Chapter 379:

Caspian

It’s obvious what these bastards plan to do to her.

I can see it in their eyes—the way they look at her, the way their tongues wet their lips, the way their hands twitch at their sides. She’s not a person to them. She’s merchandise. Something to be taken, sold, used.

I won’t let them.

I shield the woman even more, pressing her behind my body, my arms spread wide. My sword is drawn. My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking.

But I don’t run.

"Hand her over, boy." The pirate leader’s voice is gravel and gristle. "We’ll let you live."

"No."

The word comes out steadier than I feel.

The pirates laugh. The sound is an ugly chorus of wheezes and coughs and missing teeth.

I grip my sword tighter.

I won’t let them.

I can’t.

The bushes rustle.

A figure steps out—tall, dark, unhurried. Boots first. Then dark trousers. Then a coat the color of midnight. The hat casts the face in shadow, but I know who it is.

The Devil.

"Oh?" She tilts his head. Her voice is low, smooth, amused. "What’s going on here, little prince?"

I don’t respond.

My jaw is tight. My sword is steady. The woman behind me is trembling.

The Devil looks at the group surrounding us—the pirates with their yellow teeth and yellow eyes, their cutlasses and their cruelty.

"I’m sorry, unfortunately, I have a contract with him." She points at me.

"So if we all go our merry way—"

"We don’t care about that bastard!" A pirate snaps, spittle flying from his cracked lips.

"Just hand her over!"

The Devil’s eyes flick to me.

"Well, Your Highness?"

"I won’t hand her over." The words come out through gritted teeth. My hands are shaking. My heart is pounding. But my voice is steady.

"I won’t."

She exhales, sounding annoyed.

"One." She counts. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven."

Everyone stares at her.

The pirates exchange confused glances. Their weapons lower, just slightly. Their heads tilt.

She looks up.

"Okay," she says. "That will do."

From her coat, she draws a gun.

"RU—"

The word doesn’t finish.

Gunfire erupts.

The Devil’s arm moves with the precision if a seasoned killer. Each shot finds its mark. Each bullet drops a pirate. One after another after another, like she’s counting, like she’s practiced this moment a thousand times before.

The pirates don’t even have time to raise their weapons.

They fall to the ground.

By the time the echoes fade, eleven bodies lie scattered across the forest floor. Their blood pools in the moss. Their eyes stare at nothing.

The Devil lowers her gun.

Her fingers move slowly,fixing the safety latch.

Click.

Nothing is more devilish than the scene of her standing among the dead, her coat clean, her hat straight, her face half-hidden in shadow. She looks like she’s posing for a painting. Like this is art.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She tilts her head. "They’re pirates."

As if that explains everything.

"Now, Your Highness." She gestures toward the beach. "Leave the forest. I still have my own plans in here."

I don’t need to be convinced.

I start walking immediately. The mermaid princess follows, her bare feet silent on the leaves, the prince’s coat swallowing her small frame.

I sneak a glance back.

The Devil’s face is obstructed by her hat—the wide brim, the shadow, the darkness. But I see it.

A smirk.

I turn away.

I walk faster.

But I can still see that smirk.

I think I’ll see it for a long time.

***

Larissa

I look at the waters from the deck of the human vessel.

Boat, they call it. Ship. Words that mean nothing to me—just sounds, just air, just human things.

But the structure itself... it’s ingenious. Wood and rope and cloth, somehow working together to move across our waters.

Humans have always been ingenious.

Compared to my people who believe in rules and tradition and safety—humans are reckless. Chaotic. Dangerous.

We have not changed for centuries.

The same songs. The same rituals. The same fears. We hide in the deep, we avoid the surface, we tell ourselves the old ways are the right ways.

But the world has changed without us.

Humans are no longer afraid of the sea. No longer afraid of the creatures that lurk beneath the waves. No longer content to stay on land.

Instead, they hunt us.

In our own waters.

Father must be so angry.

He warned me. Constantly. Stay away from the surface, Larissa. Stay away from human waters. Stay away from their ships and their nets and their cruel, curious hands.

But the island is not human waters, it’s ours.

It’s a space I grew up playing in.

The island is beautiful.

I remember it from when I was small—when Father would bring me here, holding my hand, guiding me through the currents. The island has pools. Hidden ones, scattered through the forest, connected by underground tunnels that only merfolk know.

When I was a child, I played in those pools.

Dove from the rocks. Swam through the tunnels. Hid from my sisters in the caves where the water was dark and cold and mine.

We all did. All the merchildren. The island was our secret, our playground, our freedom.

Then the humans came.

They found the pools. Found the tunnels. Found us.

The adults stopped bringing their young. The island became forbidden. Father warned us,constantly, desperately—to stay away.

"The humans will catch you. The humans will hurt you. The humans will take you and sell you and you will never see the sea again."

I believed him.

I stayed away.

For years, I stayed away.

But I missed it.

The sunlight on the water. The warmth of the shallow pools. The way the world looked from above the surface,green and gold and alive.

I thought I could have a tiny peek.

Just one.

Just a moment.

Just remember.

I slipped away from my sisters. Swam through the underground tunnels. Surfaced in the pool where I used to play, where the water was warm and the rocks were smooth and everything felt safe.

It wouldn’t hurt, I told myself.

Just a tiny peek.

The net closed around me before I could dive.

I didn’t hear them coming. Didn’t see them hiding in the trees. Didn’t know they’d been waiting, watching, hoping for a mermaid to surface.