Beneath the silver surface of the Moonlit Sea, where coral castles glimmered like dreams, lived Nerida, a young mermaid with hair the color of seafoam and eyes like pieces of twilight. Her laughter could stir bubbles from the ocean floor, and her voice—ah, her voice—could charm even the currents themselves.
But Nerida's mother, the Sea Witch Morwenna, was not made of such lightness. She was the shadow that swam beneath beauty, the undertow that pulled sailors down. Her heart was bound in salt and sorrow, for long ago she had loved a mortal—and he had betrayed her.
To protect her daughter, or so she claimed, Morwenna taught Nerida the art of luring men. "A man's heart is a fragile shell," she would whisper. "It cracks easily under song. Better you break it first, before it breaks you."
And so Nerida learned. From the safety of coral reefs, she watched ships glide across the horizon—great wooden beasts that cut through her mother's domain. The songs Morwenna taught her were filled with longing and vengeance. Yet Nerida, young and curious, wondered what might happen if she sang not to destroy, but to be heard.
One evening, when the sun melted into the waves and the world burned gold, Nerida saw a ship drift too close to the rocks. Its sails were torn, its deck half-swallowed by the sea. Amid the wreckage stood a man—young, strong, defiant against the storm. His voice rose in a desperate cry, not of fear, but of sorrow. Nerida felt it echo through her gills.
Against her mother's warnings, she sang.
Her song wound through the water like light through glass. It wrapped around the man's heart, drawing his eyes toward the sea. He saw her then—shimmering beneath the surface, a vision of impossible beauty. The world fell silent.
He reached out his hand.
Nerida surfaced, her voice trembling now. "Who are you?"
"Captain Elias Thorn," he gasped, salt on his lips. "Or what's left of him."
A strange warmth bloomed within her chest. She should have pulled him down, like her mother taught. But instead, she pushed him toward the floating wreckage of his ship.
When Morwenna found out, her fury shook the ocean floor. "You've undone everything!" she roared. "You've invited ruin upon us both!"
But Nerida did not answer. In her heart, she could still feel the warmth of the man's hand, the echo of his voice in the storm.
And far above, in the mortal world, Captain Elias—half-drowned, half-dreaming—could still hear her song in his sleep.
He thought it a mercy.
It was not.
For love, like the sea, gives before it takes. And the tide had only begun to rise.