All povs
The sea did not release her.
It loosened—just enough for breath, for thought—but it did not let go. Aerin floated there, suspended in a hush so deep it felt sacred, the bond humming softly beneath her skin like a second pulse.
She had said she would choose.
But first, the sea demanded memory.
"You keep circling it," the Tide Prince said gently, watching the way her fingers curled and uncurled near her chest. "The question you're afraid to ask."
Aerin swallowed. Her throat felt tight, raw, as if she had already been screaming and only just noticed.
"My father," she said. The word tasted unfamiliar, fragile. "If my mother was bound to the sea… then who was he?"
The water shifted.
Not violently. Not defensively.
As if something old had been stirred awake.
The Abyss King's gaze lifted to a point far beyond her, eyes darkening with something that looked dangerously close to respect.
"He was human," he said at last.
Relief flashed through her first—sharp and irrational—before confusion followed close behind.
"Then why does it feel like the sea remembers him?" she asked. "Why does it feel like he's still… here?"
The Tide Prince's expression softened, sorrow threading through his calm. "Because he listened."
Aerin frowned faintly. "Listened to what?"
"To what the sea never says aloud," he replied. "Its intent. Its grief. Its hunger."
Her breath caught.
"My mother used to talk like that," Aerin whispered. "She said storms weren't angry. Just lonely. She said the sea didn't want blood—it wanted to be understood."
The Abyss King turned his gaze back to her slowly.
"That was him," he said. "Speaking through her."
The truth settled slowly, like silt drifting to the ocean floor.
"He was a Listener," the Tide Prince continued, voice low, reverent. "A rare kind of human. Not chosen. Not marked. Born with the ability to feel the sea as a living will."
Aerin's chest tightened painfully as fragments of memory surfaced—her mother standing at the shore, eyes closed, whispering to the waves as if in conversation. The way she always went still during storms, listening instead of praying.
"She met him on land," the Tide Prince said. "Long before the bond awakened fully. He worked among records and maps, translating old sailor accounts most believed were superstition."
Aerin let out a shaky breath. "She used to say he loved stories more than truth."
"That was another lie she told herself," the Abyss King said quietly. "Because the truth would have destroyed her resolve."
Images pressed into Aerin's mind—unbidden, vivid. A man standing at the edge of the water, sleeves rolled, hair dark and wind-tousled, eyes focused not on the waves but through them. A smile that held no fear, only wonder.
"He knew what she was," the Abyss King continued. "And he loved her anyway."
Aerin's heart clenched.
"And she loved him," the Tide Prince added softly. "Enough to break the most sacred vow the sea has ever known."
The weight of it pressed down on her chest.
"She didn't leave because she was afraid," Aerin said slowly, piecing it together. "She left because she loved him more than balance. More than duty."
"Yes," the Tide Prince said.
"And because she was already carrying you," the Abyss King finished.
Aerin gasped quietly, the sound swallowed by water.
"She chose land," the Tide Prince said, "because land was the only place the sea could not claim you both."
Tears blurred her vision—not hot, not dramatic, just aching. Her father had not abandoned her. He had been the reason she existed outside the sea's grasp at all.
"He died not long after," the Abyss King said. "The sea grieved him. Still does."
Aerin pressed a hand to her chest, over the glowing crescent, feeling the truth settle into her bones.
I was never meant to be ordinary, she realized.
I was meant to be protected.
Only then did she truly look at the two beings who stood before her—not as myths, not as threats, but as men shaped by the same sea that had shaped her fate.
The Abyss King was stillness given form.
He stood tall and unyielding, his body broad and powerful, built not for speed but endurance. His skin was dark—deep obsidian threaded with faint lines of bioluminescence that pulsed slowly, like veins of starlight beneath stone.
Scars marked him—across his shoulders, down his ribs, along one powerful arm. None were careless. Each told of battles fought where light had no meaning, where survival demanded sacrifice.
His tail was massive, heavier than anything she had ever seen, the scales dark and iridescent, edged with a faint metallic sheen. It moved rarely—but when it did, the water responded with deference.
His face was harshly beautiful—sharp angles, strong jaw, lips that seemed carved for command rather than comfort. But it was his eyes that held her.
Endless. Devouring. Patient.
When he looked at her, it felt like standing at the edge of something inevitable.
He did not seduce.
He claimed by presence alone.
The Tide Prince was motion.
Where the Abyss King anchored the sea, the Tide Prince shaped it. His body was lean and fluid, every movement effortless, as if the water itself enjoyed carrying him.
His skin shimmered with silver and soft blues, patterns shifting faintly as he moved, echoing moonlight on waves. His tail was long and elegant, edged with translucent fins that caught the light like glass.
His hair floated freely, pale and luminous, framing a face that was sharp but expressive—eyes bright, intelligent, and undeniably warm.
When he looked at her, it was not ownership she felt.
It was invitation.
He ruled through understanding, through subtle pressure and persuasion, through making others want to follow.
Where the Abyss King was inevitability, the Tide Prince was temptation.
Aerin exhaled slowly, heart aching as understanding settled.
Her mother had loved one.
The vow had demanded both.
And she—Aerin—was born of a love the sea could never forgive… and could never forget.
The bond stirred again, warmer now, almost curious.
For the first time, she did not pull away.
She stayed.
And in that stillness, the sea whispered—not a command, not a threat.
A promise.