Chapter 389

East of the monster’s hunting ground, there’s a cavern of sharp barren rocks, jagged and unforgiving.

They rise from the sea like broken teeth, worn smooth in places by centuries of waves and sharp as blades in others.

Seaweed tangles in thick curtains around their base, swaying with the current like hung corpses, dark and lifeless.

The water here is rough and violent.It pulls and pushes and tears at anything unlucky enough to enter. No sailor comes here willingly. No ship sails these waters. The rocks have claimed more vessels than any war, any storm, any monster.

Their bones litter the ocean floor—splintered wood, rusted cannons, the scattered remains of crews long forgotten.

A fish tries to swim through.

It doesn’t succeed.

The current drags it along, smashes it against a rock—extremely hard.The impact is sickening, even for something so small. A spot of blood blooms in the water, dark against the gray.

It spreads for a moment, a tiny cloud of red, before it’s washed away by the roaring waves, like it never happened.

Deeper into this deadly area, hidden from the world, there’s an underground cave.

The entrance is narrow,barely wide enough for a human to stand upright, should a human ever be foolish enough to venture this far.

The walls are slick with algae, green and black and slimy. Barnacles cluster in thick patches, their sharp edges waiting to cut any hand foolish enough to grab them.

The water inside is still.

Quiet.

Safe.

The cave opens into a small chamber, carved by centuries of water and pressure. The ceiling is low, barely above the waterline.

The walls are smooth in some places, jagged in others. Shells litter the floor—clams, oysters, scallops.

There’s an egg there.

It rests on a bed of seashells and moss and woven seaweed all carefully arranged, lovingly placed.

The shells are arranged in spirals, patterns, shapes that have no name but feel intentional. The moss is soft, thick, cushioning. The seaweed is woven into a nest, tight as thread, strong as rope.

The egg is pale. Almost luminous.

It’s as large as a human head.

Faint veins pulse beneath its surface, visible in the dim light.Like a heartbeat.

No one knows how long it’s been here. Months, perhaps. Years. The nest has been rebuilt many times, the shells replaced, the moss refreshed. The egg has been turned, rotated, cared for with a tenderness that seems impossible in this place of death and rock and savage currents.

Unfortunately, the egg is inviting to other predators.

A snake slithers through the water.

Its body is thick, muscular, longer than the cave is wide.

It finds the egg.

Its mouth opens—wider than should be possible, wider than any snake should be able to stretch. Its jaws unhinge.

Before it can bite down, claws tear through its body.

The hand withdraws. The snake is torn in two.The body of the snake drifts away, disappearing into the currents, swallowed by the dark.

The owner of that hand surfaces from the depths.

The owner of the webbed hand is the renowned monster of the seas.

She rises from the water like the tide itself—inevitable, unstoppable, endless. Her body is massive, far too large for the tiny cave opening.

Her shoulders scrape against the rock, leaving deep grooves in the stone. Her spine presses against the ceiling, cracking the algae, loosening bits of shell and sediment.

The water churns around her, disturbed by her presence, fearful of her size.

She is as terrifying as expected.

Her face is humanoid and grotesque,pale and scarred.Her eyes are dark, sunken, empty holding no light.

Her mouth hangs slightly open, revealing rows of jagged teeth—yellowed, sharp, designed for tearing, for shredding apart anything that comes her way.

Her body is covered in scars.

The snake’s body drifts past her, torn in two, bleeding into the water. She doesn’t look at it.

Her eyes are fixed on the egg.

She watches it for a long moment.

Then, in a surreal move, the monster shrinks.

The massive body contracts, compresses, folds inward. Bones reshape. Muscles reknit. Flesh shifts and flows like water finding its level.

Claws retract into slender fingers.The large, sunken eyes reduce—dark voids shrinking, shrinking, until they become something almost human.

The wide mouth closes. The jagged teeth smooth.

The metres-long tail shortens, softens, transforms into something sleek and beautiful—covered in scales that shimmer like gemstones, that catch the light and hold it.

At the end of the transformation, in place of the nightmare—

A mermaid.

Beautiful.

Her long black hair floats in the water, dark as ink, soft as silk. It spreads around her like a shroud, like a veil, like the wings of some fallen angel.

Her eyes are blue, like color of a clear blue sky and her skin is pale, with scars. The scars do not take away from her beauty, only elevate it.

She looks familiar.

Like the mermaid princess.

The same dark hair. The same blue eyes.

But there’s something else.

Someone else.

She curls toward the egg.

Her arms wrap around it—gentle, possessive, desperate. Her tail drifts in the water behind her, swaying slow and steady.

She hums.

A tune. Soft and low, barely audible over the distant roar of the waves.

It has no words—just melody, just feeling. It rises and falls like the tide. It echoes off the stone walls, fills the small chamber, wraps around the egg like a second skin.

She closes her eyes.

Her dark hair drifts around her face. Her scars catch the dim light—white lines crisscrossing her arms, her shoulders, her heart. Some are fresh. Some are old. Some are so faded they’re barely visible. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

They never heal.

Not really.

She hums.

The tune falters. Her voice cracks. A tear slips down her cheek, disappearing into the water before it falls.

She doesn’t wipe it away.

There’s no one to see.

The song continues.

Soft. Sad. Endless.

Waiting and Lonely.