We arrived at a structure that looked like a humble seaside cottage—if cottages were built from coral walls, sponge insulation, and a roof draped in thick, swaying kelp. The yellow-tailed revolutionary, Denus, pushed aside a curtain of woven seaweed and gestured for me to enter.
The group of yellow-tailed merfolk who had been trailing us all this time came to a halt just outside. Without a word, they turned away and dispersed into the streets.
Perhaps this place was sacred. Perhaps it was a stronghold. Whatever the reason, their departure spared me from their piercing, watchful eyes—and that alone was good enough for me.
Inside, the light was dim, filtered through strands of green kelp hanging in the water. Furniture was minimal—if you could even call it that.
