.

“Reyna—your side—your arm—” Mera cried, racing to her side. “Junior…is he? Is he…?”

Their voices drowned out as Orm stared, thunderstruck at the trio. He didn’t hear their words. He only saw the tremor in Reyna’s limbs. The blood soaking through her clothes. The way Mera’s hand hovered just over her heart.

Relief, or pain?

Maybe both.

Medics swarmed Tom and Atlanna, checking vitals and prepping him for transfer. Someone shouted for evacuation. Another barked coordinates. Orders. Plans. Too late for the lighthouse. Would it be too late for Tom? For the boy?

Orm stood on the perimeter, just outside the ring of action. Lightning flashed behind him, casting his shadow long and sharp over the sand. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not until he knew what this meant.

A child stolen. A house in ruin. A kingdom on the brink.

And a brother who now had everything to lose.

Just like he once did.

He looked up, eyes locking on Reyna.

The world narrowed. The rain, the shouting, the fire—all of it blurred to a muted roar.

There she was. Alive. Bleeding. Unbowed.

Orm's breath caught. In another life, it would’ve been him running to her, catching her before she fell. It would’ve been his name on her lips. His child she protected with such ferocity. But that life had turned to ash long ago—burned down by war, betrayal, death. And yet…

She was still the most vivid thing in any room.

He remembered the first time he saw her, standing outside of the lighthouse, smiling kindly up at him. He remembered her in his arms, laughing, loving…teasing.

Then it all shattered. Vortia. The child they lost. The silence after. Now here she was again, and every old wound flared open. The pain they endured together hadn’t softened with time. It had hardened, crystallized, like a pearl formed around a piece of broken glass. And at the center of it—still—was her. It wasn’t just longing that twisted in his chest. It was possessive, territorial. A part of him still believed she was his. That no one—not even Arthur—could understand the storm she carried in her bones the way he could.

But none of that mattered.

Not now.

She had thrown herself into the fire—for a child that wasn’t hers. For Arthur’s legacy. And yet…

/Why aren’t the medics tending to her?”/

Arthur and Mera were still peppering her with questions, even as she bled out over the sand. Orm’s eyes swept over her body. Noting her haggard breath and weakening stance. Yet still, everyone was more concerned with the child than Reyna’s rapidly worsening wound.

Suddenly, he didn’t care how painful their history was. Didn’t care to be gentile, to give her space, or grace. All that mattered was keeping her alive.

——

Reyna’s knees nearly buckled.

She hadn’t realized how far she’d pushed herself until Arthur grabbed her arm—and not a second too soon. Her vision swam, the roar of waves and voices blending into a fever-dream blur. But she kept her spine straight, jaw clenched. She wouldn’t break. Not here. Not now.

“What happened?” Mera asked, voice desperate.

She hated the way her own voice shook in response, hated the wet heat on her side and the raw burn across her ribs. Her skin buzzed, siren energy pulsing too fast, too loud.

Her body was screaming at her to lie down. To stop. To let go.

But she couldn’t.

Not while that bastard had the child. Not while Tom was dying. Not while the smell of smoke and blood still clung to her hands.

She forced her eyes open, scanning the shore for something—anything—that would help ground her.

And that’s when she saw him.

Standing at the edge of the chaos, framed by firelight and storm, his hair slicked back, lightning gilding his jaw, glinting the sharp edges of his taut muscles.

/Orm./

He looked older. Leaner. A blade dulled by guilt but no less dangerous.

Their eyes locked.

The world went still.

Gods, he looked at her like she was a ghost. Like she had clawed her way out of his nightmares to haunt him again.

Reyna exhaled hard through her nose and turned away first, but not before she caught the flicker in his expression. The way his fists clenched. That familiar, hungry grief that lived in the lines of his mouth. Guilt flooded her heart…there wasn’t time to think of the past now. Of all they’d loss. Of all the wreckage she’d endured by his side.

Mera’s hand gripped hers. “We need to get you patched up—”

“No,” Reyna snapped, too sharp. She softened a second later. “Not yet. I want eyes on that tracker. I want to know where Manta’s heading. I want a strike team ready before he even breathes above water!” Several grunts responded to her command, whisking the com away and relaying her instructions.

Before she had time to say another word, Arthur was in front of her again, fire in his eyes, soaked through and trembling—not from cold, but from barely restrained panic.
“Did he hurt him?” he asked. “Did Manta hurt my son?”

Reyna blinked hard, forcing her mind to focus. She could still taste the smoke. Her hand trembled as she gripped the edge of a supply crate someone had pushed toward her like a makeshift bench.

“I don’t think so,” she said hoarsely. “Junior—he was crying, but he was… he was okay…”

“Did he say anything about where they were going? Did he mention Necrus, the Lost Kingdom?”

Reyna coughed, wet and ragged, spitting blood into her sleeve before answering. “Ne-what? No. No, he talked about bathing the water with Curry blood…” She winced, leaning more of her weight onto the crate. “He’d already hit the house when I got there. Was making his way down to his ship with Junior…”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. His hand gripped the trident at his side. He looked like he was about to throw it into the abyss.

“Chased him down, cut him off. I got Junior out of his arms, and I hit him. Hard. Enough to make him bleed,” Reyna continued. “But not enough. Junior was crying so hard. I thought Manta was down, but I was wrong.”

She touched her side, felt the fresh warmth seeping through the bandage someone had tried to slap on mid-run.

“But you said he was heading south?” Arthur pressed. “Where? What coordinates?”

“I don’t know—” she started, but a sudden blur of motion cut her off.

“She needs a medic,” Orm growled, stepping between them. “Now.”

Arthur bristled. “We’re not done.”

“Yes, you are,” Orm snapped. “She’s barely upright—left a trail of blood from here to the shoreline and hasn’t stopped moving since. If she passes out before she tells you everything, then what? You gonna question her corpse?”

Reyna blinked up at him, startled not by the sharpness in his voice—but by the fact that his visage has split…there were two of him, the lines of her vision blurring rapidly.

“My vision is impaired,” she reported, the biologist in her taking over. “It won’t be long before speech follows. I should be treated so I can submit my full statement as soon as possible.”

Orm looked at her now like he had on the worst night of their lives: when everything burned and there had been no one left to save. Like he wanted to shake her for being reckless. Like he wanted to drag her away and hide her from the world. It was raw and intimate and all together too much for her to handle in her current head space.

Mera exhaled, controlled but shaken. “They’re both right, Arthur. We need to be careful. We can’t afford to make a single mistake.”

Arthur hesitated. Then gave a tight nod. “Okay. Medic. Then we move.” He disappeared into the rain, shouting for aid.

Mera hesitated, glancing at Orm with a look of conflict.

King Nereus emerged then, “we’ve locked on to Manta and Arthur Junior’s coordinates.”

Her expression turned to one of pain, and she squeezed Reyna’s hands swiftly, before leaving her alone with Orm.

A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she promptly sank to her knees, willing the beach to stop spinning.

Orm crouched beside her, easing her forward as a field tech emerged to clean the wound.

Reyna worked to steady her breathing, and a few coherent thoughts wavered over her mind. They hadn’t spoken since that day—the day Sian pulled her from the sea…the day they lost their child…the day Corelia had fallen.

So many months Reyna had sat up in her cottage, sinking into quiet despair. So many months she’d worked to claw her way out of that hole, learning how to feel comfortable in her skin, now that she was Atlantean. Mera, Arthur, and Atlanna had spent months teaching her how to wield her strength, her speed, but only Sian had challenged her to master the more forbidden sides of her abilities.

/Sian./

Shit…where was he?

/Does it matter?/

This was the first time she’d seen Orm. Been anywhere near him, since that day.

Maybe it was the blood loss, but something electric coursed through her—intoxicating. He didn’t speak. He simply did his best to help her, all the while, touching her as little as possible—steadying her form as the tech pealed away the blood-soaked fabric of her suit, partially exposing her breast.

Orm looked away out of respect, his cheeks reddening just so. It was such an absurd gesture, Reyna nearly laughed. But the burning in her ribs prevented that. So instead, she canted her head, and whispered under her breath without looking at him. “I didn’t need rescuing.”

Orm scoffed under his breath and finally turned to face her fully, the rain curling the hair at his temple, his voice low but dangerous. “That’s not what it looked like to me.”

There it was.

The spark.

The flare of heat that lit the air between them, even as her blood stained the sand and the world burned behind them.

She blinked, slow, his words hitting a nerve she didn’t know she still had.

“You think I watched you crawl out of that water half-dead and thought, ‘there’s a damsel in distress?’” he said, inching closer, just enough to drop his voice. “No. I know you would have given every last drop of your blood to the cause before pausing to count what it was worth. And you’re no good to anyone dead.”

Silence stretched between them. Taut. Trembling.

The medic finished sealing the worst of the wound and moved to rinse the blood off her side. Neither of them flinched.

“You’re not the only one who clawed their way back, Reyna,” Orm said, his voice a gravel whisper now. “I didn’t come out of Corelia unscathed either.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her throat was too tight. Too full of the taste of fire and salt and memory. Of all the little moments she’d never have. She hadn’t just lost her unborn child that day, or her lover—she’s lost her whole world—her whole future.

“I don’t need you to save me,” she whispered again, more to herself than to him. /Please stop saving me. It hurts too much./

“I know,” he said, his hand steadying her elbow as she swayed forward, still crouched on the sand.

The medic leaned in with a hiss of antiseptic foam. Reyna barely flinched. Her silence deepened, stretched thin as the waves rolling out from the wreckage behind them.

——

Orm studied her profile, every bruise, every tear in her armor. She had always been a force of nature—dangerous in motion, devastating in stillness. Now she looked like a ghost dredged from the deep.

But she hadn’t broken.

She had dragged herself back to shore for a child that wasn’t even hers.

She’d faced Manta alone.

She’d bled for it.

And still… no answer.

So he didn’t press.

Not with words.

Instead, Orm stood and turned toward the gathering council at the water’s edge—Arthur, Mera, Nereus, Atlanna, all speaking in hushed but frantic tones. Strategizing. Calculating. Preparing.

War had arrived on their doorstep again. And this time, it had taken something from them first.

He turned back to Reyna, just once.

She met his gaze.

Gods he wanted to stay with her. He wanted to hold her. To see her healed. To never again be parted from her. But he wasn’t worthy anymore. He’d failed. They’d lost too much. They were too broken.

Orm hovered a moment longer, as if waiting for her to say anything. A breath. A curse. A cutting remark. Anything familiar to anchor him.
But Reyna stayed still, eyes distant, jaw locked.

He shifted his weight. Cleared his throat. “I didn’t know.” His voice was low—strained. “I didn’t know about the boy.” he faltered, looking down at the blood darkening the sand between them. His hand clenched once, then released.

Reyna didn’t look at him. Her silence was louder than any response, and it rattled something in him.

Because their boy was gone forever. But there was still hope for Arthur Junior. Hope, where for them there was only death.

“I know I’m the last person you want near you right now,” he added, eyes on the fire. “Maybe I deserve that. Maybe I deserve worse.” He swallowed hard, voice splintering. “But I lost a son, too.”

That did it. Her gaze snapped to him—sharp, lightning-lit. But still, she said nothing.

Orm held her stare, forcing himself to finish. “I wouldn’t wish that grief on my worst enemy. And you're—” He stopped. Not just because the word didn’t fit. But because it had never been true.

She was never his enemy.

She had always been his reckoning.

Reyna’s lips parted, as if something—anything—might rise from the storm behind her eyes. But no sound came. Only the breath she exhaled—shaky, scorched, like a woman holding the weight of worlds in her ribs.

Orm looked down at her side, at the freshly closed wound, and the clearly uncomfortable medic.

He hesitated, then reached down—not to touch her, not to help her up—but to place something beside her on the sand: a spare comm, worn but functional.
And then he walked away.

Because if there was one thing Orm finally understood—it was that Reyna had already bled for this family.

Now it was time for him to do the same.

Chapter Text

Chapter 47: Breakwater
Song List:
Way Down We Go by KALEO
Fire for You by the Cannons
Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood

The storm hadn’t let up. Lightning split the sky as the royals gathered under the temporary command tent hastily erected on the sand. The med team was still tending to the wounded in the background. Mera paced in the shadows like a predator barely leashed. Arthur stood at the center, flanked by Nereus and Atlanna. The Brine King loomed near the entrance, arms folded across his massive chest, his mouth a solemn line.

“We track him with the beacon Reyna planted,” Arthur said. “It’s a narrow window. The signal’s strong, but if he changes depth or shields—”

“We’ll lose him,” Nereus finished grimly. “We know he’s headed to Antarctica, but the continent is large, and the exact location of Necrus is unknown. Which is why we must leave /now/. I’ll dispatch three of my cruisers. They’re fast enough to keep up. We won’t be too far behind.”

“We’ll need silence protocols,” Mera added. “If Manta even senses we’re coming—”

“He won’t,” Atlanna said, voice razor-sharp. “Because this time, we aren’t giving him a chance to vanish. We’ll end it.”

Arthur nodded, his jaw set and clenched. “I’m going. I don’t care what title I wear, I don’t care what the Council says. He took my son. And I will bring him home.”
Everyone looked to Orm. Silent, for once. He merely inclined his head.

A breath passed. Then Nereus turned, barking orders into his comms. The Brine King vanished into the sea with a thunderous splash, returning to rally his own. Atlanna placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Then it’s settled,” she said. “You’ll leave within the hour.”

“You’re not coming?” Arthur asked, frowning.

“I’m staying with Tom,” she revealed. Their voices droned out. Orm ignored them. Watching as the others began to scatter, preparing their assault—when a figure stepped from the darkened edge of the tent.

Soaked to the bone, armor re-fastened, side still freshly wrapped but her steps steady—

Reyna.

Arthur saw her first.

“Oh, hell no.” His voice cracked like a whip. All eyes turned. “No,” he repeated. “You’re staying here,” he barked, pointing his finger at the sand.

Reyna didn’t blink. “The hell I am.”

“You’re injured!” He shouted.

“And your son is in the hands of a madman!” She shot right back.

“You did your part. You planted the tracker. You got us this far. You’ve already given enough—”

Reyna stepped forward, eyes flashing. “Don’t talk to me about /enough/. Not when I’m the reason we even know where he is. Not when I let Manta get away! I am not sitting this out.”

“You don’t get to decide that—”

“I just did.”

Arthur opened his mouth again, rage flaring.

But someone else cut in.

“She’s right.”

All heads swiveled toward Orm.

He stepped closer to the circle of light, his face unreadable, voice even. “She doesn’t answer to you. She never did.”

Reyna blinked, startled.

Orm’s gaze didn’t leave Arthur’s. “She's stronger than she looks—stronger than any of us give her credit for.”

He turned then—to her.

His voice softened. “You’re not mine to protect. Not anymore. But if you’re going, then I’m going with you.”

A silence bloomed between them—heavy, hot, unbearable.

Mera finally spoke, voice dry. “Well, this won’t be awkward at all.”

Nereus coughed and clapped his gauntlets together. “Then it’s decided. Six royals, three warships, and one hell of a grudge.”

“Don’t forget the fury,” Reyna muttered, flexing her fingers around her weapon.

Arthur still looked uncertain, but he stepped aside.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I already regret everything,” Reyna said with a smirk. “So we’re even.”

And together, they walked toward the surf, and into the storm.

——

The ship thrummed with energy, a pulsing beacon of orange and red in the abyss. There wasn’t much to see out of the bay windows. The glow from the ship didn’t extend very far, and aside from the occasional whale pod, there was little activity this close to the surface.

A full 36 hours had passed since the events on the beach. Since Reyna had faced off against Manta. Since Junior’s abduction. Her wound was healing rapidly, but she was still weakened from blood loss and fatigue. Sleep was difficult to come by. Not just for her, but for every one.

The heir to the Atlantean throne had been abducted by a mad man. Whether compelled by duty, oaths of loyalty, blood, or beloved, the entire Atlantean community was on edge.

Despite their every effort, they had yet to catch up with Manta. Their only hope was to head him off at Necrus…and pray. Pray that it was enough. Pray that they made it in time.

Reyna nibbled on her lower lip, and fiddled with the locket at her neck, dragging the gold piece back and forth over the chain. It had belonged to her mother, once sporting a picture of her father. Now, it was empty. She wanted to carry a piece of Luna with her, especially after losing the baby. But it didn’t feel right, sporting Finn’s picture. Nor Tom’s or Stella’s. So she’d removed the photo and left it empty. It seemed fitting—she had a piece of her mother for comfort, but left the heart empty, to mark her pain, to honor the loss…and to represent space. A space that might one day be filled with someone new. Someone she wouldn’t lose to the sea and it’s many monsters.

Her eyes flitted across the holographic map before her—the one that was tracking Manta’s arc toward the southern pole. Her fingers twitched—either from pain, exhaustion, or anxiety—it was anyone’s guess. She rubbed the locked faster, the metal singing softly as it scraped across the chain.

Three techs, wearing Xebellion blue armor sat before her, documenting readings, calculating trajectories, predicting arrival times and location points—analyzing the continent they were fast approaching. Reyna watched silently in the back of the room, shrouded in shadow.

/The tracker is holding up./ She told herself. Junior was right there. Just a dot on the screen. A blip, pulsing just ahead of them.

She sighed loudly, attracting the attention of one of the techs. He offered her a passing glance, but didn’t say anything. There was nothing new to report. Hadn’t been for hours now.

“I hate waiting.”

She turned from the monitors and swam towards the exit. The doors parted automatically, and she emerged upon the main bay. It was narrow, and dimly lit with orange light. Her hair floated out behind her in a plume of dark tendrils as she swam toward an unknown destination. She should probably eat something. She should probably try to sleep. But there was a gnawing pit inside of her that refused to allow either.

Her side ached and itched. There was nothing good or responsible that would satisfy her now. All the things she knew she /should do/ were exactly the opposite of what she wanted to do. They wouldn’t sate her. They wouldn’t distract her. She needed a different kind of pain to mask the fear she felt now.

She paused outside of the window, staring into the empty black sea on the other side. Her hand drifted to the wound at her torso. Staring into the vast, dark nothing, she felt the void overtake her mind—and she did something stupid…something reckless. She dug her nails into her flesh and pinched hard.

The pain caused her to double over almost immediately, gasping for breath at the raw sensation. The salt water around her washed any tears that surfaced quickly away, and before she could right herself, she felt someone grab her wrist and wrench it over her head.

Reyna gasped, and she knew she was crying now because her eyes were burning, and it was hard to see—but she didn’t need to. She knew who had her. Through the blur, she saw his strong arms, his proud shoulders and white blonde hair—tense jaw and severe expression.

/Orm./

The sob escaped her lips involuntarily, and he released her wrist, swiftly folding her against his chest. She melted into his arms—heartbroken, exhausted, pushed past the point of no return and dangling over the black void that had replaced her heart the day Corelia had fallen. There was nothing but sorrow. Nothing but pain and death and defeat.

Crushed against his chest, she let it take her—wrapping her arms around him, she clung to him like a lifeline. “I want to go back to the beach,” she whispered, between tears and bouts of despair. “I want to go back to the beach and never leave. We should have stayed there, on that island. We should have stayed and left the rest of the world behind.”

——

The ship moved like a leviathan through the dark, its hull pulsing with bioluminescent light, an orange heartbeat in the deep. Silence ruled the passageways, broken only by the distant churn of engines and the soft press of water against steel.

Orm stood at the edge of the small barrack tucked away near the ship’s core, watching her. There were two beds. One on either side of the room, and a floor-to-ceiling window into the water stretched between them. Otherwise, the room was empty, clean…sterile. The room glowed in hues of amber and gold, as though lit by the dying embers of a long-forgotten fire.

He hadn’t meant to find her there…drifting in that hallway, digging into her injury…doing gods knows what to herself in the pursuit of penance and relief. He hadn’t meant to find her…wasn’t looking for her, but there she was. And when he saw her, attempting to break open her wound, shaking and sobbing into the sea, he surged instinctively. He didn’t hesitate.

He held her.

And gods, it had felt good. Charged with grief and destruction…but…connection.

Now, she lay curled upon the narrow bunk, her breathing soft and steady, finally still. He sat propped against the wall, stretched out beside her. He didn’t know if she was truly asleep, but she hadn’t stirred in a while. The quarters were confining. But somehow that was…pleasant.

/We should have never left that island…/

This was no island, but it was isolated. He’d carried her as despair had overtaken her, then laid her out on the bed. Maybe it was improper. Maybe it wasn’t right. But the truth of the matter was, there wasn’t anything he’d deny her. And he so desperately wanted to be near her, after so long apart.

He studied her face, pale even beneath the dim light. The bandage across her ribs had come loose. He would fix it soon…when she woke. She needed to rest first. And besides, he didn’t want to disturb her. Watching her was easy. Watching her was…bliss. To be this close again. To feel her light…her pull.

She shifted, curling against his side, her hand stretching out toward him. She didn’t wake, but he moved.

He lowered his arm, sliding down so he lay beside her, and pulled her tight against his chest, cradling her gently, reverently.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Maybe it wasn’t healing. But he didn’t care. He was here, with her in his arms…and tonight, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Chapter 48: Cold Front

Song List:
Unfold by Alina Baraz & The Galgamites
Saturn by Sleeping At Last
Motion Picture Soundtrack by Radiohead

Somewhere beyond the glass, the darkness shifted.

A whale passed, its massive silhouette blotting out the faint luminescence before fading once more into the abyss. Orm watched it without moving, his breath slow and even, his body perfectly still but for the gentle rise and fall of Reyna's form against his chest.

Time blurred in the silence. There was no clock in the room. No sun to rise or fall. Just the steady beat of the ship’s power and the occasional flicker of movement in the black outside. So different from the nights they’d spent secreted away in her cottage bedroom—safe and alone. Now, all had changed.

She murmured something in her sleep—words too quiet to catch. Her brow tightened. He stroked a hand lightly down her back instinctually, then tensed at the easy gesture. He shouldn’t…he shouldn’t be here…yet…

"You’re safe," he whispered, unsure if he meant it for her or himself.

A soft chime at the door broke the stillness. Orm stiffened. Reyna stirred but did not wake.

He slid from beneath her carefully, tucking the blanket around her before striding across the room. The door whispered open.

Arthur stood on the other side, still in partial armor, hair drifting about his shoulders. His eyes flicked past Orm toward the sleeping form on the bed before returning, wary. “I didn’t come to fight,” he said.

Orm didn’t answer. He drifted out and let the door slide shut behind him.

“She okay?” Arthur asked after a beat.

Orm crossed his arms. “She will be.”

There was a long silence between them. Heavy. Thorned.

“We’re close,” Arthur finally said. “Tracker shows Manta’s slowing. Probably approaching their destination…mounting a defensive blockade…”

Orm’s jaw clenched. “Good. Let him try.”

Arthur hesitated, then added, “When we find him—”

“We kill him,” Orm interrupted.

Arthur looked at him. Hard. Unflinching.

“He took your nephew.”

/He hurt Reyna./

“He threatened the throne.”

/He tried to take what’s mine—/

Orm ground his teeth, shoving the thought aside. She wasn’t his…not anymore. Not after everything he’d put her through. Even still…Orm knew he would always protect her. There was not denying that. And Manta? Orm should have killed him years ago for what he’d done. Vengeance was long overdue.

“I’m not going to stop you. So don’t stop me. When we get the chance, he’s finished,” Orm declared, fire burning in his chest.

Another silence.

Then Arthur muttered, “Well this is a first, we’re on the same side for once.”

Orm’s lip curled, but it wasn’t quite a smile.

They stood there for a moment longer. Brothers. Rivals. Allies by necessity, if not by nature.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, jerking his chin towards Reyna’s sleeping form. “You two figured your shit out yet?”

Orm tilted his head slightly. “We’re not the ones who need to.”

Arthur blinked. “Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Orm said, eyes gleaming, “you’d better be ready for what’s waiting after today. Your kingdom,” he spat the words, barely able to tolerate them in his mouth. “Is in shambles. You’ll be returning to a shipwreck.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Oh, you know,” Orm said, drifting closer, “but you’re still pretending you can patch the hull with a smile and a few good speeches. You’ve been gone too long. The currents have shifted. The sharks are circling. And when you get back onto that throne, they’ll smell the blood in the water.” Orm sneered, satisfied to see his observations had struck a chord. “Win this fight, if you can, /brother/. I shall stand with you. But don’t fool yourself. Your real war starts when you return to Atlantis.”

——

Somewhere beyond the glass, the engines throbbed steady and low, but to Reyna, it was all a blur of sound and heat. The barrack’s walls shimmered, molten and unreal, glowing too brightly against the inside of her eyelids. Her body ached with fever, every throb of her wound echoing through her bones. She shifted beneath the blanket Orm had left her in, half-aware of voices outside, half-convinced the ocean itself was whispering to her.

“Reyna.”

The voice was deep, ancient, pulling her up from the shadows. She turned her head and found herself standing—not lying, not wounded, but upright—in a vast chamber she did not recognize. Pillars carved of coral and obsidian stretched to a ceiling lost in blackness. Pink and ink. The floor beneath her shimmered like water though it held her weight.

At the far end, a figure stepped forward, crowned in jagged gold, unsinking. His presence was overwhelming—more pressure than sight, a force that bent the dream around him. Atlan. The first king. The ghost who had never left her.

Her throat caught. “No…”

“You cannot keep refusing me,” Atlan said, his voice reverberating like the ocean floor under a quake. “I warned you, child. The blood in you is not meant for silence. It is not meant for shame.”

Reyna wrapped her arms around herself, trembling though the fever burned hot enough to blister. “I don’t want this.”

“You do not get to want,” Atlan thundered, his eyes like twin suns. “You were given. You were chosen. I tried to be patient. I came to you in dreams. I prophesied. I prepared. There is no reason for you not to be ready now.”

Her knees buckled. “I can’t. They’ll kill me for what I am. They’ve already tried, and for so much less. The living always fear that which they don’t understand. That’s me. It’s always been me. ”

“They will kneel before you,” he corrected, stepping closer. The chamber shuddered with each of his footfalls. “If you live long enough to claim it. Or you will die in the shadows, nameless, forgotten, your strength rotting in your veins.”

Reyna’s hands trembled. She thought of Junior, of the child she had lost, of the ship vibrating endlessly beneath her. She thought of Orm’s steady arms around her, Arthur’s hard eyes, Manta’s blade carving into her flesh.

The fever flared hot, searing her vision.

“Choose,” Atlan hissed, bending close now, his presence crushing her lungs. “Deny me, and you doom yourself. Embrace me, and you will change everything.”

Her lips parted, breath ragged. The light of his crown split into shards, piercing her like stars.

Somewhere distant, on the edge of waking, she whimpered, twisting beneath the blanket. Her body was weak, trembling with sweat, but her mind burned with his voice, louder than the ship’s engines, louder than her own heartbeat.

“Embrace it, Reyna,” Atlan commanded. “Or you will not survive what comes.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 49: Siren’s Song

Song List:
My Body is a Cage by Peter Gabriel
The Rhythm of the Heat by Peter Gabriel
Seven Devils by Florence & The Machine
What the Water Gave me by Florence & The Machine
Uninvited by Alanis Morissette

The present beat like a war drum.

Reyna drifted between reality and dreams with every step. One moment, she was on Nereus’s ship; the next, Atlan’s words thundered inside her skull, prophecy weaving through her bones. Then came the sea—frigid, pure, and endless. Darkness. Memory. Untapped potential. Power still coiled within her, whispering to be freed.

/Necrus./

The kingdom of the damned called to her, its walls groaning with ancient malice—scratching at something sacred and dangerous still sleeping inside her, threatening to wake. The air itself vibrated with energy—ominous, unrelenting. The cloying stench of Orichalcum clung to everything, casting noxious green shadows in their wake as they wandered deeper into the untouched tomb of the Lost Kingdom. Sickly lime colored lights bled across crumbling corridors, tricking the eyes with long tendrils of luminance rippling in a sultry performance of treachery and tragedy.

Reyna felt no better than a grave robber, trespassing on cursed grounds. The green seemed to whisper about them, casting enchantments and sowing deceit. It made her skin crawl. And it wasn’t until the first desecration dragged itself from the hollow catacombs that the spell of silence finally broke.

Shadows rose screaming from the crypts—skeletal creatures, trapped on the brink of death, the twisted guardians of a kingdom that should have stayed buried. Yet they could not rest, could not die.

Steel clashed against hollow bone, and the sea churned with violence. Just as Sian had once taught her, Reyna dodged and parried, watching her back and keeping both eyes open. Even after all this time, the strength she’d gained from her change still surprised her. But nothing compared to the speed.

Quick and lethal, she dispatched several of the moribund creatures before speeding toward their next trial, leaving the Brine King and his warriors to deal with the remaining soldiers of the blight of death.

“We’ll have to climb!” King Nereus proclaimed.

A useless observation, as the group was already moving, the fever of fear pressing them forward.

Reyna’s vision tunneled, shrinking down to one single goal: get Junior.

It simplified things. It battled the fear with ease. It made the extreme height easier to manage. It made everything obsolete.

The pain at her side intensified as they climbed. She ignored it. The clouds in her mind continued to grow. She refused to acknowledge them. There was only this one purpose—this one moment where she could not…she would not fail.

They scaled the wall. They cut through more creatures born of nightmares. And as the sound of Junior’s cries finally reached them, Reyna’s tunnel vision worsened.

All the air fled her lungs as the sound of his fear pierced the dark like a harpoon.

The throne room opened before them—a cathedral of ice and green ichor. At its heart stood Manta. The Black Trident pulsed in his grip, veins of poisoned shadow crawling up his arms, his eyes lit with something more venomous than hatred. Something malignant—ancient and alive. /Kordax./

Junior’s shrieks ricocheted off the chamber walls, each one carving into Reyna’s marrow. She had thought herself emptied of grief—by her lost child, her broken womb—but this was different. Wilder. Primeval. Something deeper than blood. It was a tragedy, trauma, the ghost of her son, of all he could have been if he had survived. It was what she would give to look into his eyes. It was all she’d sacrifice just to hold him one time. All the energy she mustered to carry him—and all the blood she’d paid to lose him. The sound consumed Reyna, filling her bones, clawing at her chest. Her whole body resonated with the need to reach him—to tear him free.

/Enough./

Her daggers flashed into her hands, her heart drumming to the rhythm of her nephew’s cries.

Arthur leveled his trident. “Get away from my son!”

Manta’s laugh rang hollow, distorted by the parasite inside him. “Your blood will do just fine!”

“You want blood? Come get it!”

The chamber buckled. Rocks crumbled overhead as the green light around them warped.

Reyna stumbled, her wound burning hot. Gritting her teeth, she looked down—blinking in sudden shock. Her hands glowed faintly. A silver shimmer enveloped them, dancing with pale, pearlescent hues of pink, amber, and blue. Her pulse stuttered at the sight. Was she hallucinating?

The ground swam in response, as if to answer. And she tasted iron in the air—blood. Maybe she was losing her mind. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Junior. She needed to move faster, to get to him—but her feet weren’t cooperating. It felt as though she were glued to the spot.

/What’s happening to me?/

Suddenly, Orm bellowed. And the sound snapped her from the haze.

The Black Trident pulsed. Darkness arced through the chamber, walls writhing like living flesh—green lightning striking against the black stone hall.

“Orm, no!” Arthur’s voice rang sharp.

Orm snarled, shoulders quaking, resisting the poison in his grip. For a heartbeat, he looked almost himself—almost victorious. Then the curse surged like wildfire, burning into him. Reyna watched as his eyes began to darken, and his teeth clenched against a single word: “Run.”

Mera bolted from the chamber, clutching Junior in her arms, while Arthur lunged at his brother.

Reyna froze. Her breath caught as Orm’s body convulsed, shadows pouring into him. His eyes drowned in black. And when he raised his head, it was not Orm at all. It was Kordax—his ghost possessing Orm’s flesh, twisting him into something unrecognizable.

The voice that left Orm’s throat was layered, inhuman. “Mine.”

The blows came fast, merciless. Arthur’s defenses cracked under the storm. The trident struck with hatred. With vengeance—each blow meant to kill.
“Orm! Fight it—” Arthur grunted, catching a slash to his arm.

Orm offered only a feral snarl in reply. Devoid of reason, he carried on, empty, a puppet dragged by invisible chains.
“Damn it, Orm—don’t make me hurt you!”

Kordax’s hiss tore the air: “He belongs to me now. As does this world.”

The brothers fought, the Black Trident pulsing between them, green light sheathing their struggle. A force field shimmered outward, sealing them in a toxic cocoon of ancient power.
Reyna lurched forward, heat rising under her skin as she stared at Orm’s face, lost under Kordax’s control. “We have to break his hold!” she shouted, voice slicing through the chaos.

King Nereus opened fire on the force field pulsing around them. Sparks fizzed uselessly off the walls.

“Are you crazy? You could have hit one of them!” Reyna balked, whirling on the red king.

Nereus grimaced, canting his head to the side and lowering his weapon. “The dark magic is impervious to machines. Only a like force can penetrate it.”
“Like?” She snapped, tossing the king an irritated look.

“Magic.”

“Magic,” she echoed, shielding her eyes from the growing green gleam. “Do you have anything in mind?”

Nereus shook his head. “Even I can’t summon enough power to match Orichalcum’s corruption. My efforts would barely scratch the surface.”

Reyna’s breath burned. Her hands still glowed faintly. She knew she hadn’t imagined it. She hoped she might have, hoped Sian had been wrong—hoped the dreams were only nightmares. Hoped that she could just be normal. But she wasn’t. Perhaps she never had been.

A ringing filled her skull, rising, demanding release. “Guess it will have to be me then.”

——

“Free me! Free me from my prison, and all my power will be yours to wield as you desire.”

The Black Trident burned in his hands. It wasn’t a weapon—it was a shackle, a brand, molten iron searing into his veins. His body moved without his consent, impossibly fast, with violence its sole aim. He struck at Arthur, battering him back, and damn if it didn’t feel so fucking good. He wanted to hurt Arthur. He wanted to punish him for all that he’d taken. For all that he continued to steal and ruin!

“Kill him, and you will be Ocean Master again!”

Yet in his mind, and in his heart of hearts, Orm knew he was not the one in control.

Kordax was everywhere. They might both hate Arthur. They might both want him out of the way, but it was more complicated than that.

The voice roared like an undertow, pulling him deeper with every breath. His arms were no longer his. His rage was no longer his. His mouth—his mouth opened and a snarl ripped free, guttural and alien.

/Strike. Kill. Destroy./

“Well, now, this is certainly an improvement. A powerful Atlantean body. And this one hates you more than the other one did.”

“It’s not true. Come on, little brother. I know you’re in there.” Arthur grunted, feet sliding over the ice.

“Don’t you see? You can’t win. Either you kill your brother or you die.”

Orm jerked, and Kordax struck—getting exactly what he wanted—what he needed to come alive again—the blood of Atlan.
He felt the laugh escape his lips, involuntarily. “By Atlan’s blood, this magic is broken.”

/Rage./

He fought it. He slammed himself against invisible walls inside his own mind, clawing for control, for air.

/My eternal night is ending./

Orm wanted to answer, to snarl back his defiance, to remind them all that he had never bowed to anyone. But the words weren’t his anymore. The parasite king whispered instead.
/You are mine. You have always been mine./

The truth of it curdled like poison in his veins. His fingers locked tighter around the trident. His own thoughts blurred until he couldn’t tell where Kordax ended and he began. His vision narrowed to green fire, veins burning black, every heartbeat further binding him to the ancient curse.

“Give it to me!”

“No!”

“I can end this!”

/Don’t let him take it! Hasn’t he taken enough already?/

“It’s time for me to reclaim my destiny!” Orm cried, but it was folly. It wasn’t real. Orm knew it, yet he couldn’t stop.

Kordax’s words blurred, enmeshing with memories of Arthur. Of the past. Of the present. Of all they’d been through together.

“You are my brother, Orm, let go.”

/Let go./

And then—

And then…

A sound.

At first, faint. Barely audible beneath the chaos. A thread of melody winding through the suffocating dark. Sweet, mourning, pure. It cut through him sharper than any blade.
His body faltered. Kordax hissed.

/No./

But the song rose—clearer, stronger, impossibly close. A hand pressed to his temple, searing warmth against the cold grip of possession. Then another, cupping the side of his head as though she could hold him together with her touch alone.

/Reyna./

Her voice wove into the marrow of him, a Siren’s Song not born of malice, but defiance. It reverberated through the cracks of his soul where Kordax had sunk his claws, filling the fractures with light and heat. The parasite howled in protest, writhing, tearing at him from the inside.

But Orm clung to it—clung to her.

The song was pain. It was salvation. The loss of their precious son. The forbidden, secret love they shared. A marriage between the land and the sea. A tether thrown into a drowning ocean, a reminder that he was not only a weapon, not only fury and ruin—but a man. A man capable of gentle love and a simple life. A man who had someone—someone to pull him back.
His grip on the trident loosened.

Kordax shrieked, a sound similar to shattering glass trapped inside his skull.

Orm wrenched his hands open, forcing his fingers to release. The cursed weapon fell, clattering against the stone. Green fire sputtered, died, and he threw himself backwards, twisting in the air, palms catching the jagged edges of black stones as he collided with the cold ground.

But he wasn’t alone.

Reyna lay beneath him. Blood stained the skin around her nose and ears, and as she blinked, tears of crimson red slid across her cheeks. “I—I’ve got you,” she murmured, palms flattening against his chest. “I’ve got—”

Reyna convulsed in his arms, spine arcing beneath her as her entire body seized. He watched as her eyes rolled back into her head, and her lashes fluttered. She clenched her jaw against the seizure as it took her.

“No!”

In one swift movement, Orm rolled her onto her side and pinned her back against his chest, gripping her firmly as her body rode out the tremors, keeping her safe.
“Orm!”

Orm’s head snapped up at the sound of his name. Arthur was staggering under the weight of Kordax’s fury, the resurrected king howling through the shattered chamber as currents whipped like blades. The trident lay between them, spitting sparks of green fire, still thrumming with the parasite’s rage.

Orm’s arms tightened around Reyna. Her body jerked once more, then sagged against him, breaths shallow, lips parted with a faint moan. Blood streaked her skin in rivulets, bright against the pallor of her cheeks.

“No, no, stay with me,” he muttered, cradling her face with a rough tenderness that made his chest ache. Her song still lingered faintly, resonating in his bones, but it had cost her too much. He had seen warriors broken by less.

Another shout ripped through the cavern. Arthur’s. Desperate.

Orm’s jaw clenched. A choice carved itself in fire across his chest.

Slowly, carefully, he laid Reyna down against the jagged stone, his hand lingering against her temple, smoothing a strand of wet hair from her face. She stirred faintly at his touch, but did not wake.
“I’ll come back,” he promised hoarsely, his voice breaking against the words. “Do you hear me? You’re not done. You’ve carried me this far—I’ll carry us the rest of the way.”

Then he rose.

With a single leap, he tore himself from her side, diving back into the chaos where Arthur struggled against the thrashing shadow of Kordax. The green fire hissed as Orm landed beside his brother, the two of them facing the storm together at last.

Arthur glanced at him, wide-eyed. “She—?”

Orm cut him off with a snarl, eyes blazing. “She gave us this chance. Don’t waste it.”

Then his hand clamped onto Arthur’s wrist, steadying him, bracing him against the pull of the cursed weapon. Together, their strength surged against the parasite’s hold, twin forces driving toward the breaking point.

And somewhere behind them, Reyna lay bathed in the dying glow of the black fire—her sacrifice still echoing like a song in the bones of the sea.

——

The world bled in and out of focus.

Reyna’s ears rang, a high, piercing note that refused to quiet. Every breath scalded her throat, and she could taste salt and iron where blood trickled past her lips. She tried to open her eyes—tried to focus—but the cavern swayed in fractured light, shards of green fire still skittering across the black stone.
She caught glimpses. Flashes.

Arthu,r straining against the trident’s weight, his golden armor dimmed by shadow. Orm—her Orm—throwing himself into the storm, shoulders heaving, eyes lit with fury and something fiercer than prejudice—conviction. The two of them together, brothers in blood and rage, pressing back against the nightmare that was Kordax.

Her head lolled to the side. She’d done her part. Mera and Junior had gotten away. Orm was free of Kordax’s curse. Now, she was done.

A tremor tore through the chamber, sending rocks cascading into the churning water below. Reyna tried to lift her hand, but it barely twitched against the stone. Her voice was gone; the song had burned her throat raw. All she could do was watch—slipping between darkness and the fractured glow of the fight.

Orm’s shout pierced the haze. His body lunged beside Arthur’s, his grip seizing Arthur’s wrist, anchoring him. She thought she saw them move as one—their strength colliding against Kordax’s power, until the green fire shattered like glass, scattering into nothing.

A roar, guttural and ancient, ripped from the dying king before the cavern shuddered again, louder, heavier. The ceiling cracked. Water surged through the fractures. Rocks fell, threatening a cave-in.

The battle was over. But the sea was coming for them.

Reyna blinked, struggling against the pull of darkness. And then he was there. Orm. His face swam into view, hard lines softened by something fragile, something human. His arms slid beneath her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. She wanted to tell him she could stand, that she wasn’t broken—but her lips barely shaped the words before another wave of weakness stole them away.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, voice raw as the cavern groaned around them. His chest was a steady wall against her cheek, his heartbeat a drum she clung to as her world slipped further out of reach.

She managed to open her eyes one last time.

Above them, Arthur was already pulling the path open, forcing a way through falling stone, holding back the collapse as only a king could. Orm carried her into the rushing current, his arms iron around her, his jaw set with a promise she didn’t need to hear aloud.

She let the darkness take her—not with fear, but with trust.

Orm would not let go.

Chapter Text

Chapter 50: Moon Struck

Song List:
365 Days by EMO & Marissa
Eat Your Young by Hozier
Legends Never Die by League of Legends Music

The Arctic welcomed him with knives. The deeper he dove, the sharper they became, until the water itself seemed intent on flaying him alive. But Orm pressed downward, every ragged breath an act of will, every lashing current a reminder of what he had lost.

From this moment on, the kingdoms would believe him dead. Good. Let them. A dead man was freer than a dethroned king, freer than a prisoner in chains, freer even than a brother bound to promises he could never keep.

Still—exile was no balm. The silence was too heavy. It left him open to the memories that surged when the sea calmed: Arthur’s grim determination, Mera’s guarded trust, the cursed weight of Kordax clawing through his skull… and Reyna.

Always Reyna.

He remembered her palms against his temple, her voice threading through the rot in his veins, her song tearing him back from the abyss. He remembered her convulsions, the blood at her ears, the fragile weight of her body in his arms as the cavern fell around them.

He should not think of her. He should let her heal, let her live. To return would only endanger her—she’d never have a normal life with him.

But as Orm drifted through the blackest waters, he felt her anyway. A pulse in the currents, a phantom whisper. It gnawed at him. Drew him. Haunted him.
It felt wrong to be parted from her. But she deserved a life of her own.

——

Reyna’s body lay unbroken on the med-bed. Healers swam about her, taking vitals, their voices clipped with frustration.

“No sign of head trauma.”

“Blood-oxygen levels normal.”

“Neural activity?”

“Stable. But… unresponsive.”

She wouldn’t wake up.

Twenty-four hours had passed since they’d defeated Manta and Kordax. Junior was safe. His father was healing. Orm was out of dodge. But Reyna wouldn’t wake up.

Necrus was buried. Atlantis was making strides to counteract the pollution, safely destroying the last pods of Orichalcum. Arthur was expected to return to court. The council was convening.

/But Reyna wouldn’t wake up./

“Can you tell us anything more about the cause of her condition? Or what happened to her in the moments before she lost consciousness?”

“No.”

It was all he could say. He was king. He’d defeated his enemies, rescued his son, saved the world, maybe. But Arthur didn’t know what had happened to Reyna.

“I didn’t see…”

Orm had carried her out. He had been hesitant to leave her side, but Arthur and Mera had been hard pressed to see him gone—for his own sake and for theirs. If the Fishermen found out that Arthur had been the one to pioneer Orm’s escape from prison, it would mean war. But he hadn’t said anything—Arthur assumed she’d hit her head, but…

There was nothing wrong with her.

“Why won’t she wake?” He asked, more to himself than those around him.

The youngest healer hesitated, catching his words even as her hands fidgeted with instruments. “It’s as though she’s… chosen this. Her body functions as if asleep, but her mind—her spirit—is elsewhere. We can’t follow her there.”

Arthur dragged a hand over his face, weariness cutting through his kingly bearing. “She saved all of us. She gave everything she had. And now she just—” He stopped, his voice breaking. “She just won’t come back?”

Silence. Then the eldest healer said softly, “If she does not return of her own will, my king… she may never return at all.”

Arthur turned away, unable to bear their eyes on him, their pity. “Keep trying,” he rasped. “Do whatever it takes.”

——

Reyna gasped. The air here was sweet, thick with the scent of blossoms she could not name. She opened her eyes to light filtering through an endless canopy of silver-green leaves, shimmering as if spun from moonlight. Water trickled nearby, its voice gentler than any current she had known.

She pushed herself upright. She was not in Atlantis. She was not in the world at all.

“You’ve come home.”

The voice was melodic, threaded with something both tender and unearthly. Reyna turned—and there they were. Women with hair like streaming rivers, skin touched by pearls and corals, eyes that gleamed with the weight of centuries. Nymphs. Her bloodline. Her ancestors.

One approached, her feet leaving no mark on the moss. She cupped Reyna’s chin, studying her face with pride and sorrow. “Child of song, you stand at the threshold.”
Reyna’s throat tightened. “Threshold of what?”

“Of what you were always meant to be,” another answered, her voice carrying like wind through reeds. “We are the beginning. But you—you are the culmination.”
“I don’t understand. I don’t even know what I am.”

Laughter rippled among them, not unkind. “That is why you are here. To learn. To remember.”

The first nymph lifted a hand, and the forest shifted. The blossoms glowed brighter. The waters deepened into mirrors. Within them, Reyna saw fragments: her voice wrapping around Orm, pulling him from Kordax’s grasp; the way the sea had bent to her song; the way even Mera and Arthur had stilled when she had sung without meaning to.

“You are not powerless, child,” the nymph murmured. “You are the song the ocean has been waiting for.”

Reyna staggered back, shaking her head. “No—I—I nearly died—”

“And yet you live. Here, in this in-between, time moves differently. You will learn. You will grow. And when you wake…”

The nymphs exchanged a glance, their eyes darkening like a tide turning.

“…you will be more than a nymph. More than a healer. More even than a savior.”

Reyna’s stomach knotted. “What do you mean?”

“Blood binds. Blood changes. His blood runs through you now. And when you return to the waking world…” A chorus of voices swelled, harmonizing into something beautiful and terrible. “…you will rise as Siren.”

The forest shivered. Petals rained down like shards of light. Reyna’s pulse thundered in her ears. Somewhere beyond this dreamscape, her body lay still. Waiting.

And deep in the black waters of the Arctic, Orm’s name pressed against her heart like a curse.

Chapter Text

Chapter 51: Aurora

Song List:
The Seed by Aurora
LABOUR (the cacophony) by Paris Paloma

Reyna dreamed.

If it could be called a dream.

She walked through a desert of water, where the sand was glass and the dunes were rippling waves, frozen mid-motion. Puddles spread at her feet like celestial pools, each heavy with a reflection of sky. In them, constellations stirred, constellations that had no names. The silence pressed on her until it rang, until her own pulse was the only sound.

A ripple answered.

The puddles deepened, spilling outward, swelling into rivers that had no source. From the currents rose women pale as bone, hair swirling like long strands of kelp. Their mouths moved in song, but the water stole all sound until they pressed it into Reyna’s chest.

“Child of our blood,” they whispered in her heart. “Sing.”

Their voices were drowned with grief. She felt it bleed into her veins, bitter and sharp, and when she opened her mouth, the water obeyed her. It surged, shivered, bent. The nymphs placed their fingers on her temples, their touch like the cold drag of undertow.

“Man dammed us. Man drained us. Man let our veins rot with poison.”

“Now, your song must be their flood.”

And suddenly the rivers spread too wide. The puddles opened into mirrors of leaves, their reflections branching skyward until she found herself standing in a forest.

The trunks rose so high she could not see their crowns. The air was thick with resin, sap dripping in golden tears from wounds in the bark. A chorus of hissing breaths stirred as women stepped forth—bark for skin, hair tangled with moss, eyes hollow as knots.

The forest nymphs surrounded her.

“We were the lungs of the earth,” they rasped, voices dry as leaves. “They carved us into coffins, ships, gallows. They burned our hearts to warm their wars.”

They took her chin, forced her lips open, and poured sap down her throat. It was bitter, metallic, alive. Hunger coiled through her belly, sharp and endless. Her skin prickled; she felt roots under her fingernails, branches budding along her ribs.

“Feed, as they fed on us. Take, as they took. Grow, until they choke.”

The canopy shuddered. Branches bent and snapped skyward, twisting into jagged spires. The ground rumbled beneath her feet, stone replacing soil, and when she looked again, she was climbing a mountain.

The air grew thin, sharp enough to slice her lungs. The path was an endless ascent, every step heavier than the last. Her legs shook, but still she climbed.
Then the mountain moved.

They stepped out of the cliffs themselves—women hewn from granite, fissures glowing with molten fire. Their shoulders were ridges, their skin scarred with fault lines. When they spoke, their voices were the groan of tectonic plates.

“They broke us open for riches.”



“Hollowed us for gold, for salt, for weapons.”

“They thought us inert. But stone remembers.”

A crushing weight pressed down upon Reyna, invisible but immense. Her knees buckled. Her arms shook. Her lungs screamed.

Rise, they thundered.

And she did. She rose screaming, and her voice cracked the air. The mountain quaked beneath her feet. The nymphs smiled—fissures glowing brighter—and then the ground gave way.
She fell.

But instead of striking stone, she landed upon light.

The aurora spread beneath her, ribbons of color winding like rivers across a black sky. She walked across them, stars reflecting in her skin. Here, silence was vast—not heavy, but infinite.

From the light itself emerged the last of them. Celestial nymphs. Their bodies shimmered like constellations stitched into human form, hair flowing like solar flares, eyes dark as the void between stars.

They circled her without sound, and when they spoke, it was chimes breaking across glass.

“They reached for heaven, and claimed our light as theirs.”



“They made gods of men, and ash of us.”

Their hands slid through her chest as though it were air. They drew out strands of her tenderness, her mercy, her hesitation. They wove them into threads of aurora and let them scatter across the void.

“You will not need these.”

They touched her brow. The veil of time shifted, parted. She saw threads of fate stretching out, luminous cords binding men to their ruin.

“You are the last vessel of our vengeance. Clay made flesh. Flesh made song.”

The aurora flared, wrapping around her like a shroud. She tried to scream, but the light swallowed the sound, and when she opened her mouth again, it was not her voice that answered—it was theirs.

She saw herself reflected in the cosmos. Mud-brown hair, floating in wild rivulets about her face. Eyes glowing white, reflecting the light of stars. Arms thrown wide, rippling with power. And when her ruby lips parted, she spoke of an ancient and spiritual debt—soon to be paid.

“Thus are the trials of the Nymphae. River. Forest. Mountain. Sky. Shine brightly, daughter of our pride. Justice to their crimes.”

All of them inside her. All of them claiming her.

Reyna was no longer merely Reyna. She was heir and weapon, vessel and vengeance.

/Siren, ordained./

Chapter Text

Chapter 52: Stardust

Song List:
Here Without You by Three Doors Down
Gypsy by Ronan Hardiman

6 Months Later…

This was his brother’s doing.

Orm didn’t know if he should be grateful or resentful for the summoning. Arthur believed he should be here. Perhaps his mother did as well. It mattered little. Orm came, all the same. He couldn’t deny /her/. And he never would.

So…

Back to the island. Back to Amnesty Bay. Back to her cottage.

He was supposed to be on the lam. But Arthur had tracked him down. Tracked him, cornered him, and—in a way only Arthur ever could-shackled him again. Not with chains, but with duty. With family. /With Reyna./

The house felt hollow. It held none of the warmth it had once harbored for him. Reyna’s books were dusty. Her kitchen was untouched. Her bedroom was laden with wires and machines set to keep her alive. Though he could still smell the salt air of the sea from her bedroom window, the air was stale—disenchanted.

All of her magic was gone. It lay dormant…along with /her/.

She lay still as stone, pale against the bedclothes, her chest rising only because of the machines forcing her to breathe. Six months of stillness. Six months of waiting. The healers called it a coma, but Orm knew better. He had seen her eyes once, flutter open like a candle guttering against the wind, and he had felt the thrum of power caged beneath her skin. /Something/ held her elsewhere.
Something not of this world.

It was unleashed the day she saved him from Kordax—and it had taken over. Severed their blood tie…Orm could no longer reach her. Could no longer feel her. It was as if she were dead. The connection they had—that of his blood, of the magic he used to turn her-held no sway any longer. No matter how hard he tried to reach her, a wall remained unmoving.

He thought of her fragility—remembered swimming in the lake with her, sharing quiet meals together, peaceful moments of exploration along the island’s perimeter. And more intimate moments—the time they spent alone on the beach, when they finally gave in to their desires, and all the moments of secrecy that followed. It was the one thing Orm had that was his alone—his time with Reyna. It was outside of anything he’d ever known. Just the two of them and no one else. No advisors, no council, nothing.

Once upon a time, he’d thought of her house as his haven. Perhaps even his heaven. But without her, it was nothing.

Arthur had her moved back to the bay after four weeks of intensive medical intervention. Nothing worked. So he thought it best to bring her home. At least, they agreed there. She should be here…even if it was hollow. Even if the deep evergreen walls of the bedroom they once shared no longer held the same luster without her laughter—without the smell of Stella’s fur. It wasn’t the same—wasn’t a home any longer. Now it was…a waiting room. Purgatory. And he hated it.

He sat at her side every night. He told himself it was because Arthur couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t know how. The King of Atlantis had kingdoms to manage, wars to stave off, and diplomacy to perform. Orm had none of those burdens—not anymore. Only the weight of watching her hands lie limp against the sheets, of remembering how fiercely they once gripped his.

He should be running. Should be hiding in some forgotten trench or nameless reef, waiting for the next tide to pull him further from Arthur’s reach. Instead, here he was trapped in the same prison, only gilded with softer walls. After all, he was dead.

Resentment was safer, he supposed. So he clung to it when the nights grew long. But gratitude slipped in all the same, unbidden. Because without Arthur, he would never have found Reyna at all.

/Hello…you must be Orm./

He could still see her, standing in the foreground. Quiet and unassuming. Hands in her pockets, Stella at her side. Grocery bags waiting to be unloaded. Simple. Easy. Beautiful.

/I’ll take that as a yes./

Orm leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the pale glow of her skin. Stardust. That’s what she looked like, as though some ancient constellation had shattered and scattered itself into her flesh.

Sometimes he hated her for it. For binding him here. For making him care when he had tried for years not to.

Other times, when the silence of her room grew unbearable, he reached for her hand. And every time, he told himself it would be the last.

It never was. And it never would be.

/Will you be joining us for dinner?/

/No./

“Yes, Reyna…” he whispered, folding her small hand into his. “I’ll be there. I’ll always be—”

——

Crickets were chirping.

The pale halo of a sugar-colored moon drenched the quiet room. Stars speckled the sky. The forest was quiet, and out beyond the cottage, the waves lapped gently at the shore. All was peaceful. All was calm.

When he awoke the next day, Orm would not remember exactly when his head dipped, when exhaustion finally dragged him beneath its weight. He would only recall that one moment he was staring at her still face, recalling the first time they met, and the next he was adrift in a shallow, uneasy sleep, slouched in the chair at her side. Reyna knew this because before she regained consciousness, she emerged first within his mind—seeing herself, her room.

The sensation was powerful, and for a brief moment, Reyna perceived all of Orm’s thoughts, feelings, and desires—just before he abruptly lost consciousness. Struck down accidentally by her newfound power. Returning to her own body, she found, was far more difficult.

The chamber was silent but for the low hum of Atlantean machinery, a pulse of water cycling through glass tubes.

And then—movement.

Reyna’s chest rose higher, fuller. Her fingers twitched against the linen, delicate as a ripple across calm seas. Her eyes did not open at once. They resisted, heavy as stone, as though centuries had pressed themselves upon her lids. When at last they fluttered apart, the light within them was wrong. Not the warm shimmer of the woman Orm would have remembered, but something darker, hungrier.

/River. Forest. Mountain. Sky./

Gently, Reyna pulled the oxygen mask away from her mouth and tugged the needles from her arms. Blood dripped upon the white sheets, hissing prayers and curses. She rose like a dragon unfurling from a century’s slumber—each vertebra uncoiling, each breath a slow reclamation of power. Her hair spilled around her shoulders in wild rivulets, her skin gleamed with an unnatural sheen. She touched her throat, as though testing the vibration of a deadly new weapon, and a small, satisfied smile curved her lips.

She’d passed their tests. She’d earned her power. Now, she’d use it. Now, she would serve…

Orm did not stir. He remained half-bowed in the chair, unaware of the danger so near to him. The killer, newly born.

She looked at him. Long. Too long. A strange tenderness flickered in her gaze, like recognition dulled by something deeper—possession, hunger, inevitability. But she turned away. The others were still with her—within her, urging her beyond this little pocket of life.

/You have work to do…/

She stood. Her bare feet whispered against the floor, her body a shadow in her own home—a ghost. A being that did not belong. She raised her arms over her head and stretched with cat-like grace, then swept her arms wide, in circles—an enchantress weaving her spell.

And then…she began to hum.

No one stopped her. No alarms sounded. She moved as though the sea itself had parted before her, crooning quiet melodies, unseen. Stepping barefoot out into the yard, she danced beneath the light of the full moon, wandering through the forest and empty streets, down to the rocky shore, down to the sea.

The waters welcomed her when she slipped into them. The ocean clutched her with greedy hands, pulling her into its depths, where her song would not be caged by silence. And within moments, she felt all those who needed her. All those who had been harmed deserved justice.

/You have work to do…/

And by the time Orm woke—aching, stiff, his neck bent from the chair—the bed was empty. The sheets were cool, as though she had never lain there at all.

Panic struck first. Then fury. Then something worse: the hollow certainty that he had failed her.

He bellowed for aid. Tore at the sheets—barking and striking at the guards. Then, he ran to the sea, following the subtle trail of blood she’d left in her wake. But there was nothing to find but silence—silence more suffocating than anything he’d ever felt before.

Reyna was gone, without a trace.

And the sea had gained a Siren.

Chapter Text

Chapter 53: Black Hole / Rising Star

Song List:
Uprising by Muse
Milk of the Siren by Melanie Martinez

/“Where is she?!”/ Orm bellowed, hands balled into fists, muscles coiled. His body was so taut with tension, he was surprised his spine hadn’t snapped already. His blood pressure rose to a boiling point as he stormed from the cottage. How had this happened…and on his watch?

“How?” He snarled, not speaking to any man—not even speaking to himself. Rather, it was the gods he questioned…fate…perhaps even Atlan himself. “How!”

It didn’t make any sense. One minute, he’d been staring down at her limp form, thinking of their first meeting, and the next, he was dozing off to the lullaby of medical machinery. He would have woken had there been a struggle. He should have woken when the damn machines were disrupted!

Yet he hadn’t…

Orm had always taken pride in his vigilance. Yet tonight, it had failed him.

“Where is she!?” He demanded a second time, but only the silence of the empty cottage greeted him. Now, the machines were silent. Now, the sheets were cold. There was no one there to answer…so instead, he tore through the house…searching for any sign…any clue as to what may have happened. There had to be something—a trace…a trail…
Finally, he alighted upon a few slim droplets of blood on the wood floor. He took in her scent—it was /different/.

“Reyna,” he whispered, voice cracking.

He followed the trail down to the beach…down to the waves. His mind blank—a shark on the hunt for blood—following her scent.
It disappeared at the water's edge.

/No./

Rage stung his throat, but he didn’t care. He would rip the sea apart seam by seam if he had to. He would find her. He would…

He would…..

Orm froze, chest heaving. He reached for the tether in his blood—the pulse, the blood pact in which he had bound Reyna to him the night he’d rescued her from the locker…from Manta’s horrid trap. He should always be able to sense her. To sense some part of her, even if she was far away, or near death…no matter how faint.

But now…now the current of their connection refused to answer him. There was nothing. Only silence. Only emptiness.

There had been moments in his life where he had been tested. Where he fought righteously and lost. Where he’d sought love and family, and was met with death and betrayal. Where he’d aimed for redemption, and settled for exile. Now? He thought he had hit rock bottom the first time he’d come to Amnesty Bay. He’d been wrong.

Now his chest filled with the void of their empty connection. A hollow where she used to be. And that’s when it struck him.

“No…”

His voice faltered, broke. He dropped to one knee, first curling into the brittle sand at his feet. Rage and terror swirled in him, indistinguishable, volcanic. “What have I done?”
Reyna was gone. That much was certain. But as he rose from the sand and turned his back on the sea, he feared something much worse. That Reyna hadn’t been taken. That she had /chosen/ to leave. That whatever she had become in the coma had stolen her from him forever. And the only one to blame…

/No. I saved her life. She’d be dead…/

Was him.

Orm clenched his jaw until it ached, dragging in one shuddering breath, then another.

“I will find you,” he swore to the black sky, to the sea itself, to the phantom whisper that still gnawed at him—to Atlan—to Reyna. His voice was a blade, cutting the silence in two. “No matter what you are now. No matter what you’ve done. I’ll drag you back from the black.”

The ocean pulsed behind him, as if listening. But there was no answer. Only the hollow pull of the void.

——

6 Weeks Later

“Every rose has its thorn, doesn’t it?” Reyna purred, her voice a delectable flavor of blue velvet laced with venom, though she wore only red. The color of blood. The color of rage.

Something within her had been let off leash, and it felt oh so deliciously good. From the moment her eyes opened and she rose from her bed, she realized her whole life had been nothing but an insipid fantasy, and she had been no more than a puppet. A plaything, passed from one man to the next. Brad. Orm. Manta. Sian. Who was next?

/No one./

Reyna was her own agent now. She had power. She had strength. She had her wiles and her song. And no one would ever manipulate her again. She was the captain of her own ship. She was Goddess. Hadn’t Atlan himself divined her sway? Of course, he had. Some part of her must have called to him even from beyond the grave.

/And they all fall down…even the dead./

“I wore red for the funeral. The lace was stitched with rage. Because in her final moments, your name was on her lips… like a bloodstained page.”

Her song slithered through the hotel suite, sultry and suffocating. Reyna drifted to the mirror, crimson satin clinging to her curves, bare feet sinking into the plush rug. She tilted her head, eyes shimmering like oil on water. Outside, the sunset burned against the desert mesas—orange, yellow, and brown. Nothing grew here. Beyond the pallor of this hotel room, fairy chimneys reached towards the sky, hoodoos entrapping evil spirits. Reyna smiled wickedly to herself—she was about to add one to their ranks.

“She knew the devil in you… even when others were blind.”

A flick of her lighter. Flame kissed the cigarette. She drew in smoke, exhaled fire, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Ruby lips, smudged mascara, and a few drops of blood flecked across her collarbone.

“Tell me,” she whispered, eyes flashing with wicked delight, as she rounded on her prey. “Did you /really/ think you’d get away with it?”

The room was lavish, perfect for a man intent upon drinking and whoring away his murdered wife’s inheritance. A freshly widowed man. A guilty man. His secret reeked, thick as blood.

“You’re a peacock, preening agony—seeking sympathy."

He whimpered on the floor, dragging himself inch by inch. His ankles were shredded, leaking blood into the carpet. Her work. Her signature.

Reyna chuckled, smoke curling from her lips.

“Killing your own wife,” she tsk’ed, stepping over him. “Was it ever love? Maybe it was. But not for the woman, rather what she was /worth/. Used, abused, and consumed.”

He sobbed. She hummed. A tune toxic and irresistible. His body betrayed him, thrashing once, then folding. His eyes rolled back, his mouth foamed, and then he collapsed—another victim silenced by her song—another serial killer put to death by her hand, never to harm another woman ever again.

“Oh, Valentine,” she crooned, circling his corpse. “You played me cheap. Now I’ll sing you six feet deep. I lit your lies with kerosene. Love’s just war in a slip-dress sheen.”
She returned to the mirror, sauntering and humming as she went, then leaned into her reflection, uncapped her lipstick, and scrawled her curse in crimson.

/You’ll never own me./

The last words of the woman he loved to death—of the woman he murdered. And Reyna knew she wasn’t the first. But she would be the last. Forever and always.
She dropped her burning cigarette, and stepped over his corpse with a predator’s grace, her satin dress dragging red across the carpet—blood soaked and damning.

“She wanted you to know that,” Reyna murmured, her voice a promise, a curse, and a hymn.
“She told me so.”

/From beyond the grave./

“Oh, Valentine, you played me cheap. Now I’ll sing you six feet deep.”

She made her way out into the hall, walking on tiptoes, humming her own deadly tune all the way. Gripping her skirts, she danced the last few steps as she approached the doors. There was no one there to stop her…but that didn’t mean she was alone…

/He is only one…/ the voice crept in, unbidden but welcome all the same. /Do not allow this one minor victory to pollute your priorities./ Myst, the mountain nymph groaned into her mind. They were always with her. Offering advice, praise, and critique, though rare. They were usually more than satisfied with her endeavors. She was a loyal and dedicated subject. Easily…oh so easily.

/It was merely an appetizer, sister…/ Ivy, the forest nymph, chimed, her voice windswept and sweet, fragrant with pine and loam. /It’s good for Reyna to flex her muscles. To learn her song. To remember what she is now—what she is meant to be./

Calypso, the river nymph, overcame the others with her roaring tide, sweeping away their petty banter as Reyna exited the building, breathing in the dry, desert air. She raised her hands over her head and stretched like a cat as the primordial’s voice spilled in. /Man drained us. Dried us. Choked us with his walls and wires. Do not waste your gift on one man alone, when all men are guilty. The rivers run red with their sins. Let them all drown./

/All men must pay? This is not the way!/ Ivy cried.

/It is the patriarchy—down with the religions of men, those who seek to oppress and silence women. Those who would erase the divine feminine, those who deny the divinity of womb and woman!/ Myst growled, barking with the bite of clashing tectonic plates.

/It will not be enough to rewrite the present! We deserve vengeance!/ Calypso decreed. /They must all drown for their crimes! By our bodies they came—and by our hands they will GO./

Reyna walked on as they chattered, arguing in her mind. She strode down the hallway and out into the darkening desert. She held the straps of her heels in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. Angling her neck to the side, she cracked the joint, rolled her shoulders, then drew the cigarette back to her lips, drawing in one last noxious breath before carefully depositing the filth into a nearby tray.

Exhaling smoke, her lips curved into a smile. “Your kiss was poison, bittersweet. Toxic love, a curse I keep.”

/Relax,/ she whispered to the harem in her mind. /I’m just…warming…up./

Myst, Ivy, and Calypso chittered, pacified by her promise. Excited for what was to come—the power bristling within her like a thistle growing out of control. But there was one who remained unimpressed.

The celestial nymph’s hush stretched long, like the void between stars. Reyna almost thought she would remain silent altogether. Perhaps she had placated her as well, but of course, it was not so. She was far too complex to be so easily swayed.

Reyna turned towards the desert, watching the last bits of rain vanish into thin air as the sun dipped behind the rocks, never to touch the ground. There was too much heat—too much death to allow even the water to live, to fall to the ground from the clouds. No.

She watched as the mesas curled with smoke, faint and shimmering as an aurora across a winter sky. That’s when the final voice slipped in.

/Do not mistake vengeance for completion. Burn the world if you must—but burn it toward rebirth. Balance must be broken before it can be remade./

Reyna toed the hot red sand before her, testing the desert, testing herself—heading Aurelia, the fourth and final archetype of her oracles, her advisors, teachers, and mothers. She of the highest order of nymphae.

“Yes,” she whispered, digging her feet into the sand and taking off into a sprint. Her red satin dress billowed, matching the sand, reflecting off the ancient bristle-cone pines, the desert stone laden with the imprints of beasts long dead. “Yes!”

The Numinae of nymphs, the primordial angels of their factions, those who dwelled within her mind, chittered and crooned as she ran with abandon into the wilds of the world—a new monster, leaving fresh footprints in the sand. Racing over the red dunes, she let the earthly territory take her and shape her…seep into her. She was the sand and the earth, the mesas and the mountains. She was the divine feminine—come to restore order to the world—the lone soldier, the savior. She who would burn the world, in order to restore it. She would follow their will—her song—and their /wrongs/.

“Let it burn.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 54: Nebula

Song List:

Good Boy by Paris Paloma
Everybody Scream by Florence + The Machine
One Of The Greats by Florence + The Machine

Orm sat hunched over the chipped counter of a sunken tavern, the smell of brine and decay clinging to every corner. Lanterns burned low, casting wavering shadows across the faces of pirates, smugglers, and vagabonds alike. A mug of thick, bitter sea-brew clutched in his hand, he let the murmur of their conversation wash over him without registering a word.

His mind was empty. His thoughts lost. He hated to admit it. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. Every avenue had turned up empty. Every resource was left stagnant.

Months had passed. Months of nothing but echoes of Reyna’s absence. She had vanished the night she woke, leaving him with a hollow ache he could neither soothe nor name. Arthur had sent scouts, messengers, spies, even allies who could traverse the surface and the depths, and still—no trace. Orm himself had scoured the seas—had sacrificed sleep and honor and dignity in search of her.

And nothing.

/Nothing./

How could it be? How could she simply vanish without a trace?

There was no evidence that she’d been tampered with. No signs of struggle or accomplice. But Orm had his suspicions…

As had Vortia…

He rubbed a hand over his forehead, swiping his hair back. Vortia had known something. She’d suspected from the beginning that there was something strange about Reyna…that her blood was different.

/Nymphae./

She’d told him so, and he’d dismissed her callously. He should be ashamed of ignoring his cousin. After all, despite his ignorance, she’d still sacrificed everything—died protecting Reyna and his unborn child. It pained him now to think of her—the cousin whose loyalty knew no bounds—a woman he’d largely ignored and belittled. How could he?

/Shame./

The weight of it pressed down like the crushing deep. Even in this den of rogues, surrounded by their drunken laughter and low dealings, Orm felt utterly alone and entirely unworthy. A failure. He disgusted himself.

A shadow fell over the counter.

“Orm,” came a voice he hadn’t expected to hear in this forsaken place. Low, smooth, and carrying the familiar taunt of bloodlines: Sian.

/How convenient./

Orm barely lifted his head. “What do you want?”

Sian was the last person he wanted to see. A reminder of his failings—more than one. And more than he cared to admit to. Despite this, his cousin, sharp-featured and composed despite the tavern’s chaos, perched on the stool beside him. He had the look of someone who had seen too much but remained unflinching.

“Word travels, even to the deep,” Sian said, sliding a mug across the counter. “It wasn’t hard to find you. You’ve been hiding under your grief like a kraken in a cave. And that needs to end.”
Orm snorted, though no humor touched his tone. “And you’ve come to drag me out? To remind me of what I’ve lost?”

“Not lost, Orm. You need to wake up.” Sian’s fists clenched, and he looked away abruptly, gritting his teeth before speaking once more. When he finally met his eyes once again, Sian’s tone was low. “There’s news of Reyna.”

Orm’s stomach tightened, and he shook his head, disregarding his cousin’s unusual behavior. “I’ve been through enough news. None of it has led me to her.”

“She’s alive,” Sian said, leaning closer. “More than alive. She’s… doing what needs to be done on the surface. Landsmen are toxic—pervasive, like plague. They prey on the weak, the innocent, they corrupt our world—and Reyna?” He canted his head, smiling slightly, as if he were proud. “She’s doing her duty. She’s ending them, one by one. She has become a reckoning—a fire nymph more worthy than you or I in Atlan’s eyes. More righteous than the gods…because unlike them she is out there doing the work. Trudging through their murk. She is what the landsmen refer to as ‘Apocalypse’.”

Orm blinked, uncertain whether to feel relief or alarm. Something in the way Sian held himself—something in his tone. He felt pride. He felt…

Orm leaned back in his chair and surveyed his cousin with fresh eyes. “I’m to believe you have not only discovered Reyna’s vendetta, and perhaps her whereabouts, but that you… agree with her murdering men in cold blood?” He asked, choosing his words carefully. “Last I recall, you wanted me to punish her for treason. More explicitly, I believe you called her a “whore”. But beyond even that, what confounds me even more than these idle claims, is that you expect me to believe that Reyna, /my Reyna/, is capable of premeditated, calculated, mass murder?”

Sian’s lips curled into a faint, grim smile—telling. “I wouldn’t call it mass murder, per se. It’s more mass justice—dolled out serial killer style.”

Orm shook his head; he couldn’t believe it. Although hadn’t he speculated that Reyna had left of her own volition? That something had changed within her? That maybe…just maybe…she didn’t want to be found. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am. She’s taking justice into her own hands. The surface deserves reckoning. And it should be by her hand.”

“That’s an interesting opinion to harbor, cousin.” his tone was sharp as he spat the word. “You wouldn’t accept her as your queen while she ruled at my side, but you’ll support her as a rogue executioner?”

Sian sneered, leaning towards him with an expression of disdain. “Don’t toy with me, /cousin/,” he spat right back. “You and I both know she wasn’t ruling alongside you—”

The stool he sat upon toppled as Orm rose abruptly, enraged by the comment. “How dare y—“

“Save it,” Sian interrupted, waving his hand through the water. “You can’t fool me, Orm. You always underestimated her. Same as that bastard brother of yours. Fools, both of you. You always wanted to keep her locked up. But me? I’ll admit I was blinded by where she was born…at first. But the more time I spent near her, the more I began to see what you do not. You know I’m right. Vortia saw it too.”

Orm drained his mug, letting the bitter liquid burn his throat. He could see it now—every story, every whisper of her exploits, every killing reported in hushed tones by authorities and sailors. Reyna was alive. And she was… unrecognizable. And Sian?

“You abandoned her in the wake of your failings. You were weak.”

Orm clenched the mug in his fist so hard it nearly shattered.

“But me?” Sian rose from his stool, floating over him. “I cultivated within her the seed of rebellion. I knew what she really needed was to be let loose—unleashed upon the world. She needed to be set free."

Orm met his gaze then, but said nothing. His lips parted—but nothing came from it. He glanced back at his glass…he searched the corners of the bar for answers. Nothing. Had he been the villain all along? Some part of him knew…some part of him also believed he acted in her best interests. But had he? Had he really acted in anyone's interests but his own?

“I want to help her,” Sian said simply, as if the words themselves carried no weight. “You can help her, too. If she’s spiraling, she’ll need someone she trusts. Someone who can guide her before she loses herself entirely. Unfortunately, I believe that person is you.”

Orm’s jaw clenched. He wanted to find her, to hold her, to pull her from whatever darkness had claimed her. But another part of him—the part that had lived too long in the abyss—warned him: if Sian was right, she was no longer just Reyna. She was something else. Dangerous. A predator. And what if his presence only made her chaos worse? After all, he was the villain of this story, wasn’t he?

Sian caught his hesitation and sighed. “Orm,” he said, frustration coloring his tone, “she isn’t going to wait for you to decide. You either go to her, or you let the world burn while she dances through the fire alone. I…I will go to her. But she won’t see me the way she sees you. You can call to her in a way that I can’t.” Sian’s mouth set into a grim line, and the words grated, as though he were loath to speak them. “As much as…as much as I wish it could be me, it can’t.” He finally admitted, naming the tension between them. “She is a siren,” he confirmed. “Thus is her will. Thus is her draw. Thus, she is worthy.”

Orm cast one last glance at the tavern, at the drunken men who had no idea they were sharing space with the last true king of Atlantis.

“For Atlan’s sake, you /turned her/ Orm. Enough with the melodrama—man up!”

Orm shoved his mug away and rose. Then he followed his cousin into the cold corridors of the sunken citadel, wary, tense, every nerve taut.

He didn’t know what awaited him above, on the surface. But he knew one thing: Reyna was no longer the girl he had carried from Necrus. And the woman—or whatever she had become—was someone he might fear.

The ocean groaned around them, but the silence inside him was louder.

——

“Luna…Luna…whisper on the tide. Silver flame that lingers, Mother, be my guide. Luna, Luna…shadows veil the sea, I sing your name in echoes. Will you sing back to me? Luna, Luna…moonlight on my skin. Carry all my sorrows, wash my soul within. Luna, Luna…hollow is my breath. Your silence is a dagger—” Reyna choked back a sob, tears tracking across her cheeks. The air was damp. The night dark. Bodies lay bloodied and still all around her—but they weren’t hers. They were someone else’s—someone who’d escaped her justice—someone who didn’t deserve to live.
They were women, massacred. She’d been too late. Too late to save them.

“Your memory, my death,” she whispered, as a sob racked her chest. She closed her eyes, whimpering against the cruelty of this world. How? How could this be just or fair or done in the face of any god? They were all evil. She knew that now. There was no entity on high protecting the innocent. There was no one in which victims like this could to pray for help. There was only her. /Only her./

“Only me. Only I can save them,” she sang. “If only I were enough…”

/She is lonely…/ Ivy crooned, voice soft as moss, gentle like raindrops trickling over a forest canopy—somber and sad.

Myst agreed, her emotion overcast like thick fog settled upon a mountain range. /She requires companionship—more than what we may gift./

/Sisters,/ Calypso divined. /Our siren—our sweet Fire Nymph needs a coven—incumbent—her survival depends on it./

“A coven?” Reyna asked, hearing them in her mind. “A coven. Yes…” something within her rose as she did. She swiped the tears from her cheeks, allowing her feet to move, leaving death behind and approaching the Caribbean shore.

She needed the water—the salt. “I know who I want!”

/Mother./

/NO!/ The nymphae cried in unison, hissing like a doused fire. /It cannot be one of your own blood! They will return wrong! Cursed. Desecrated! This is a path you cannot follow!/
Reyna’s head fell in defeat, and she sobbed again, dropping to her knees in the warm surf. Balling her hands into fists she threw her head back and screamed—a declaration of rage and bitterness. When she opened her eyes again and saw the milky way gleaming in the clear sky above—stars and meteors dotted the sky in a shower of celestial light. Her shoulders sagged and her head lolled in the direction of the horizon. She swayed back and forth on her knees, rocking herself as though she would a child—seeking comfort. She wrapped her arms around herself, mourning all that she’d lost—her parents, her lover, her child. “It’s not fair!”

She wanted her son. She wanted her mother. More than anything in the entire world—the ache was so profound, so gnawing. She had the power…but she couldn’t use it for them. Not them but…but…

Her eyes flew open, and she sucked in a breath.

The nymphs that lived inside her head sighed in ecstasy at her realization, and she released herself—hands floating out over the meniscus of the sea, skimming water with her fingers as she cast her spell—one of rebirth.

“I call you forth, sister…”

She caressed the salt water, drawing patterns over the surf.

“I call you forth, blood of my womb—blood of my heart. Sister to my soul!”

The water began to swirl—droplets drifting up out of the ocean. They dipped and whirred, circulating in crystalline perfection, a makeshift and iridescent chandelier of water and light. Reyna held her arms wide and poured all of her loneliness, all of her pain, and their pain, and those of all the women she could never save—of all the wrongs and the rights and the justice—all of it, all of her power!

“Vortia!” She screamed, summoning the dead—calling back that which she had lost, that which was allowed of her. “Vortia, I need you!”

/Vortia, I miss you!/

She couldn’t bring back her mother. She couldn’t resurrect her lost son. But this…her found sister. Her chosen friend. A woman who laid down her life for her. Trusted. Beloved. Kindred.
This, Reyna could save. This, Reyna could resurrect.

The water bubbled, boiling, churning…turning to light in the dark—glowing yellow amidst the black of the night. And a figure emerged, crowned with coral, wearing nothing but the slim silk of the waves.

Vortia rose like a figure out of mythology and then collapsed in on herself, covering her exposed chest, kneeling to hide her sex.

Reyna ran forward and enveloped her within her arms, wrapping her in the gossamer she had worn, shrouding her, a newborn—a newly resorted.
Vortia shuddered in her arms, glancing around warily. Then she sang…a siren ordained…

“Sister…sister…once I was silence…now I am…”

She trembled, and Reyna tightened her hold, crying anew—she was not alone anymore. “Now you are the ocean’s endless hymn…sister…you were silenced—” Tears ran like rivers over her cheeks as she choked. Vortia reached up, cradled in her arms, and brushed them away.

“Sister,” she spoke lovingly, resting her palm over Reyna’s face. “I am no shadow, no echo of the past. I wake as myself…a siren at last.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 55: Supernova

Song List:
Chemtrails Over the Country Club by Lana Del Rey
Runaway by AURORA
Set Free by Katie Gray
The Chain by CHINCHILLA

The sky turned pink.

They sat on the dock, watching the sun rise together as it bobbed back and forth, the calm seas rocking it like a babe, gently to sleep.

The color deepened. Hues of purple, red, and orange filled the sky, reflecting upon the water in a brilliant palette of the divine. Reyna closed her eyes, letting the warm rays bathe her skin. Vortia sat still beside her, eyes adjusting. Occasionally, she stiffened—flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, slowly working to become reacquainted with her physical form. Their song had ended hours ago, but still they sat, rocking on the dock. Reyna waiting patiently for Vortia to speak.

As the island at their backs slowly came alive, waking up with the sun, they listened as engines roared occasionally. Birds called, singing in the growing light of day as the shades of pink slowly morphed into purples and blues, and the sun glowed, crowning over the horizon.

Rebirth.

Reyna watched their wings caress the shadows. She saw the ripples in the water. She saw the boundary between words. Beyond the aquamarine and pink sheen there was another universe—another dimension of thought and love—and she’d somehow torn it open.

As if sensing her thoughts, Vortia cleared her throat, coughing slightly. “R—Reyna,” she croaked, rubbing her clavicle and neck. “What…happened? Where is your son?”

Reyna closed her eyes, allowing her grief to wash over her one last time. “What do you remember?”

“Blood everywhere—hovering like a red mist all around me. I—I killed the queen—I killed Mesmeria.” Her hand wandered slowly down to her side. She looked frightened, staring straight ahead.

“There is a scar,” Reyna said gently. “Where the Fisherman soldier—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, stiffening. “Don’t say it.”

Reyna canted her head, eyes softening. “It’s small,” she said instead. “Barely noticeable, really.”

Vortia snorted, disbelieving.

“I’m serious,” Reyna said, smiling slightly. “It was a clean cut.”

“A clean /kill/, you mean,” Vortia said, grimacing.

Reyna read her mood—everything she felt, but Vortia was wrong. There was nothing for her to be ashamed of. It was a misplaced kind of grief. A moment of reflection in which one might see their greatest sacrifice as a failure, instead of a gift. She couldn’t let that stand. “You died defending your King and Country, but more than that, you died defending your family,” Reyna said, reaching over and grasping her hand. She pulled it up to her mouth and kissed it gently. “You have been so missed, Vortia. So…so missed.”

Vortia’s brow creased, and she shook her head. “If that is true, then where is your son?” She asked again. “Where is what I died for?”

“I lost him,” a single tear slid down her face as she told her the truth. “Sian was able to save me, but I lost the baby. And Orm lost Corelia. We all still had lessons to learn. But you? You defeated Mesmeria. You ensured the safety of your brother and your cousin and me, your friend. Because of you, the Marius line is safe. The Fishermen vied for peace. They let Sian and Orm go. All of Atlantis ceased war because of your sacrifice.”

“Sian and Orm,” she repeated, too smart for her own good. “But…not my father?”

Reyna shook her head sadly. Seaton Marius had died during the siege—not in battle. He was a decorated war hero. A general. The Fishermen didn’t stand a chance against him. She’d found out later that he had fought back against the invaders. But the battle left its mark. The coral tower he was fighting to defend cracked and toppled, crushing him against the pink stone. He and his soldiers could not outrun the destruction. There had been no escape.

“No,” Reyna said softly. “He gave his life defending his family as well. Sian took comfort in the knowledge that you were together with Atlan.”

Vortia snatched her hand back and scowled. “My father and I never took any /comfort/ in each others presence. If I’m being honest, I always despised him and he harbored no love for me.”

“Even still,” Reyna said gently. “In living, there is always the chance of growth or forgiveness. In death, all is final. It is okay to mourn him.”

“Yeah well, whatever.”

“Very eloquent,” Reyna said, smirking.

“Oh shut up,” Vortia stifled a returned smile. “Resurrection is weird. Eloquence isn’t required.”

Reyna chuckled softly at Vortia’s dry retort, and the sound seemed to ripple out over the water. The sea carried it, softening its edges, making it something gentler than either of them intended.
“You’ll get used to it,” Reyna said after a beat, her voice hushed as if afraid of disturbing the sunrise.

Vortia tilted her head, her hair crusted with salt and brine. “Will I? I don’t feel like myself. Not the way I remember. I feel…” She paused, searching for the right word, her fingers flexing against the dock. “Different. Like my blood hums with someone else’s song.”

“That’s because it does,” Reyna admitted quietly. “I sang you back. But the sea gave you its own voice. You are still you, Vortia. But you are also something more now. Something older.”

Vortia’s eyes narrowed, uncertainty flickering in their depths. “A siren,” she said at last, testing the word on her tongue like a foreign language. She pressed her palm to her throat, as if to feel the sound vibrating inside her. “It doesn’t feel wrong, exactly. Just… immense. Like I am made of tide and storm.”

Reyna nodded, watching her with reverence. “You are…as am I.”

Vortia studied her, suspicion and gratitude warring on her face. “Are there others?”

“Not yet, but…I think there will be soon.”

“Good.” For the first time since she had risen from the sea, Vortia allowed herself a real smile. It was small, crooked, but wholly hers. “I think that’s good.”

The sun crested the horizon at last, spilling gold across their faces. Two sirens sat side by side, reborn and unbroken. The world would have to reckon with both.

“You know,” Vortia said at last. “This is my very first sunrise.”

“What do you think of it?” Reyna asked.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, staring out over the horizon. “I never thought the surface world could be beautiful. But this? This is…truly is…beautiful.”

“There is more still to see,” Reyna revealed, glancing warily back towards the shore.

“I’m not ready for this moment to end,” Vortia admitted, then she turned to face Reyna. “But I can feel your unease growing as though it were my own. Strange.”

“It’s best for us to move on; we have work to do.”

“Work?” Vortia asked, eyeing her with suspicion.

“This world has tipped too far off balance,” Reyna said, rising to her feet. “That fates have intervened and charged us with task of restoring the scale. There are too many evil men in power here.

Now the fates have decreed that there must also be evil women. But is it truly evil, I wonder, to seek vengeance against those that have harmed others?”

——

Arthur’s guard’s words hovered heavy in the room: /Two women seen off the coast. One matching Reyna’s description. The other, unidentified. They sang, Majesty. And when the song ended, the beach was strewn with bodies./

But this time, the bodies were not guilty men, they were that of women. Reyna had left a trail of innocents…

The kitchen was quiet now, save for the rattle of the old lighthouse windows in the morning wind.

Arthur stood stiff, shoulders squared, fists pressed into the table. “It’s confirmed then. She’s not just alive—she’s a siren. And she’s made another. We can’t ignore that. People are dying. If we don’t stop her, no one will.”

Tom slammed his mug down so hard coffee sloshed over the rim. “Stop her? That’s Reyna you’re talking about. The girl I raised under this very roof. She is not some monster out of sailors’ tales. She’s not a murderer.”

“Pops,” Arthur said, his voice strained but firm, “I know what you want to believe. I want to believe it too. But the reports don’t lie. Whole villages are whispering about her. About them. If she’s killing people—”

“She’s not,” Tom snapped, pointing a finger at his son. “Not the Reyna I know. Not the one who used to follow you into the surf, laughing until she couldn’t breathe. Don’t you dare make her into something she isn’t.”

Atlanna lifted her eyes from the window, where the waves crashed endlessly against the rocks. “And yet… legends of sirens are always written in blood.” Her voice was softer, but it cut. “Her mother was my dearest friend, Arthur. I would die before I let her daughter be hunted. But you must understand my fear. If the stories are true… if Reyna is what the reports claim…” She let the thought hang, grief flickering behind her regal calm.

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Then she’s a danger we can’t afford.”

Mera, leaning in the doorway, spoke at last. Her tone was measured, pragmatic. “Whatever the truth, these sightings have already reached the surface. Rumors spread faster than tides. Rogue sirens slaughtering innocents—whether it’s true or not, the world will believe it. Atlantis will be blamed for letting her walk free.”

Arthur turned to her, grateful for her clarity, but the rift widened. He looked back at his father and mother, divided like breakers against stone. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice low. “If we hesitate, if we wait for Reyna to prove she’s the girl you remember, more people will die. I can’t let that happen. Not as king. Not as Aquaman.”

Tom pushed to his feet, face red, eyes blazing. “And I can’t stand by while you go after her like she’s the enemy. She’s family, Arthur. She’s /our/ family, son. This is wrong.”

Silence clamped over the room. The gulls outside shrieked against the wind.

Atlanna’s voice broke it, quiet but iron-strong. “I will not abandon Reyna. Not again. If she has fallen, then it is our duty to lift her up, not cut her down.”

Arthur scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Then we’re at an impasse,” he said. “Because if Reyna is truly a siren, then she isn’t family anymore. She’s a threat. And threats have to be stopped.”

The words hung like salt in the air, bitter and irreversible.

Junior began crying, and Mera turned, heading upstairs to comfort their son. His father shook his head. “Bring her in—just talk to her—”

“We can’t risk it, my love,” Atlanna said, wrapping her arm over his shoulder. “You don’t understand. Sirens alter the will of those who hear their song. If the reports are true, she could ensorcel and enslave us all. We cannot simply talk to her. It’s more complicated than that.”

Tom huffed, then stood. As he retreated from the room, he muttered, “I need a beer.”

Atlanna rose from her perch in tandem, watching him go. As he disappeared through the basement door, she turned to Arthur. “Whatever you choose, be careful. Sirens were exterminated long ago for a reason.”

“How could this have happened?” Arthur asked. “Grief is one thing, but this?”

“This is beyond what I know of Salt Wives, the process of Sirenization simply created new Atlantean women in the past. In Reyna’s case, I would surmise that she was accidentally imbued with some of Kordax’s power, and it catalyzed a chemical reaction in her blood that resurrected an apex predator. There is no other possible explanation for her evolution. What else could it be?”

“Then it’s settled then,” he drew a breath, squared his shoulders, and spoke with the weight of a verdict. “Whatever bonds we once shared with Reyna, they cannot blind us now. Until we know the truth, Atlantis cannot risk inaction. If she has taken lives—if she has embraced what the legends say—then she is a danger to both worlds.”

Atlanna’s lips parted, as if to plead once more, but Arthur pressed on, voice hardening.

“From this day forward, Reyna Avenell is declared a threat to Atlantis and to the Seven Kingdoms. Patrols will watch for her. If she’s found, she will be brought before me—or stopped, if she resists.”

——

/Reyna Avenell—enemy of the state—to be brought in alive./

The words crackled over the com Sian carried. His cousin held eerily still as he listened…

/Siren./

/Threat./

/Shoot on sight—tranquilizers only./

Orm sat rigid in the dim cavern, the glow of bioluminescence casting harsh shadows across his face. He listened without a word, jaw tightening with every syllable, to the message: Reyna. Declared a threat. To be hunted. To be contained…perhaps destroyed.

/No./

This was wrong. Arthur had to know that. Tom and his mother and Mera…they all had to know that, and yet?

The silence after the report was suffocating.

Sian was the first to break it. His laugh was sharp and bitter. “Arthur wastes no time, does he? So eager to brand her a monster. So eager to swing his trident in the wake of something he couldn’t possibly understand.”

Orm’s fists clenched. The veins in his neck strained as though he might snap from sheer fury. “He dares call her a threat? After everything?” His voice broke into a growl. “How many times has she saved him—how many times has she bled for him? She has…done more than…she has she saved his son!” He shook his head, struggling to articulate the fresh course or rage washing over him. “He’ll never have her. Not now. Not ever.”

Sian drifted closer, his eyes flashing with equal fire. “Then we must move faster. If Arthur hunts her, it’s only a matter of time until he catches her.”

Orm rose to his full height, his rage controlled now, honed into something sharp and dangerous. “Then we /will/ find her first. We will tear the seas apart if we must. I will not let my brother’s crown dictate Reyna’s fate.” His voice dropped low, nearly a vow. “Arthur would see her shackled or slain. I will see her safe. Even if the world must drown to make it so.”

Sian’s answering smile was fierce, reverent. “Then let’s drown it together.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 56: Flower Moon

Song List:
Cornfield Chase (Interstellar) by Ambient Hood
Powder by Melanie Martinez
Experience by I Virtuousi Italiana & Daniel Hope

The wind howled thin and high over the Himalayas, sharp as glass and cold enough to carve bone, but inside the cave at her back, the air was warm.

Reyna stood at the lip of a precipice, her dark hair whipping in violent ribbons. Below, an endless sprawl of jagged white peaks pierced the clouds. The air shimmered—thin, metallic, sacred. A place where the world itself seemed to breathe.

Vortia crouched beside her, studying the hollow in the mountainside—a black mouth chiseled with ancient runes. The entrance to the tomb. “This is it,” she said. “The last known resting place of the Amazona Chalice. They say it was filled with the blood of the first warrior-sister to fall in battle. Her spirit sanctified it. Made it eternal. Atlanteans have coveted the relic for centuries,” she revealed, rising to her full height. “But as you may assume, we don’t generally travel above the surface. Let alone scale mountains.”

Reyna’s lips parted in something between awe and hunger. “And once we have it?”

Vortia met her gaze. “I believe it will allow us to make more Sirens without resorting to resurrection. The Chalice is a conduit—a vessel of will. A Siren’s blood mixed with sacred waters will call to others of our kind. It will awaken them. Once they drink.”

“So, we obtain the chalice first, sacred waters second.” Reyna closed her eyes, breathing in the frost. The nymphs stirred within her.

Myst, the mountain’s voice, rumbled low and grave.
/Stone remembers the weight of sacrifice. Do not forget who bled first so you could rise./

Ivy, the forest, replied in sighs and whispers.
/Let her bleed if she must. From her pain will bloom others. The world has fed on our silence long enough. This is the way./

Calypso, the river nymph, cool and coaxing:
/Balance, my sisters. The sea swells too quickly. Power without stillness consumes the one who bears it./

Reyna’s head tilted, the corners of her mouth curving faintly. “You worry too much, Calypso.”

Vortia looked up from her gear. “You’re hearing them again, aren’t you?”

“They never stop,” Reyna murmured. “They sing in the space between my thoughts.”

The air shimmered. For a heartbeat, it seemed the mountain itself was listening.

A soft voice—different from the rest—threaded through her mind. It wasn’t warm or maternal. It was ancient. Remote. Celestial.

/Do not mistake the wind’s mercy for surrender./
Reyna’s eyes widened, pupils flashing silver. “Who said that?”

Silence.

Then, faintly, laughter like starlight breaking.

Vortia straightened. “We should move before the storm hits. If the legends are true, the tomb’s entrance closes at sundown.”

Reyna shook her head, long tendrils of dark curls brushing against her cheeks, then sighed. A plume of frosted air escaped her lips, marking the way. Yet as she strode forward, the air warmed.
They entered the dark.

Inside, the mountain seemed alive. The cavern walls glowed faintly with veins of light; bioluminescent carvings of warrior women danced in the reflection of Reyna’s torch, depicting tales from the history of the ever-secretive Amazonian women. As they descended, the air grew heavy, dense with whispers of something divine. The sound of rushing water filled the air.

“Hot springs,” Vortia said, as they rounded a dark corner. Water fell in a slim stream from the ceiling, cascading from the rock into a basin of water—a steaming pool. Reyna tilted her head. It looked inviting. Unbidden, memories of the home she’d left behind danced behind her eyes. Her bathtub, long, dark winter nights, bubbles, candles, and strong arms around her—

/Enough,/ Calypso hissed.

/Focus!/ Myst agreed.

/You must leave the past behind,/ Ivy decreed, voice carrying the sickly sweet feel of floral perfume.

“I cannot help it,” Reyna murmured.

Vortia cast her a wary glance. “What is it?”

“They are angry with my train of thought.”

“About?”

Reyna met her eyes, gaze heated.

At first, Vortia looked confused, then her expression turned incredulous. “Seriously? Even after all this time—after everything he did?”

“We are bound,” Reyna said, following the trail deeper into the mountain, fingers brushing against the blue light etched upon the walls. “By blood magic. And something more. I am as much his as I am theirs—the nymphs in my head may hold court, but him? He holds my heart. I can’t explain it, but the more I explore this part of me, the less I am able to deny that there was always something strange about me. I should have died with my parents. I should have died several times, yet I survived. People always seem to be drawn to me. Nature calls to me. Nymph. Siren. I always harbored that potential. I am something /other/, and when Orm rescued me from the deep—when he gave me my blood, and changed me, it catalyzed the reaction that had led to this outcome. I know this not only based on suspicion or observation, but because I am a scientist. And now? My mind is beyond. I sense things, I understand things I shouldn’t. Call it intuition, divine sight, whatever. But I wasn’t wholly human to begin with. And after Orm changed me…I became something more. Sian knew. He challenged me to face it, but I buried it. And then Necrus…I unleashed it to save Orm. He is a part of me. I will always protect him.”

“And apparently lust after him, too,” Vortia muttered, striding alongside her.

“Not everyone is made of stone, Vortia,” Reyna said. “Some of us have needs.” Reyna’s hand grazed the wall as she spoke. She felt it pulse—slow, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. She felt it beat within her body, orgasmic…aching with emptiness. She faltered along the path as her core contracted. This place was intoxicating—it was of women and their history and pleasure. She could feel it.
The voice returned then, drawing her back to her purpose.

/You seek to awaken the balance,” the celestial voice murmured. /But what you call balance, others will call ruin. Do not lose sight of your goal by giving in to your base needs./
Reyna swallowed, rubbing her hand along her jaw, down her neck, and over her chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” Vortia asked.

“The power of this place is rooted in the desires of women—power, pleasure, and peace. It is palpable. Do you not feel it too?”

Vortia quickly averted her eyes, striding forward. “Absolutely not.”

“Liar,” Reyna hissed, lips curling as she followed her friend deeper into the cave.

The light from the cave markings grew stronger as they descended. Pale blue bathed their skin as they reached the inner sanctum. The Chalice stood upon an altar of obsidian, encased in crystal. It glowed faintly white, like pure sunlight captured and trapped for millennia.

Vortia approached first. “We’ll need blood,” she said. “Yours.”

Reyna didn’t hesitate. She slit her palm and pressed it to the crystal. Her blood shimmered, dissolving into motes of red that coiled into the air. The chamber trembled. Symbols on the walls began to turn, like clockwork, shifting after centuries of stillness.

The Chalice pulsed.

The nymphs sang.

Ivy: /Let it flow. Let her power spill into the soil of the world./

Calypso: /Let it bind and awaken what sleeps beneath the waves./

Myst: /Let the mountain bear witness. Let it remember her name./

And then—finally—

Astraia.

Reyna felt her presence, previously shrouded, come forth with a force as overpowering as a meteor shower.

/And let the sky judge her worth./

A shudder ran through Reyna. Her blood lifted from her palm, suspended in the air, drawn into the Chalice’s golden core. The moment it touched, light exploded through the tomb—searing, divine, terrible.

Outside, thunder broke like war drums.

The spell had begun.

Reyna reached forward and grasped the helm of the chalice, pulling it from its crystal prison.

Vortia’s eyes sparkled, and she grinned. “Atlan himself could not hope to stop us now.”

“Atlan himself is irrelevant.”

——

Far below the mountain, two figures swam through the icy currents of a hidden sea trench—one with the grim focus of a man who had lost everything, the other with the faint, dangerous smile of a man who knew more than he was saying.

Orm and Sian were coming.

And when they reached the surface, they would find far more than they bargained for.

——

The chalice sat upon a flat piece of stone, glittering gold against the dusky blue bioluminescence of the cave. The sound of rushing water filled the air. It was warm, the air heavily laden with moisture. Reyna’s hair was damp; it clung to her face and shoulders. She welcomed the heat as she stared. The nymphae were quiet for once. She was grateful.

She sat with her knees up, the silken white skirt of her dress, sheer and clean, wavering about her calves. The water rushing caused the air to stir, a breeze even in the deep. A dark oasis.

Vortia lay curled up in the corner, dozing like a cat as close to the hot spring as possible. Reyna cast a glance in her direction. She’d barely slept since her resurrection. Reyna wasn’t about to rouse her now, especially in this moment, where even the primordials in her head were silent.

This place was peaceful. A sanctuary. That must have been why the Amazons had chosen this place. It was a haven. A safe place high above ground, rich with warm water and history. Reyna didn’t want to leave. Perhaps that’s why they remained quiet. Because she would eventually have to leave, but she could savor this moment.

It was private, intimate, hers alone.

She closed her eyes and rolled her neck, listening to the sound of the water fall. Even though she’d almost drowned more times than she cared to recall, water still called to her. She was of it now. In more ways than she could know.

And yet…she was also more.

When she opened her eyes again, she knew they glowed with unearthly power. She knew what she needed to do.

Half goddess, half monster, she parted her lips and sang.

“Hear me, daughters drowned and dreaming,
Mothers bound in rust and stone,
Your blood was spilled to crown their kingdoms,
Now rise—take back your own.

Moon above and sea below,
Bind the wound, unmake the vow.
What man destroyed, let woman sow,
By flame, by storm, by now.

Sing, oh waves that break in mourning,
Sing, oh roots that twist with rage,
Let no heart be left adorning
The tyrant’s gilded cage.

From dust and tide, from salt and bone,
I call your names through endless deep,
Awake, awake, the hour has grown—
The world that silenced us must weep.
Bleed, my blood, into the chalice,
Fill it red as sunset’s womb,
Let love be wrath, let grace be malice,
Let goddesses consume.

For I am voice and I am vessel,
The sea’s soft hymn, the mountain’s roar,
Come sisters—sing our ancient gospel—
And make them fear us once more.”

Rising to her knees, Reyna grasped the hilt of the blade she always kept sheathed at her side and slit her wrist clean. Blood poured into the cup, crimson red and ready—igniting the chalice, not with the fire that lived in her veins, aflame, but with liquid light that rippled in time with her pulse.

“So it is sung. So it becomes.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 57: Pluto’s Return

Song List:
Past Lives by sapientdream & Slushii
Intro (Delirium) by Ellie Goulding
In This Shirt by The Irrepressibles

The mountain breathed.

The air was thick with steam and the scent of iron, the hum of molten life beneath the earth’s crust. When Orm’s boots touched the stone floor of the cavern, it felt almost warm—alive—as though the mountain itself was keeping a secret.

Light flickered from ahead, not firelight, but something stranger. Etched into the stone, depictions of women ran along the walls—their lives, their loves, their losses. Orm panted, hands on his knees, exhausted from the climb. “Do you think they’re inside?”

“Where else would they be?” Sian asked, hauling himself over the edge of the cliff and rolling onto his back. “Fuck that was brutal.”

“Don’t be so crass,” Orm said.

“Don’t be so uptight,” Sian countered, groaning as he rolled onto his side. “They’re in there—we’ve got them cornered. The better question would be: how the hell did they scale that cliff?”

“Orm scowled, staring into the cavern. “They possess skills unknown to you or I. They could evade us with ease.”

“Potentially, but not proven.”

“We shall see.”

Phosphorescent moss climbed the walls like veins, warping around the artistic depictions. Pools of bioluminescence shimmered in every hollow, like lanterns. The sound of rushing water filled the air as they entered the cavern.

They were merely ten feet into the cave when suddenly, the wall collapsed.

Sian and Orm turned together, facing the cave-in with begrudging acceptance.

“Well, that sucks,” Sian said, shrugging his shoulders.

Orm cast him a withering glare. They’d find another way out. “It is not the end,” he replied, turning away from the barred entrance and facing the blue-lit cavern before them.

He was tense. Angry. They’d tracked her for weeks across the globe—encountering nothing but a trail of victims. Arthur wasn’t far behind. Despite their differing opinions on how to handle her once they caught her, Arthur and Orm had collaborated—sharing sightings and information. Though it was a race to see who got to Reyna and her mysterious accomplice first, both men agreed, no matter what, someone /had/ to get to her. They’d deal with the fallout as it came…by whoever’s hand. For the first time in his life, Orm and Tom were aligned in what they wanted. Though, articulating exactly what it looked like, outside of Reyna, safe, sound, home, and resembling some semblance of the woman they all knew and loved…was difficult.

Orm didn’t know how to feel about seeing her again. There was a gamut of varying emotions coursing through him. He wanted to punish her. Claim her. Hold her. Praise her. How was he to know what the right thing was? How was he to know who she would be…what she’d want…perhaps more importantly, what she’d need…

/Protect./

Orm steeled himself. At the end of the day, she was his responsibility. His feelings didn’t matter. He was to blame for what she had become, to what extent, he did not know. But he was responsible nonetheless.

“Do you smell that?” Sian asked.

“Sulfur,” Orm answered.

“Hot springs,” Sian agreed. “Just up ahead.”

——

Reyna lay stretched out upon the warm stone, arms over her head. She yawned, basking in the warmth, fantasizing about leaving the world behind…staying here forever. The sound of the water was intoxicating. She wanted to slip beneath its sultry surface. Soak for days—weeks—months, maybe. So long as the voices in her head remained silent.

Her fingertips caressed the rocks as she rose to a seated position, momentarily hugging her knees. The blue light of bioluminescent cave marks was captivating. Entranced, she approached the hot spring before her. It was beautiful. A perfect basin of steaming water—black rock and clear-cut waterfalls. There were three—one from the ceiling, and two from the walls. They filled the pool with bathwater. Reyna could see a slim hole where the surf carried onward beneath the mountain, a steady stream—a bath never to overflow.

Discarding her coat, her boots, and everything but the slim white chemise that she wore, she stepped into the pool.

The fabric clung to her knees, extending no further—but she didn’t stop. The sweetheart neckline soaked, clinging to her curves as the skirts plumed out around her. She sucked in a deep breath, out of habit, and then submerged in the hot water, sinking to the bottom of the pristine pool. And there she sat, breathing in the sulfuric liquid, hidden beneath the surface. Alone. Holding herself and hiding from all the horrible things she had done in the name of those who now ruled her mind.

She didn’t regret it. The world was a better place. People were safer. They were all serial offenders of heinous crimes—no other victims would fall by their hands. It was righteous work, but that didn’t make it easy, and it didn’t mean she wasn’t haunted by it from time to time.

The truth was that Reyna was missing an essential aspect of her work: people. She only saw the side of her work that was death…not life. Not the sacred life of those she protected. She was detached. Vortia was a balm to her, but Reyna knew resurrection wasn’t the answer. It was community they needed. A Matriarch to battle the Patriarch—the birth of a society built upon the rule of women—not only to protect women, but to help balance out the world…to keep society safe—to build a better place for everyone.

But the cost…it was too high for Reyna alone. She needed to do more than exterminate predators and eradicate evil; she needed to restore, to heal, to /build/.

Sighing sadly, she watched a stream of tiny bubbles rise through the water, cresting towards the surface. Yet as they did, they shifted, changing trajectory.

Reyna tilted her head, watching as it flowed towards a crack in the rock, one she hadn’t noticed before. “Strange,” she murmured, “the path life takes us.”

——

Orm and Sian traveled through the tunnel. The blue light grew brighter the deeper they traveled. Both men were poised with hydroshock cannons, aimed at unseen threats.

The cavern was spectacular—glowing blue, crowned with a triad of waterfalls. Under normal circusmstances, Orm would have been enamored by the sight, appreciative of water’s keen sculpting ability, and the majesty of the cave—the deep, steaming pool, glittering moss, and azure tinted heiroglyphs—but now?

Now…

Standing at the center of the pristine pocket world before him, framed by waterfalls that cascaded in thin, luminous ribbons, stood Reyna—looking like something out of a dream.

Her hair hung long and damp down her back, her white slip clung to her skin like mist. She did not turn when they entered. She didn’t need to. Her presence filled the air, magnetic and dangerous, a gravity that pulled at every breath. The Chalice rested on the flat stone ground beside her, faintly aglow—the echo of her song still trembling in the air, though she had long since fallen silent.

Orm froze.

There was reverence in the moment, but fear too—the kind that came from seeing something divine and knowing it no longer belonged to the world you came from.

Then she turned toward him, her green eyes filled with sorrow. She did not speak. Nor did she appear surprised. Rather, she seemed…tired.

Orm’s arms relaxed. He lowered his weapon. Concern lashed at his heart like a whip. The creature standing before him was not at all what he thought they would find. And somehow, the heartbreak he saw written on her face was more devastating, more dangerous than if he’d found a grinning murderess. Because that look on her face…

Orm knew in that moment, he would forgive her of any crime, but what he could not reconcile with, what he could never accept, was this—her sorrow,

He opened his mouth to speak, willing his feet to move, when—

“Vortia?”

/Vortia?/

Orm turned at the sound of his cousin’s shocked tone, and just in time to watch a shadow emerge from behind the rocks—Vortia, her pale curls tangled, her skin kissed by steam. For a moment, she looked like a spirit of the mountain, but the shock in her eyes was human enough when she looked upon them.

Sian stepped forward before Orm could stop him. His face shifted from disbelief to wonder, then to grief. “Vortia,” he whispered, as though saying her name might break the spell that held her.

She blinked at him, uncertain, pursing her lips and glancing warily at Reyna. And then Sian crossed the space between them, his hands trembling as he cupped her face. His eyes glistened.

“You’re alive,” he said, his voice cracking on the second word. “You’re alive.”

Sian pulled her into his arms, and the sob that escaped him was small, strangled, and pure. Vortia’s hands hung uncertainly at her sides before she slowly, awkwardly, lifted them—and held him back.

Reyna watched, motionless, her expression unreadable. The light from the Chalice pulsed faintly beside her, like a heart still beating.
Orm couldn’t look away. The woman before him was no longer the Reyna he had known—not the broken survivor, not the fierce protector, not even the siren who had haunted his dreams. She was something else now. Something vast.

He opened his mouth to ask /What did you do/?

But she answered before he’d managed a single word.

“I made it right.”