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The truly wondrous spoils of the seven seas come few and far between. That’s something Roderick Burgess took to heart when he became a collector of oddities and mystical creatures. He’s captured beasts of every size, from land and sky, chained down the most ferocious of monsters, and caged demons no one’s even heard of. Yet with every creature he possesses, he only wishes for more. He’s always the hunter, never the hunted.

And what the hunter wants most of all is a pod of merfolk in his dungeon.

None of his hired pirates have ever been successful. Most have fallen victim to the tides or have become prey to the nastiest monsters of the sea. One of which was his dearest son Randall. It was reported to him that Randall heard a siren song in a cave and never came back. Roderick vowed then to find it, the thing that killed his son, for nothing can satiate his hunger for revenge in any other way.

It's tepid weather that greets him this morning. The drollness of the evening caught up with the dawn. It makes Roderick restless. Every waking moment he spends unsuccessful in capturing his most desired creature is a prison in itself. Freedom could be achieved with even one – just one mermaid to add to his collection.

He’s relentless in his persistence. Almost driven mad with obsession. He needs a mermaid locked away. He needs to look into their beady eyes and mock them. Mock them in the way they might have done when Randall had fallen into their clutches.

“Father?”

Roderick looks at the door, his curious (and perhaps hopeful) gaze turning into a sour glare as Alex walks into his study timidly.

“What do you want, boy?” He hobbles towards his window just to look at anything besides his failure of a son.

Alex shifts nervously. However, the next thing he spoke was the most useful thing Alex has done thus far.

“Captain Corinthian has returned.”

Roderick turned around so fast he almost got whiplash. The look on Alex’s face was wide-eyed and fearful. He approached his son slowly, reveling in the way Alex cowered with each step. Roderick grinned.

“Take me to him.”

It took a long time to get Captain Corinthian of the Nightmare ship to do something for him.

The man was self-serving and manipulative – not so unlike Burgess himself. But Roderick likes to think he’s got a little more class than the low life pirate captain. Captain Corinthian enjoys the dirtiest of luxuries, sticking his dick in anything that moves, and getting drunk on every type of alcohol available. Roderick takes mistresses and pays them to keep quiet. Corinthian flaunts his entire existence like he’s a gift to humanity. Roderick at least fakes modesty in the face of others.

However, at their very core, they are more similar than Roderick denies them to be. The same side of a coin, not opposites. When Corinthian smiles, it’s like Roderick is looking at a younger version of himself – a fractured mirror of what he used to be. Perhaps, that’s why he was the one to succeed where others failed. There’s a hunger in the captain. Hunger that Roderick knows all too well.

He insisted on going to the docks himself. Accompanied by skeptical guards and his other son, he hastily walks to where the SS Nightmare is buoyed on his private pier. It’s gotten harder to go outside in his old age but the prospect of finally having his mermaid brings a spring to his step like it was Christmas morning. His son could barely keep up with him with how hurriedly he rushed to his prize.

Captain Corinthian greets his small party with a toothy grin and an exaggerated bow. Roderick doesn’t bother to bow back.

“Sir Roderick Burgess, pleasure to see ya.” Corinthian winks and Roderick could see Alex blush in the corner of his eye. “Apologies for the delay. Had to replace a good number of my crew after the capture. You know how it is.”

“I offer my condolences, Captain.” Roderick shifts his cane to the right and leans a little harder. “I trust you were able to get what I asked for despite the loss.”

Corinthian grins, his teeth nearly sharp as shark's fangs.

“I’m a man of my word.”

The Captain whistles once and the drawbridge from the ship drops down at his command. Two other pirates walk down the plank along with another figure wearing black. Roderick watches with bated breath as they struggle to keep the creature from escaping. 

But as they move closer, Roderick merely sees a man.

The man’s hair was long, reaching his shoulders in knotted waves. Bruises were visible on its alabaster skin, even beneath the linen cloth they dressed him in. He continued to struggle and writhe and bite. There was a ferocity to him but Roderick had doubts that this was an actual mermaid.

“I thought you were bringing me a mermaid, Captain.” Roderick hissed at the pirate, his eyes not leaving the feral man who continued to struggle against his captors.

“That is merfolk, I assure you. They have legs when out of the water.” Corinthian raised an eyebrow at him with an amused smirk. “Don’t tell me the great collector Roderick Burgess doesn’t know that about their kind?”

Roderick, in fact, did not know that. However, he’s not about to let the Corinthian have a laugh about it at his expense. “Of course I knew. However, I’m sure you’re used to people not exactly trusting you right off the bat.”

“I take no offense to that at all.” Corinthian shrugs. “In fact, I’m flattered.” 

Eventually, the two pirates struggling to keep the creature at bay have found a way to secure his arms to his side with rope. The man hisses and growls at his captors but is significantly weakened after seemingly being on dry land for longer than he’s used to.

Corinthian leads Roderick to the supposed merman. Alex and the guards follow close behind, Alex a little farther away than the rest of them. They meet in the middle of the pier and Corinthian only needs to give a small imperceptible nod before the two pirates forcefully put the merman to its knees. The creature groans in pain but its eyes are dark with anger.

“Look at you, pretty little thing.” Corinthian mockingly coos at the merman. The merman glares up at the pirate captain with midnight black voids where his eyes are supposed to be. Roderick is rooted to his spot, transfixed by the specimen. Even if he doesn’t turn out to be merfolk, he would make an excellent addition to his collection regardless.

“Careful, Burgess.” Corinthian warns him when the creature nearly bites off Corinthian’s hand when he gets too close. “This one bites.”

Skin pale white and smooth, hair as black as night, and teeth sharper than his finest knives — this is truly one of the most fascinating finds he’s had to date. Roderick can already picture how this otherworldly thing will look swimming in the special little home he’s crafted just for him. Oh, how his personal zoo will dazzle with the underwater specimen in his clutches.

“If this one doesn’t grow a tail when I toss him in the water,” Roderick turns to the Corinthian, pointing his cane at him threateningly. “You’ll lose more than just your crew, Captain.”

Corinthian just puts his hands up, knowing which battles to choose. Fighting against Roderick Burgess was a death sentence. Even the most feared pirate captain of the seven seas knows that.

Roderick then gestures at the creature with his cane, yelling at his guards to take him to its new home. Alex hasn’t moved since they got here. Roderick flicks his cane at the boy, who flinches on instinct.

“Go with them, boy. Make sure that they secure him properly or else it will be you I drown as an experiment.” Alex nods immediately and hurries after the guards and the merman. Before disappearing from their sight, the merman turns his head around and looks directly at Roderick. Something like constellations flicker menacingly in his eyes but he’s whisked away before Roderick could even consider the consequences of his actions.

Humans are cruel.

Everyone told him that as soon as he was old enough to comprehend it. The surface was tempting but the humans that roamed the drylands were dangerous. His mother reinforced that in him over and over again. 

Don’t swim to the surface alone.

Don’t approach any ships.

Don’t interact with humans.

But he was stubborn. His curiosity knew no bounds, even by horror stories from his siblings who dared to venture to the surface. He loved all stories, even ones meant to scare him. For the sea was vast but monotonous. He wanted to know what else could be out there, what lay beyond the great big blue. It was only a matter of time before he broke the rules just to feel the sun on his skin, sift sand between his fingers, and breathe the crisp cool air.

He nearly did it. He was so close. The ship was majestic on the rolling sea and he was far too distracted by the carving of one of his people on the mast to notice the capture device those humans threw at him.

Nightmare is what they called this ship. And what a nightmare it truly was being on board.

Although he never understood the purpose of human clothing, he at once felt shame at being naked under their gaze. They spat at him, called him names he never even heard of, kicked him around and mocked him like he was nothing more than a little plaything for them to enjoy before his new master were to take him.

Merfolk are not supposed to be bound by something as primitive as ownership. Merfolk belong to no one but themselves. But humans seem to believe that whatever they find, it’s theirs . No matter if they live, breathe, and think the same way humans do. All they do is take. 

He is not used to his legs either. Walking to the Burgess mansion from the ship was agony. Merfolk were not meant to dwell on land for too long – the indication being that the soles of his feet would feel like they’re walking on glass. Any longer than this and he would have collapsed before Burgess’ men tossed him head first into a large tank filled with seawater. He sank to the bottom, weak and frail from having legs for too long.

The guards said something in a language he did not understand. If he were to wager a guess, it must have been words to belittle him. Shame and guilt bubbles up in his chest.

He should have listened to his mother.

After several more seconds, he gasps and his gills appear once again. He feels the webbing on his hands solidify and his tail binds his human legs back into the form he’s used to. He takes several deep breaths, if only to taste the sea water for a little bit longer. 

He continues to lay on the measly bed of sand at the bottom of the tank. The texture is foreign to him. The sand of the great big blue never felt this course against his skin. The corals that decorate the edges of the tank are of a brighter color than what he’s familiar with back at home. Even the salt water was starting to taste different.

The water feels like home. But he knows he is far from it.

His eyelids are heavy with fatigue. He does not remember the last time he slept. Aboard the nightmare ship, it was impossible to sleep. They were always clinking their ale bottles and singing off-key to the tides who would rather drown the sailors than hear another note.

It is quieter in the tank. There’s a soft light coming from the sides and up above, but not as blinding as the morning sun. But it is still not comfortable for him. Though his whole body longs for sleep, he could not bring himself to do so.

He doesn’t know when he’ll ever find the luxury of deep slumber again in his reflective prison.

10 Years Later

Listen, a job is a job.

Hob has had his fair share of working the oddest jobs to make money. It’s a means to an end. It doesn’t have to change the world or prevent it from dying or whatnot – he just needs a damn paycheck. He overheard the Burgesses were in need of a new guard, preferably with experience fighting in unusual places, could survive a scrimmage by the water, and would have to be cool with certain things very quickly.

If only three things did not describe Hob more than that.

He knew of Roderick Burgess. Every man, woman, child, and dog has heard of The Great Collector and his labyrinth of mythical creatures. Hob had never been rich enough to get invited to the shows and parties Burgess would throw at his mansion. Nor was he ever sneaky enough to attempt pretending he was a nobleman. But Hob knew what happened at those parties by observing others. Listening in on drunken rambles of the aristocracy who enter The White Horse to escape their totally miserable lavish lives.

What a bunch of cunts they are.

But again… a job is a job.

If he has to swallow his pride as a former veteran and serve a man who has not the country’s interests at heart but only his own, then he’ll bite his tongue too while he’s at it. The uniform’s a bit stuffy, though. He could allow himself to complain about that. How in the fresh hell is he supposed to be a proper guard if his pants are so tight?

“This is where you’ll be stationed.” 

The head security guard led Hob into the deepest depths of the Burgess Basement. It looks like a medieval dungeon with its torchlit hallways and the constant drip, drip, drip of an unknown leakage somewhere in the corner. Also it smells absolutely horrid down here. If Hob hadn’t smelled worse before, he’d have said hi to his breakfast from this morning right about now.

The head guard – Brute he said his name was – turns to him as soon as they approach a large door. It was at least 10 feet tall and 15 feet across. Hob feels dwarfed by its massive size.

“The creature you will be guarding is one of Mr. Burgess’ most prized possessions.” Brute said, carefully going through every lock at the entrance. “If anything happens to it, you’re dead on sight. Do I make myself clear?”

“I don’t even get a lawyer?”

Brute just glares at him.

“Tough crowd,” Hob mutters.

Brute just grunts and continues unlocking the doors. Hob stands there with his halberd tucked neatly in the specialized compartment on his back. Mr. Burgess personally gave him the weapon. He said it was powerful enough to murder a killer whale in one strike. Hob thinks that’s absolute bollocks but he kept his mouth shut because at least he wasn’t required to have a gun. Handling those during the war was hard enough.

After what seemed like an eternity, Brute pushed open the double doors and Hob winced at the god awful noises those hinges were making. When was the last time someone was actually here?

“Last guard lost his mind and drowned a couple months ago,” Brute said as if he had just read Hob’s mind. “We got a betting pool, you see.”

“For what?” Hob asked, though he already dreaded the answer.

Brute smirked at him, all rotted teeth and no sympathy. “For how long you’ll last.”

Yeah. No. He expected that. Still doesn’t make it any less worrisome.

Fucking hell, how many guards were down here before him? How many of them actually survived enough for the other security guards to have a bet? Hob stuck a little closer to Brute despite him trying to put on a brave face. If Brute noticed the proximity, he didn’t comment on it. Perhaps he too wanted a bit of reassurance considering what lurked in the deepest Burgess dungeon.

Brute led him down a long winding hallway, the path getting narrower and narrower the farther they go. So much so that Hob had to walk behind Brute instead of next to him. Hob swallowed. What was down here?

“There it is,” Brute whispered, as if he didn’t want anyone else but Hob to hear. Hob looked over Brute’s shoulder, gasping at what lay before them.

The room was floor to ceiling made of pure stone. The ceiling towered above them so high that Hob wondered how far down they actually were. It was in desperate need of redecoration but that wasn’t the main focus here. For what was almost taking up the entire circumference of the room was a giant tank. Nay, it was almost a whole fucking aquarium. It was filled with crystal clear water, rainbow colored corals, and what seems to be a cave at the very far edge.

However, Hob noticed the distinct lack of an actual creature in the tank.

“Um,” Hob turned to Brute, who was literally just about to bolt out of here. “Where’s the um–hang on! what exactly am I guarding?”

“One of Mr. Burgess–”

“Most prized possessions, yeah I got that.” Hob resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “But what is it?”

Brute didn’t speak for a while. Hob very nearly got his halberd out and made him talk. But Hob was – unfortunately – an honorable man, so he restrained himself. Just as he was about to ask again, he saw something move in the corner of his eye. The water within the tank ripples, reflecting what little light was flooded into the aquatic prison.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Brute said, his back already to the exit. “I’ll only give you one piece of advice though, Hob Gadling.”

The water moves again. But when Hob turns around to see it, the creature hides from him once more. Brute, for the first time, gives him a look of sympathy.

“Don’t go into the water.”

For the first week, Hob was basically guarding an empty tank.

Maybe the reason the last guard lost his mind was because there was no purpose to this. If there was truly a dangerous creature in there, it would have come out and attempted to lure Hob into the tank by now. But day in and day out, absolutely nothing. Hob would go mad down here too if he weren’t so stubborn to see this coveted monster. Plus, Burgess gives a pretty fat paycheck. It’s probably for buying people’s silences rather than being an actual decent employer.

There were rumors around town. They’ve been circling around long before Hob came back from military service. That Burgess had trapped a beast from the deep sea, perhaps even a siren, as revenge for what happened to his late son. Randall himself was rumored to have been drowned by the very creature supposedly swimming in this tank.

It’s a pretty extreme thing to do for a dead son but Hob could sympathize a little. He lost his son not too long ago and the memory of his funeral still stings as if it was just yesterday. Thankfully though, Robyn died right here on dry land. Who knows if Burgess even had a body to bury?

Blimey. Hob rubs his face with a heavy sigh. Why am I defending Roderick Burgess of all people? Hob figures he might have gone insane already. The man has hundreds, maybe thousands of creatures imprisoned in his ridiculously large mansion. The spectacle is fun for a while but at the end of the day… what he’s doing just isn’t right. 

And here Hob is, world’s biggest hypocrite, guarding one of the poor creatures himself. Fat load of a moral compass Hob’s got there.

He sighs again, leaning back in the chair they so graciously provided for him last Thursday. He’s got a living quarters down here too. Substandard space with a single bed, a shitty lamp, and a poster on the wall that had a badly printed picture of a window. He goes up to get food during his break and then it’s another 8 hours watching absolutely fucking nothing. 

If Hob wasn’t being paid so well, he would have called this a prison for himself too. At least the giant fish in the tank had some decorations.

“I should get some fairy lights down here,” Hob said aloud, as if the mystery creature inside the tank could hear or understand him. He likes to believe it does. Or maybe that’s the caffeine making up conclusions for him.

“Spruce this place up a bit, yeah?” He stood up, stretching his arms with a groan. “Or maybe I could bring some of my son’s old sticker books and put some on your tank. I’m pretty sure he has an Under The Sea themed one somewhere.”

As expected, nothing answers him, not even an acknowledgement of his presence. Hob is tempted to tap on the tank like they do at actual aquariums.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this from me,” Hob continues, sitting criss-cross applesauce on his chair. “But I’m sorry you’re here. It must suck to be trapped here, probably taken away from your family. Do you have any family?”

Silence again.

“I had five siblings,” Hob reminisces with a painful smile. “Three girls, two boys. I was the middle child, could you believe that? But here I am… the only living child my mother has left. Even though she doesn’t have much time now.”

The stillness of the water was calming in a way. Hob watches the fake seaweed sway. If they move, the creature inside must be moving too, even just a little bit. Weirdly enough, that was enough for Hob. Who knows if the creature could understand him? At least someone is listening…

“I remember a story my mum told me when I was younger. It was about a kingdom beneath the murky waters, wherein presides the most resplendent of castles.” At some point, Hob decided to ditch the chair and sit down on the floor. He leans backwards against the tank, closing his eyes. He remembers it now, the times when he was just a lad. Begging for just one more bedtime story before he went to sleep.

“She told me that there were no kings down there. Is that true?” He asked aloud, though he knew no one would answer. “You know, I had dreams about that place for years. The castle, that is. It’s like I’ve lived there all my life. Did you live at the castle? Was there one at all?”

Hob had always felt a deep connection to the ocean. They grew up in a seaside town where ships docked overnight. He befriended every sailor who visited their shores, the captains even allowing him to try on their captain’s hats. He used to run up and down the stairs of the lighthouse and watch the storms from the windows.

It always felt like a second home to him, the sea. The riptides would lap at his feet in the morning and kiss his ankles at midnight. And the stars were always so bright back home. Nearer to the city, Hob could barely see the stars. The sea, the stars, and the everlasting sky were his only friends. When Hob closes his eyes, he feels like he’s back there.

Tap.

Hob opens his eyes again but doesn’t dare move his head. Was he imagining things? Was it the remnants of his daydream of home?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

In all his years of soldiering, one starts to develop a keen danger sense. The hairs at the back of his neck stand at attention and his hand very stealthily reaches for his halberd.

The tapping gets more consistent. Erratic with every second Hob doesn’t acknowledge it. 

Tap. 

Tap. 

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap–

SLAM!

Hob jumps to his feet, his halberd at the ready, and turns to face the tank.

His grip on his weapon nearly slips when he sees it – sees him.

Now Hob knows he isn’t dreaming because even he couldn’t conjure up such a creature in his head. Staring at him was a man – or someone not fully a man. 

From his head to his torso, it was the form of a human, but his ears were larger and thinner, much like a fish’s dorsal fins would be. Its eyes were jet black and so was the long flowing hair fanning out behind him. His skin was pale like moonlight but dotted with silvery scales that reflected the dim lighting from above, making his upper body look as if stars lived there. Constellations of silver white scales across his arms and chest.

Then fading down from an ombre were his hands – as black as his eyes. The black fingers were webbed and near translucent, with sharp claws at the tips. If they weren’t separated by a thick sheet of glass, the creature would have slashed at his eyes by now.

The most magnificent part of him though was his tail. A long, beautiful black tail, dotted and striped with white and silver. The scales shimmer like starlight with each careful flick against the water. The fins at the end of the tail were flared out, pronged like paper fans, spotted black, white, and silver like the rest of the tail.

Hob has seen many beautiful things in his lifetime.

However, nothing has ever come close to breathtaking more than the creature with its hand pressed against the glass before him.

They stared at each other for a long while – dark brown meeting onyx black like the passage between midnight and dusk on the battlefield that haunts Hob’s waking nightmares. Hob found himself drawn to him like the creature was the manifestation of a distant childhood memory. He was foreign yet familiar. Divine yet human. Ethereal yet so tangible that if Hob were to just reach out and touch, maybe he would remember.

What is it exactly he’s trying to remember?

However, as soon as he put his halberd down and reached out, the creature swam away, leaving in its wake bubble vapor that obscured Hob’s view of him.

“Wait!” Hob rushed forward, dropping his halberd to the floor.

But he darted back into the cave, out of sight once more.

After a bit of reading and some very sneaky activities into Burgess’ private library, Hob identified that the creature in Roderick’s tank was some type of merfolk. He’s only ever heard of the ones with colorful tails and vibrant hair. This is the first time he’s ever witnessed a merfolk in his life but he’s pretty sure he’s never encountered a story that speaks of merfolk with black and white tails.

And those eyes.

Hob had been captivated by those eyes as dark as night since the first day. He even dreamed of them every night and woke up disappointed that the owner of those magnificent eyes had hidden himself away again. 

Not for the first time did Hob theorize what happened to the previous guard that led to his untimely demise. Was he dreaming of starlit eyes and milky white skin before he drowned himself? Had he taken one look at the merman and gone mad with the knowledge that such a beauty of this world existed?

Or was he lured to his death like Randall Burgess?

These thoughts lingered in his head day and night as he waited for the merman to show himself again. Hob believes he’s a lot more patient than the last guy. So, he very carefully made sure he was always within view of the merman in his cave, his halberd tucked away more discreetly so as not to alarm him.

He also continued to talk out loud. The first time the merman made himself known was when Hob was wondering about what the creature’s home was like. Hob had spent a few nights sketching out the underwater castles as described to him from his mother’s fairy tales. He brought them out a few times, even contemplated sticking them onto the tank so the merman could check it out if he wished.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for the creature to show himself again.

It was the morning of Hob’s one month as a guard. A few staff members of the house have already lost the bet, Brute being one of them. It hurts him that Brute didn’t think he had the balls to stay longer than a month. Did he not hear the part where he was a war veteran? Hob’s seen some fucked up shit. An underwater humanoid creature felt like something he’d see in the Sunday newspaper as far as he was concerned.

Just like usual, he sat down on the stone floor, but this time he brought a blanket and a few pillows. It looked like a mini-picnic setup. He’s even got the finger sandwiches in a quaint little basket! Hob’s proud of the aesthetic he’s bringing to this dull little room. Maybe the merman would appreciate it somehow.

“I’m back!” Hob called out with a little groan as he sat down on the floor. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Hob reached into the basket he brought with him from home and pulled out a string of pearls. They were probably fake. He only saw them at the market last weekend for 20 quid next to a truly heinous cable knit blouse. Mad Hettie isn’t exactly known to own the richest kinds of hidden treasures but it’s the thought that counts. She did mention though that she had to wrestle this from a now dead man’s clutches by the hills. So these pearls got some history in them at least.

“I’ll give them to you if you like. Something to remind you of home?” Hob fidgeted with the pearls in his hands. “My mum used to love wearing pearls when we were younger. It’s like she couldn’t leave the house without her necklace. It broke sometime before I went to serve in the army but I saved a few pearls to make a bracelet to take with me.”

Hob pushed back the sleeve of his uniform, smiling down at the makeshift bracelet on his wrist. It had a few of his mother’s pearls and a few other mismatched beads stolen from his younger sister’s collection. It miraculously survived all the fighting. His mother said magic kept the bracelet intact. Hob thinks it’s dumb luck.

“Would you rather I make you something like this?” Hob mused. “We could match.” 

Hob lifted his wrist up and froze when he saw the merman had come out of hiding. His face was closer to the glass than last time. Hob isn’t sure what he was looking at but he was just giddy with the fact that the merman is back.

“Hello there,” Hob said, slowly putting his hand down and scooting closer to the tank carefully. The merman didn’t move, just watched Hob as he got to his knees and gently pressed a hand to the tank. He didn’t flinch away, which was good. Hob counted that as a win.

The merman’s eyes flickered down to look at Hob’s hand pressed to the glass. Hob didn’t dare move. And as he tilted his head curiously, he swam closer, examining Hob’s hand like there was nothing else more interesting to him. Hob took this as an opportunity to observe the creature too. Up close, the silvery scales were more prominent and had a multicolor sheen to them. Almost like a rainbow in certain angles. Hob could see its gills like this too. Just three slits on each side of the merman’s neck, gently pulsating and swaying against the water.

Hob would have been content right here. This is the closest he’ll probably ever get to actual merfolk. If he never spoke to him that would be fine. Hob doesn’t think the creature owes him its voice for being complicit in his imprisonment. It’s a privilege to see him at all.

But then the merman presses his hand to Hob’s against the glass. Hob could now truly see how thick the barrier was between them – two whole inches of impenetrable glass separating them. And yet it looks like their hands are touching each other.

“Hello,” Hob repeats, a little softer. “It’s nice to see you again.”

The merman tilts his head again, but forward this time, almost in a little bow. His eyes stayed on Hob’s face and it was then that Hob could truly appreciate the way light is reflected in them. The creature was painted with constellations and supernovas from the depths of his eyes to the ridges of his scales.

Then he looked a little bit behind him, at the little picnic Hob set up for himself, and gave Hob another curious head tilt.

“Oh, that?” Hob looked behind him briefly. “Just wanted to make myself comfortable. D’you like it?”

The creature blinks for the first time, slow and deliberate. Kind of like a cat. How fascinating and strange. Hob wants to know so much more, wants to see other reactions from him. What does it take to make an elegant being of the sea laugh? When he cries, are they also made of sparkling starlight?

For now, he settles on knowing how a merman shows curiosity. It’s a slow start but at least he’s there all the same.

“Do you wanna hear another story?” He asks, not daring to pull his hand away from the glass. He’s afraid the creature will hide away again.

This time though, the merman moves his hand away from the glass, but he stays. In plain sight that is. He circles the tank, almost in search of something, and several moments later he pushes a mound of sand closer to the edge where Hob is. Hob nearly laughs at how endearing this looked coming from an otherworldly being.

Eventually, he seems satisfied with his mound of sand and settles down on it. Hob supposes he’s sitting down now and Hob follows suit.

“Right then,” He stretches his legs out and leans back. He racked his brain for a story to tell the curious little merman but then he remembers the deep fascination he had for Hob’s bracelet. He smiles and holds his wrist up again, right where they left off. 

“Suppose I should tell you how I made this?”

As Hob launches into his story, the merman listens intently. Hob doesn’t know if he understands every word but he seems totally immersed in the tale. His entire body was rapt with attention. His tail even twitched at the most appropriate moments.

He doesn’t smile once, though. That’s alright. Baby steps, Robert.

Having someone listen to him is enough.

It was another month’s worth of telling this merman his life story when he realized that he should probably stop referring to the merman as just ‘the merman’ or ‘the creature’ in his mind.

“Merfolk should have names, right?” Hob asked after his lunch break. The merman was on his usual mound of sand by the glass when Hob came back. He was lying down, arms stretched out above his head, and his fingers combing through his hair with a bit of difficulty. The tableau looked alluring enough to make a marble statue out of. Perhaps someone out there already has.

When Hob asked his question, he sat up, brows furrowed. He turned to look at Hob with a slight pout.

“My name’s Hob. It’s an old nickname for Robert. Do you have nicknames? They’re kind of shortened versions or derivatives of one’s given name.”

The merman blinks again then he – miraculously! – shakes his head. Hob has to restrain his excitement so he wouldn’t frighten him.

“No nicknames?” The merman shakes his head again, which now confirms something Hob has been wondering. He read that Merfolk can understand many languages and can learn them in as fast as three weeks. Well, Hob has been telling stories to the merman for almost two months now. Surely by now he’s picked it up?

“So… Do you have a name?”

The merman hesitates but nods. Hob grins.

“Are you willing to tell me?”

There’s a longer pause before the merman looks up. Then he looks back down to Hob pointedly. Hob knows what he’s looking at – the opening of the tank. Hob uses a specialized ladder to climb up to the opening so he could toss food in for the merman. He’s not supposed to keep the ladder too close or else the merman might escape.

“Those things grow legs on dry land,” Brute told him after his one month mark. “Don’t give that thing an opportunity to escape.”

Hob was a little conflicted. It was either he satiate his curiosity and hear the merman speak for the first time or fulfill his duty as some old crazy man’s security guard and refuse him.

Now that he thinks about it… The conflict isn’t that conflicting.

Besides, Hob’s never been a stickler for the rules.

“One thing though,” Hob says to the merman, who swims closer. Hob finds it endearing that whenever Hob spoke to him, he seemed to want to be physically closer. Maybe it was because the glass was so thick but Hob’s ego needs a bit of stroking every now and then. He wants to believe it’s because the merman likes him enough.

“Promise me you won’t drown me.”

The merman stares at Hob for a good long minute at that. Hob held his ground. Eventually, the merman rolls his eyes and nods. Hob thinks that’s about as good a promise as any.

With one more nod for good measure, the merman swims up to the opening and Hob rounds the tank to get the specialized ladder. It was embedded into the far wall and could only be removed by a series of complicated padlocks. Hob hated having to carry all these damn keys. It took a good 10 minutes for him to unlock everything and get the ladder in place.

To be safe, the ladder is still about a foot away from the lip of the tank. One can never be too careful. But something in Hob’s gut is telling him the merman might not hurt him.

As if sensing Hob’s presence, the merman bursts out of the water. 

“Hi,” Hob says, a little breathless from climbing. The merman swims closer to him and leans his arms against the lip of the tank.

“Hob.”

Oh.

His voice is deep.

If something were to sound like the depths of the ocean undiscovered it would be this merman’s voice. Hob was in awe . He looked the same out of the water yet so different. Perhaps it was the lighting or the rivulets of water dripping from his hair onto his scales. But Hob for the first time felt that there was danger . That this creature could rip his throat out if he chose to launch himself at Hob. That in the morning, Brute might be fishing his body out of the water.

And yet he doesn’t think about running away once.

“That’s me.” Hob nods, a smile on his face. He hopes he looks friendly. “What’s your name?”

“I…” Then he pauses, searching for the words. “I do not know if humans have a word for it.”

“Hit me with a description,” Hob offers and the merman ponders on it for a second.

“When you sleep, it is the moving colors you see in your mind.” He starts, slowly and carefully. “Sometimes they have sounds – the laughter of young ones, the voice of your mother singing you to sleep, the screams that haunt you when you remember the war. Sometimes they are good, pleasant , and warm. Other times they make you wish you never fell asleep at all. They go away when you wake.”

Then the merman’s torso straightens slightly. “That is my name.”

There it was again – danger. Hob was a veteran. He’s fought the bloodiest battles and came out with memories that lurk whenever he closes his eyes. There are nights when Hob refuses to sleep because the shouts of his fellow soldiers were too loud in his head. Other times it’s him reliving watching his sister die of cancer, then his brother in a car accident, and then his son from a bullet gone astray.

Nightmares.

But the merman also said his name could mean something pleasant. The sound of his mother’s voice and the laughter of an innocent child. Something warm like the feel of the sun on his skin as he laid to rest on the beach. Something happy  and good like running to the ocean and playing close to the tides until his mom calls him in for supper.

Then it all clicks.

“Dream,” Hob says and the black voids of the merman’s eyes seem to shift in recognition. “Your name must be Dream.”

“Dream…” He says it like the vowels are foreign to him. Then he repeats it. Over and over again. Hob watches him get accustomed to the word, to the very thing that humans used to describe all the moving colors and sounds in their head when they sleep. 

How beautiful is it that merfolk name their children such things?

“My name is Dream,” The merman affirms and there it was – a small and nearly imperceptible smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Hob broke out into his own smile and gave Dream a little nod.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Hob leans forward and Dream seems to subconsciously lean closer too. “Dream.”

“I require a comb.”

Hob was sitting on the ladder again today. It was much easier to talk to Dream up here. Although he still doesn’t speak much, it's always a treat when Dream is the one to initiate conversation. Much like this one. No matter how odd a request.

“A comb?” Hob asks, closing the book he was reading. “Merfolk comb their hair?”

“With tools fashioned from dead shark teeth,” Dream relays as if this information was something that wouldn’t faze Hob in the slightest. It didn’t. But it would have been nice to have a bit of warning. Dream was a little blunt like that, though.

“I’ve got a wooden one.”

Dream juts his lower lip out. Hob resists the urge to reach out and squish his cheeks.

“It will do,” He says as if it was such a burden. Hob chuckles and moves to climb off the ladder.

He comes back with the comb and throws it gently to Dream, who catches it with seemingly expert ease.

“Next time you’re gonna tell me that you brush your teeth sometimes too,” Hob muses as Dream starts to comb through his long hair. “ Do you brush your teeth?”

Dream continues to untangle the knots in his hair, his gaze distant as he thinks. “I do not know what you mean.” He puts the comb up in question. “Brush our teeth with these?”

“Oh no, Dream.” Hob laughs and shakes his head. “We have a different brush for our teeth. It’s a little smaller with softer bristles. Keeps our teeth nice and clean.”

“You humans do eat things that destroy your teeth,” Dream wonders aloud, his fingers working at a particularly stubborn knot. “Perhaps it makes sense that you must brush them occasionally.”

“So everyone in the ocean has bad breath?”

Dream gives him a look.

Hob puts his hands up. “Kidding! I think your teeth are lovely, by the way.”

“Yours are…” Dream narrows his eyes a bit. “Straight.”

“Only thing straight about me, I’m afraid.” Hob winks at him and Dream stares at him intently. Like he’s trying his hardest to understand the joke. Ultimately, he seems to decide that it wasn’t worth trying to figure out and he returns to detangling his hair.

Hob goes back to his book. He occasionally reads passages out loud that he thinks Dream might find interesting. It’s a little poetry anthology published by a local writer and it’s been in Hob’s possession for a couple years. It’s dog-eared to hell and back, hard hitting lines underlined in red, and the cover is frayed at the edges.

“I dream of the sea,” Hob starts, smiling a bit when Dream’s ears perk up at the sound of his home and name. “The waves caress me like a long lost lover and hold me in its whirlpools in a tender embrace.”

“Yet I do not drown. She saves me, lays me upon the shore. I say goodbye to the riptides when my eyes open to greet the dawn.”

“When I dream of the sea,” Dream is leaning against the tank again, head resting on his arms as he listens. Hob leans a little closer. “I dream of freedom. I dream of peace. I dream of thunderstorms, lightning bending a knee. I dream of the great unknown and how wonderful it would be to know it one day and ask for its name.”

Hob wasn’t reading anymore. His eyes were locked on Dream’s own. For he’s memorized this poem by heart, recited the verses in the barracks, and whispered its couplets on sleepless nights.

“When I dream of the sea,” Hob puts the book down to the side. Dream pays it no mind. Then Hob smiles. “I dream of you. How you welcome me with your tidal wave embrace. How you bring me on adventures that change my life forever.”

“For when I dream, I dream of love. I love the sea. And the sea… is endless.”

Hob finishes the poem with a gentle smile, and he sees it reflected in Dream’s eyes. Galaxies explode in their depths and Hob is nothing more than a lowly traveler who swims among the stars. Shipwrecked. Alone. But alive. So, so alive.

Hob wonders if Dream feels that too. 

Being the son of the Great Collector was not easy.

Everything was more bearable with Randall around. He was about ten years older than Alex but the two of them were thick as thieves. From birth, Alex was disliked by their father for being small and feeble. But Randall adored him. He took on the mantle of older male figure in his life because his father lacked being a role model.

Randall instilled in him a love for animals. When Alex couldn’t kill the spiders in his bedroom, Randall would hug him, capture the spider in a jar, and let them loose in the back garden. When Alex begged to have a pet dog, Randall was the one to take him to the local animal shelter and play with all the strays and abandoned puppies.

Neither of them ever approved of their father’s obsession for capturing and displaying mythical creatures.

It started when their mother died and he became obsessed with finding fairies that would grant him wishes. Then he went into a deep dive of what other creatures might be out there – ones that could give him immortality, strength, abundance. The hunting force of The Great Collector became the talk of the town and soon Roderick Burgess became legendary. People would even bring him creatures to examine and display.

There was once a zoo in their house. People would come from far and wide to see The Great Collector’s menagerie of monsters. Alex used to walk around and offer people drinks and candy. But at night when everyone has left, he and Randall used to feed the creatures as much food as they could eat before their father found out.

A part of Alex wants to blame the mystery monster that took Randall from him. A part of him wants to pierce a siren through the heart and avenge his brother’s death that way. However, Randall wouldn’t like that. He would tell Alex that violence was never a solution to his problems, even if his thoughts would entertain scenarios of giving his father exactly what he deserved.

It’s a tough line to tread but Alex likes to think he has enough balance to keep himself from falling.

So, when his father finally acquired a merperson from Captain Corinthian, his mind wandered. Was this the same creature that drowned Randall on his journey at sea? Or was this just some poor thing that got caught in the crossfire? Alex constantly contemplated going down to the dungeon, just to see how he’s like. The only time Alex saw him was the very first time they put him in the tank. He didn’t dare go down there without his father’s express permission.

But he’s curious. That’s one thing he got from his father. His thirst for knowledge was a lot less bloodthirsty, of course, but one can’t blame him for wanting to learn more about the merman in his basement. The brief moment he saw the creature’s true form was enough to plague his dreams for weeks.

“I haven’t seen you up here on break for a while, Hobsy.”

A couple guards rounded a corner and Alex ducked behind a suit of armor. He peeked out from behind the metal, spotting the group parking themselves by the archway leading to the kitchen. Alex recognized one of them – the newest guard who was assigned to watch over their mysterious merman downstairs.

“Half of my break is climbing those stairs, Artie.” The guard said with a chuckle. “I might as well just stay down there until the day’s over and I’ll come up here for breakfast.”

“Ain’t you goin’ mad down there, Hob?” Said another guard, an older one who’s been here since Alex was a child.

Hob shook his head with a relaxed smile. “Nah. It’s not so bad down there once you get used to it.”

“You got used to an empty tank?”

From Alex’s vantage point, he can’t tell what Hob’s reaction to that was. But his next statement was, “Better to guard nothing than a hostile creature, right?”

The older guard nodded in agreement. “You tell me. I used to guard Burgess’ fuckin’ hypogriff up on the top floor. God rest its soul but blimey was she a biter.”

The guards all groaned in sympathy and then soon the conversation veered away from his father’s creatures. Alex stayed in his spot though and waited until Hob announced he was going downstairs again.

“Your mind’s of steel, Hobsy.” Said one of the guards as he clapped a firm hand on Hob’s shoulder. “Glad you haven’t drowned yet.”

“And I don’t plan on it.” The guards laugh again and soon they bid Hob goodbye. When Hob passed by his suit of armor, Alex slowly slipped out and followed him as quietly as he could.

“Do you need something, sir Alex?”

But of course, Alex forgot that Hob was a soldier.

Alex froze in place, watching with a frantically beating heart as Hob turned to look at him. Realistically, Alex knew Hob wouldn’t hurt him. However, he might not like the response if he asks Hob the burning questions in his mind.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, lad.” Hob carefully approached Alex like he was a wounded animal. Alex certainly was shaking like one. With his hands up, Hob gave Alex a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, sir. No need to be afraid of me.”

“I-It’s a bit of a habit, sorry.” Alex straightened up a bit, trying his best to match Hob’s perfect posture. “You’re the one we hired to guard our siren, correct?”

Hob furrowed his brows. “You mean the merman, right?”

“I-Is there a difference? I don’t think father ever told me the difference if he knows it–”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure merfolk and sirens are different creatures.” Hob shrugged even if he just said something Alex never thought to consider. “Haven’t heard him sing yet though, so I could be wrong.”

“I think you’re right, though.” Alex was relaxing a little more now but he was still fidgeting nervously. “Can I ask you a question, Mr. Gadling?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Have you seen him?”

Now that they were face to face, Hob visibly tensed but it was gone as soon as it came.

“Why do you ask, sir?”

Alex hid his fidgety hands behind his back just to show he’s a little more put together. “I won’t tell father if you have.”

Hob’s expression was unreadable, almost as impenetrable as the glass tank they’ve trapped their merman in. Alex wonders if Hob was a soldier of higher status – a lieutenant or a general perhaps? Because when Hob doesn’t smile, he becomes a looming threat of danger. Alex is suddenly hyper aware of the sharp halberd strapped to Hob’s back.

“Have you seen him?” Hob answered back and Alex doesn’t know if he should tell Hob that he was the one who ensured that the merman got into the tank. That he was the one who watched the merman transform but bolted out of the room before he could see the full thing. Could he fault him for being curious? Could this former veteran find sympathy in a boy who desperately wants to be different from his father?

Maybe Alex needs to find the sympathy within himself first.

“I want to,” Alex finally says, holding eye contact with Hob for the first time. “May I see him?”

Those things grow legs on dry land.

This is something Hob’s been thinking about since Brute mentioned it. Not once did he think of asking Dream if it was true – not after he got a very firm scolding along the lines of “you can’t just ask why my hair is long.” Hob’s learned in the past few months that Dream only gives information about his species when he wants to. It’s not often that he offers that info without being asked.

He doesn’t always come out to talk to Hob either. There are days where he sulks in his cave and Hob would just be talking at him, like the first few days he was here. Other days, Dream asks for so many stories about Hob’s life that Hob thought he’d run out of them one day. So, if Hob wants to know more about merfolk, he has to catch Dream in a good mood.

He also thought about his encounter with Alex Burgess the other day. It’s taken a great deal of work on Hob’s part to gain Dream’s trust and that’s with him being a total stranger . Alex wasn’t exactly a stranger. Alex was there when they first brought Dream to the Burgess mansion. Dream may not be comfortable around the boy. Hob doesn’t know if he’s willing to risk the bond he’s forming with Dream just to fulfill this kid’s wishes to see a merman.

However… Hob has been where Alex was. Anxious, fidgety, but infinitely curious. He didn’t have many friends growing up – his only friend was the sea. He never truly ventured out to swim – somehow he never actually learned to swim despite living beside the sea all his life. His mom always told him that he was mildly allergic to seawater so he couldn’t be in contact for too long or he’ll get rashes. 

Hob can relate to wanting something so bad that it hurts.

So, despite everything, he sees himself in Alex. He used to be that scared and scrawny kid who no one wanted to play with. He used to be that kid who got made fun of for being a little more darker skinned than the rest of his pale as paper classmates. Most of all, he used to be that kid who was mocked for liking boys.

It took a lot of courage on his part to ask Dream if he wanted to meet someone new.

“The son of The Great Collector?” Dream’s gaze wavered, those familiar constellations losing their shine at the mere mention of Roderick Burgess. It wasn’t anger. More of a deep acceptance of his fate, and yet the sparkle of hope still lingers, no matter if it flickers dim.

“You don’t have to meet him if you don’t want to,” Hob reassured him, shifting his position on the ladder. “I told him that this should be entirely up to you. And that if he disobeys, I will consider him a danger to you and forbid him from coming down.”

“Is that what your true job is, Hob Gadling?” Dream tilted his head, eyes a little wide. “To protect me ?”

“The official job description is to prevent you from escaping at all costs.” He winced a bit at that. Even Hob didn’t like the sound of that too much. Hopefully, he’s able to convey that to Dream despite his words saying the opposite. “But… yeah, I like to consider myself your protector.”

Dream considered this for a moment, laying down to float leisurely atop the water. Hob watched his chest rise and fall with his breath. Hob wished he brought his sketchbook up here to capture this quiet contemplative moment.

After a good long while, Dream finally spoke. “Merfolk protect each other, especially the ones we have bonded with. It does not have to be one of romantic attachment – it can be familial, or a bond forged in deep friendship.” Dream glanced at Hob for a second and averted his eyes just as quickly. “Do you believe we have bonded enough to protect each other?”

What a question to ask.

Hob didn’t have many friends, just co-workers, and the occasional acquaintance to have a pint or two with at the pub. He’s had lovers. People he imagined a future with. Eleanor’s bond to him could never be severed, not even in death. How long does it take for merfolk to believe two people have bonded enough? What are the criteria and how best can Hob meet them?

Because to Hob, the past few months they spent talking and sharing stories felt like years. Hob feels like he’s already told so much about himself to this strange underwater creature. And yet he is still learning about Dream. He’s still asking questions, some of which never get any answers, but he keeps coming back, keeps running down the hallways, keeps climbing up the ladder, just to be around Dream.

“I think so,” Hob concluded with a firm nod. “I don’t believe there is anyone in this world I have bonded with more than you.”

It’s an extraordinary thing to see his merman (and when did he start referring to Dream as his? ) truly surprised by anything Hob says. He gets confused, perhaps a little curious about human customs, but surprise is rare. Surprise is a sweet treat. Surprise is what’s swimming in Dream’s eyes.

“A soul bond is an honor, Hob Gadling.” Dream’s a little breathless and maybe Hob is too. He’s always been a tiny bit breathless around him. “I have never bonded with a human before. My encounters with your kind have not been pleasant thus far. However you,” Dream looked as if he wanted to reach out to Hob, perhaps touch him, but his hand wavers in the air. “You are an extraordinary human.”

“I’m a little bit above average at best,” Hob shrugged to try and tamper down the immense amount of butterflies going haywire in his stomach at Dream’s words. Dream shook his head, his whole body flush against the tank.

“I do not like it when you see yourself as anything less than extraordinary, Hob Gadling.” Dream rests his chin on his arms, the galaxies in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “It is an insult to a merfolk’s soul bond.”

“Is that what we are?” Hob asks with a heart skipping several beats per minute. “Two bonded souls?”

“It is what I know we are,” Dream emphasizes we like it’s always been that way. We . Dream and Hob. Hob and Dream. A human and his merman. A merman and his human. Maybe he’s always seen Dream as his – just as two bonded souls are meant to be. Maybe Dream had already laid claim on him the moment their eyes met the first time.

Hob’s breath comes out as shaky as he asks, “Do you want to come closer?”

Dream blinks. “To you?”

“Out of the tank. Closer to me.”

Whole eons would have passed them by before Dream answers but that’s quite alright with Hob. He’s gotten used to waiting, especially for a certain merman to open up to him. All Hob wanted was friendship but in return for his patience, he was rewarded with another soul intertwined with his. Who can blame him for wanting that soul to be nearer to him? It was like his entire body suddenly realized that the distance between them was too much to bear.

Evidently, Dream seemed to think the same thing.

“I do not believe I have the strength to run away even if I tried,” Dream assured Hob even if he never asked for it. Hob gave him a warm smile regardless. “But you’d want me to walk with you? Be human with you?”

“I don’t want you to be human,” Hob corrects. “I just want to be with you . Doesn’t matter what form you take. It just has to be you .”

One day, Hob might learn that two bonded souls could never be separated, even in death. One day, Hob might learn that all his life he had been subconsciously searching for the one who’d fill in the empty hole in his heart. One day, Hob might learn that Dream had been searching as fervently as he was.

Today, Hob will learn that as soon as he touches the one he has melded his soul with, he’ll never want to let go.

With one last reassuring nod to Dream, Hob climbs down the ladder then pushes it closer to the lip of the tank. If Brute were here, he’d be yelling at him to stop but no one else comes down here but Hob. Not even poor old Roderick Burgess cares to ogle at his captured merman for a bit of fun.

Once he was sure it was secure, Hob rushes to his room and grabs a blanket from his bed. Then he climbs up the ladder again and lays the blanket over his lap.

“Alright then,” Hob gets ready to reach out to Dream. “You ready?”

Dream looks over the edge of the tank and Hob knows he’s thinking about how high up it really is. But Hob grabs his attention again, showing Dream that he doesn’t have to be afraid.

“I’ll catch you,” Hob says and Dream’s grip on the tank tightens. “I won’t let you fall.”

It’s more difficult with a tail. But Hob is patient, he has to be around Dream. It’s a slow process to get Dream seated precariously on the edge of the tank but as soon as he’s in that position, Hob has his arms around the merman and is pulling him out of the water and onto his lap.

It doesn’t register in his brain that he and his merman have finally touched until Dream turns in his seat to grab Hob’s face between his hands. It’s urgent but so tender. Hob’s eyes widen but so does his smile.

“Hi,” Hob said, breathless once more. “There you are, you gorgeous thing.”

“Gorgeous.” The whisper of the merman’s voice sends shivers down Hob’s spine and his grip around Dream’s waist tightens so that they wouldn’t fall. Hob doesn’t know if Dream is just repeating his words or telling him that he’s gorgeous too.

Either way, he leans forward to press their foreheads together with a content sigh. Dream’s hands never leave the sides of his face.

Somewhere, somehow, their bonded souls sing in rejoice.

When Dream was little, his mother used to spend every night brushing his hair and telling him stories.

The mermaids of his pod were the warriors but she had settled to have Dream and his many siblings. Motherhood suited her in a way that Dream didn’t quite understand until he almost lost one of his siblings to a shark attack. Merfolk are empathetic and the grief of a mother is felt and magnified tenfold by her children. 

Dream vowed once to never make his mother feel that grief again. Her pain felt like a million spears pierced through the heart, agonizing and devastating.

He thought of her when he was captured. When he was ridiculed, defiled, and left shivering and naked on the Nightmare, the memory of her fingers through his hair would prevent his mind from breaking. He would mumble her stories to himself just so he’d have a measure of time on that ship.

So this image here — of Hob telling him about his schoolboy days and running a new comb through his hair — is the most like home that Dream has ever felt since he was captured.

Dream’s always been curious how far he could go before his mother couldn’t feel him anymore. Whether he had to be in the ocean for her and his siblings to know if Dream is happy or sad. Was she grieving him right now? Were his siblings anxiously waiting for his return? Was his family thinking of him at all? 

Dream could not feel it.

“I feel like you are not listening anymore, dear one.” Dream’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of Hob’s voice closer to his ear, his breath tickling Dream’s skin. “Are my stories no longer of any interest to you?”

“Your stories are always of interest to me. You tell them with such great detail and enthusiasm.”

“Then why, pray tell, have you not answered my question?”

Dream blinked several times. “You asked me a question?”

Hob laughs this time, deep and rumbling like distant thunder, shaking the foundations of Dream’s very core. There are many things Dream has found fascinating about Robert Gadling. One of which happens to be his laugh. There are different ways in which Hob laughs – he even laughs when the situation isn’t funny. He called it “self-deprecating” and Dream at one point scolded him for belittling himself once more. It truly was unbecoming to have his soul bond believe he was not precious.

“I did,” Hob acquiesced, putting the comb down and draping his jacket over Dream’s bare shoulders. He had lent Dream his pants a few days ago when the blanket was no longer sufficient. Slowly but surely, Dream was being claimed with every article of clothing Hob bestowed upon him. Hob smiled over Dream’s shoulder, lightly wrapping his arms around his waist from behind. This was a common position they found themselves in. Dream is quite fond of it.

“I wanted to ask you what the difference is between a merperson and a siren.”

Dream raises his eyebrow. “Have you been reading your books again?”

“Yes and no.” Hob laid his head on Dream’s shoulder. Dream subconsciously nuzzled closer. “Burgess believes you’re a siren.”

Dream hasn’t felt the need to hiss at the mention of his captor in a very long time. But this time he does, very lightly, for the offense is quite atrocious.

“Most men do not know the difference between our species.” Dream scrunched his nose up a bit in disgust. For it is such common knowledge among his people and yet humans cannot tell the difference between a cat and a cow on some days. Is it too much to ask for them to do their research? “Though we are closely related, we have distinct characteristics that separate us from them.”

“What are they if I may ask?”

Seems like Dream’s question would be answered only by Hob, who takes his time to verify information and has taken a genuine vested interest in learning more about Dream’s people. So, he answers Hob’s inquiries. Anyone else would not get a single word from him. Although, before Hob, he would have let not knowing a human language be his excuse not to speak.

However, now that he speaks in the tongue Hob is so comfortable with, Dream cannot help but yearn to talk to his human more.

“It’s in our abilities.”

Hob looked at Dream curiously. “Abilities?”

“Merfolk are faster and more agile as we are primordially hunters of the deep sea. Sirens hunt nearer to the surface and have that special ability merfolk do not.” Dream turned his head to look at Hob. “Do you happen to know what it is?”

Hob thought for a bit on it but Dream trusted in his abilities. His human figures things out eventually. Sure enough, Hob got a spark of realization in his eyes that got Dream smiling softly at him.

“Siren song?”

Dream couldn’t resist nuzzling his nose against Hob’s cheek as a reward. “Once again you prove yourself to be a learned human.”

“I read occasionally.” Hob laughs again, this time of the happy kind, and Dream hums in approval. Those are the best kinds of Hob Gadling laughs.

“I’d like to be of the opinion that your books do not capture the entire essence of our species when people such as Roderick Burgess cannot tell a spider crab from a snow crab.”

Hob snorts — this one is of amusement. “Man hardly leaves the house as it is.”

“That is why he cannot truly understand the creatures different from him.” It’s rare for Dream to get riled up like this. Well, not entirely rare but he hasn’t had an outlet for this frustration in quite some time. Hob willingly offers a listening ear so why can’t Dream take that offer? So he continues to speak, “He’d rather imprison them than befriend them. Merfolk welcome every creature that swim through our reefs meanwhile humans enslave, torture, and belittle anyone who looks different.”

Dream pauses in his rant, locking eyes with Hob, who just continues to look at him with no malice behind his eyes. There’s a warmth that spreads from Hob’s chest to his cheeks as they stare at each other. Dream’s voice quietens, “Of course there are… exceptions.”

“Are you admitting that you like me?” There it was. That gigantic smile that reminds Dream of the feeling of sunlight and the refreshing sea breeze. It’s blinding to look at Hob for too long and yet Dream finds it enormously difficult to avert his gaze.

“I am… intrigued by you.” Dream huffs, curling up closer to Hob despite his petulance.

Hob shrugs but the grin on his face stays bright. “A win is a win.”

“I have already admitted to binding my soul with yours, how much more do I need to say?”

“Nothing at all. I just like seeing you blush.” Hob shakes his head, now his turn to nuzzle his nose against Dream’s cheek, the exact same way Dream did it only moments ago. Remarkable. Hob truly learns the customs of Dream’s people as quickly as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for him. Perhaps it is natural for him. One does not simply bond with a merperson and not understand one in the depths likened to fathoms below.

This isn’t the first time Dream has wanted to bring Hob Gadling back to his home.

Hob has talked about how he loved the sea since he was a baby. He was born on the beach. His mother gave birth to him in a makeshift tent in the middle of a typhoon. The first thing Hob felt on his skin was the coarse texture of sand and the tears his mother shed for him when she held him close. The tides rolled with his cries. Like they were calling out to him through desperate windfalls.

Hob had found himself constantly wanting to heed the call of the sea. Dream had asked him why he never tried to go. To swim among her depths and become one with the ocean he so fell in love with.

“I can’t swim,” was what he told Dream. A crushing confusion fell upon him that day. But he never asked about it again despite his aching need to see Hob where Dream belonged. 

For he wants to be around Hob, every hour of every day if he has his way, even if having legs weakens him. The soles of his feet would burn with invisible bloodshed from the seaglass his greatest ancestor suffered from and yet he’d sacrifice his comfort to have Hob’s arms around him. Hob doesn’t ask him for many things. Hob isn’t one to request for boons or favors. All he asks of Dream is to be with him, share quiet moments like these, for as long as Dream allows it.

So what kind of monster would Dream be to ask Robert Gadling to drown for him?

He’d never ask that of him. He couldn’t . Instead, he asks for stories, asks for Hob’s hands running through his hair, asks for Hob’s arms to hold him in a tight embrace as if their little sanctuary weren’t a prison that Dream has long grown accustomed to. 

Selfish as Dream seems to be, he cannot bear it if Hob were to be hurt. Merfolk are highly empathetic creatures. If Hob were to be fatally injured, Dream would feel it a hundred fold. So Dream silently vows to walk with his human – his soul bond – even if walking is agony. He makes an oath to protect his human, even if there’s nothing more Dream could do on dry land than stand shakily before the one he loves just so he could have an opportunity to run.

But he can be just a little selfish today. Only a little bit for he knows Hob freely gives regardless.

“Can you sing, Hob?” He asks, tentative and demure as when he was just a guppy. Merfolk cannot sing usually, but they are still gifted with music. They can create instruments from shipwrecks and dying corals and compose symphonies only the fish of the sea could hear. Unlike Sirens, Merfolk Music cannot entice a being to their deaths. They are simply there to spark joy, celebration, and love. Dream loves music – he’s been haplessly devoid of it since his capture.

“I can,” Hob replies, fingers now absentmindedly brushing Dream’s hair. Dream feels him start to section it for a braid. “I’m no siren though, I’m afraid.”

“You do not need to lure me into your arms with a song, Hob Gadling.” Dream looks over his shoulder with the faintest of smiles. “I am already in them.”

Dream could feel the flush that rushes through Hob at his words and his human buries his face in the juncture between Dream’s neck and shoulder. It’s a space carved specifically for Hob and Dream prides himself in the fact that Hob fits there perfectly. It takes a while for Hob to compose himself. That’s quite alright. Any excuse for skin-on-skin contact with Hob is more than welcome.

When Hob finally emerges from his little hiding spot, he starts to hum. It’s much more shy than Dream’s used to from him and Hob’s fingers are busy braiding Dream’s hair to distract himself from any further embarrassment. Dream closes his eyes and leans a little closer, wordlessly encouraging his lovely human to sing louder. That it’s okay. That whatever music Hob’s able to produce would be beautiful to him because it’s coming from Hob.

Perhaps Hob is an empathetic individual too, for his body seems to lose its tension and his mouth opens a bit more to let out the song he’s been hiding behind closed lips. It's a language Dream does not know. But he doesn’t need to know the words to understand its meaning. For Hob sings them with emotions Dream has yet to know the feeling of. A one man symphony of eloquence formed by the syllables that roll off of a battle-worn soldier’s tongue. A capsized ship on a stormy night suddenly saved by the promise of sunshine peeking through the clouds. A lifeboat drifting closer and closer to shore after days of stranded sailing.

It’s the most beautiful song Dream had ever heard.

When Hob finished singing, Dream reached behind him to lightly grip his hand. Hob lets Dream squeeze, a nervous thrumming pulse beneath Dream’s palm.

“Are you certain that you are not a siren, Hob Gadling?” Dream says with a turned head and an expression only Hob could accurately describe. Dream doesn’t have enough words to convey the emotions Hob’s song evoked within him. “With a voice like that, you could drive any man mad upon the rocks.”

“You flatter me too much, Dream.” Hob whispers, his cheeks burning pink. But there’s a smile there, one of Dream’s favorite smiles.

“I never seek to flatter, good sir.” From beneath his lashes, Dream’s gaze upon Hob is more alluring than any siren song. “I only speak the truth.”

“Then speak truly,” Hob pushes a loose strand of hair behind Dream’s ear, moving to caress his cheek with the careful reverence of a man who has lost too many precious things in his life. “When I ask if it would be in your favor to call me yours.”

Dream shifts to face Hob. He’s on his knees while Hob stays seated before him. Their hands know where to go on each other’s bodies – Dream cupping Hob’s face and Hob’s on the slight curve of Dream’s waist. Dream’s feet are burning, and he must go back in the tank soon, but he cannot leave before he makes it very clear that…

“You do not belong to me,” Dream leans forward to press his forehead against Hob’s, much in the same way when they first touched. “Nor I to you.”

“I know.” Hob’s breath on his lips was warm and staggered. Like he had forgotten what breathing was supposed to be. “I don’t want you to think I own you either, gorgeous one. I simply want you to know that I would prostrate myself before you, dedicate my life to loving you, and swear on my grave that I would sooner die than not have you here with me.”

Then Hob pulls away just enough to gaze straight into Dream’s eyes. He looks transfixed by them every time and Dream could not blame him for he finds himself doing the exact same thing.

“Speak plainly,” Dream whispers. “What is it you truly wish to say?”

Hob answers without hesitation.

“I will free you from imprisonment, Dream.” There was fire dancing in Hob’s own eyes and Dream sucked in a breath at their ferocious majesty. But not once did Dream feel like he was going to burn. “I’m going to bring you home.”

“Are you sure no one would hear us out here?”

“This is my secret hiding place.”

Hob had followed the young Alex Burgess out into the garden, then deep into the surrounding forest of the manor, and emerged in sight of an abandoned gazebo that had seen better days. Despite its age, it looked well-taken care of, no doubt by the boy who led him to it. Alex was delighted to talk to Hob again and offered this place to make their meeting more discreet. He appreciated the young one’s enthusiasm. Still, Hob remained vigilant.

Alex was still a Burgess.

“It’s a bit of a fixer-upper but I’m quite fond of it.” Alex sat down on a makeshift bench swing, too small for Hob to sit on too. So Hob stood at the entrance arc of the gazebo, one foot on the stair, and the other on the ground. Alex smiled bashfully, suddenly remembering that someone else was sharing this space with him. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest here.”

Hob gave a polite smile in return. “Who was the last one?”

“Paul,” Alex said with a wistful look in his eyes. A familiar sparkle of a boyhood crush. Hob knew that feeling all too well. “The former grounds keeper’s son. He moved away two summers ago.” Alex looked down at his shoes barely scraping the wooden floor beneath him as he swung back and forth. “I have not gotten a single letter from him.”

Young love, a flame extinguished before it had a chance to be something more. A tragedy of their time that Hob could relate to. He had a crush on a fishmonger's nephew back in the day – long dark hair, pale skin, and midnight blue eyes. Hob was too chicken shit to introduce himself back then and the small town he lived in would talk . He resigned to watching him from afar until he too moved away to greener pastures.

He never did learn that boy’s name. Alex at least had the luxury to dream of speaking his lost beloved’s name in the dark where no one could hear.

“But enough small talk, Sir Robert Gadling.” Alex seemed to forcibly snap himself out of his reverie to turn his full attention back to Hob. “What is it that we must speak of in secret?”

“You told me before that you wished to see the merman downstairs.” Hob straightened his back and Alex mimicked him slightly. There was no point in beating around the bush. “If you still wish that, I am pleased to inform you that he has personally asked to meet with you.”

Alex blinked owlishly up at him. “M-Me? He asked for me?”

“Don’t sound so flattered,” Hob said with a chuckle just to keep the weird twinge of jealousy at bay. “It’s because he wants to make a request.” Then Hob paused for another split second before saying, “ We want to make a request.”

“We?” Hob watches Alex put two and two together in real time and he braced himself already for whatever barrage of questions Alex had. “Are you two–”

“Yes.”

“And you–”

“Mhm.”

“Are you–?”

“Of course.” Hob stopped him there, sensing the kid looked about a hop, skip, and a jump away from cardiac arrest. “But that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Wow…” Alex stood up from his swing and paced the circumference of the gazebo. Hob gets it. He’d be a little overwhelmed by this information too. If he hadn’t just been spending weeks cuddling and telling stories with the most beautiful merman in all of existence, he would have quite possibly gone insane with the mere thought of the concept alone. Hob waited patiently for Alex to process this before he spoke up again.

“There are rumors, Alex, that your father isn’t in the best health.” If Hob didn’t know about Alex’s strenuous relationship with Roderick, he wouldn’t have led with that. But he knew just from Alex’s eyes that the boy had been thinking about it for a while. “When he passes, you will inherit everything. The manor, the menagerie of mythical beings he keeps locked up within your walls, and the authority to do with them as you please.”

Hob steps forward, his posture a reflection of his time in the military.

“Do you understand where I’m going with this, sir Alex?”

The young Burgess boy sighs deeply, brows scrunched up in intense contemplation. It’s a difficult position to be in. On one hand, Alex despises his father, it’s not exactly a well-kept secret. On the other hand, Alex still has a deep respect for Roderick. He wants to be like his father – strong, unapologetic, and respected for who he is. Hob wishes he could say that no one respects Roderick Burgess – people are simply afraid of him.

But perhaps Hob doesn’t need to say that for Alex to know it himself.

“I understand,” Alex finally says with a slight nod. “But I still wish to see him first before… you know.”

Still so careful not to say the deed out loud. Hob could respect his caution, at least.

“Very well.” Hob nods at Alex and moves to turn away. “I will meet you tonight. Make sure you are alone.”

It’s been a long time since Hob has gone down to the dungeon with a companion. Brute was the last one, and the bastard nearly abandoned him without briefing him on the job whatsoever. It’s a damn miracle that any of the creatures are able to stay trapped here with that kind of security detail.

Alex was a lot more jumpy than Brute was. He kept asking questions on the way down and Hob could only answer the ones he knew Dream was okay with disclosing. Which is not a lot, to be honest. Like he said, it’s taken him a great deal of patience and hard work to gain the merman’s trust, let alone his affections. Alex might have to work for it too. Hopefully, that happens by the time Roderick dies.

They arrived in record time, the way to the room so familiar that Hob didn’t even blink when the tank came into view. Alex, on the other hand, gasped like a kid on Christmas morning.

“It’s him,” Alex whispered, tugging on Hob’s sleeve excitedly. True enough, Dream was waiting patiently on his usual mound of sand by the glass. His tail swished nervously as the two of them approached and Hob tried to reassure him wordlessly with a smile. Still, Dream’s shoulders stayed tense and rigid.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” Hob walked in front of Alex, lightly obscuring the boy from the still hesitant merman. He placed his hand on the glass and Dream matched it without a second thought. The stars in his eyes were conflicted swirls of caution and curiosity and Hob wanted nothing more than to soothe those galaxy irises into a quiet still night on the country hillside.

“Do you want Alex to talk to you like this or do you want to come out?”

Dream glanced upwards briefly. Hob nodded.

“Alright, lovely. You wait right there.”

It was harder to move away this time but he managed to step back and look Alex sternly in the eye. To his credit, he stood up straight and awaited for Hob’s command. Hob never had a rank back in the military, was more of a foot soldier, but he had his fair share of strategy meetings. He single handedly brought what was left of his battle unit back to the medical tents on several occasions. 

So… being able to order someone did feel a little good.

“I’ll be bringing him down and you are not to make any sudden movements. He doesn’t scare very easily but it’s best to show him that you are not a threat. Understood?”

Alex nodded vigorously, saluting with the wrong hand. “Yes, sir!”

Hob softened a bit and moved to make Alex salute with the correct hand. He adjusted the younger man’s posture and as soon as he was satisfied, he saluted right back.

Hob then leaves Alex to get his (now also Dream’s) clothes and unlock the massive ladder from the wall. He doesn’t make a show of it. He wants Dream out of that tank as soon as possible. He spent no time dilly-dallying. Eventually, the ladder is placed securely by the tank, and on his way up, he could see Dream swim up to meet him.

Bursting out of the water at the same time Hob reaches the top, Dream flips his hair out of his face, lips parted and panting. Hob could tell his heart was racing. Hob’s was too. If everything goes according to plan, Dream will be in the ocean within a fortnight.

“Hob, are you absolutely sure he is trustworthy?” Dream asked as soon as Hob got into position to catch Dream.

“I am not,” Hob said truthfully. Dream scowled. “But you weren’t sure I was trustworthy either. Let’s at least give him a shot.”

Just as Hob moved to stretch his arms out, Dream gripped his forearms but didn’t budge.

Hob looked up in concern. “Dream–?”

“Promise me,” Dream whispered, his eyes blazing a thousand burning suns. Hob couldn’t look away even if he tried. “Promise me that we’ll escape together. I am not leaving here without you.”

“Dream–”

“Promise me.”

It wasn’t a request this time – it was an oath. Hob had sworn to Dream already that he’ll do anything to free him from imprisonment. However, Hob never accounted for himself in that oath. Here, Dream is so adamant in including Hob in his own soul-bound oath that the devotion has Hob nearly lurching forward. Overwhelmed? Overjoyed? Hob doesn’t quite know what feeling prevails in his soul at Dream’s heartfelt oath to him.

“I swear it,” Hob whispers back, eyes burning from staring at the millions of stars within Dream’s eyes. “I swear it on every life I’ll live with you.”

“Not just one?” Now he knows Dream is teasing. Hob smiles, rubbing their noses together.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find you in the next one?” Hob chuckled, placing the lightest kiss on Dream’s pink nose. “Tough, dear heart. You know I can be stubborn.”

Sensing that Dream is still hesitant, he gently moves to untie his bracelet from his wrist. It was the same one he promised Dream that he’d make a matching one for. The one made with his mother’s pearls, his sister’s gemstone beads, and the seashells he’s collected once as a little boy. 

Now, it serves as a symbol of his oath, of his steadfast devotion to this otherworldly being, of the love he’ll continue to have for Dream in many lives to come. He fastens the bracelet on Dream’s wrist and the merman regards it thoughtfully.

Finally, he looks up at Hob and nods.

Eased by Hob’s promise, Dream pulls himself out of the tank, and into Hob’s arms like they’ve done countless times before. Hob will never get enough of the feeling of Dream’s arms around his shoulders, Dream’s face nuzzled against his neck, and the slight smile of Dream’s lips against his skin. Hob placed a kiss on the merman’s temple while he dried him up.

Once the familiar weight of Dream’s tail had subsided, he expertly helped Dream into his pants. Then his linen shirt came next. Hob draped a towel over Dream’s shoulders, laying his hair above the fabric so that it could air dry. Hob could feel Alex’s anxious energy from up here and Dream seems to sense it too. Hob tries not to let his own nerves overwhelm him, lest they take over Dream’s already restless mind.

Eventually, the two of them make it back down the ladder, Dream’s feet flat on the stone, and Hob standing right behind him. Dream takes his steps like he’s walking on air, almost gliding in his hesitant but curious approach to the youngest Burgess boy. Hob waits for him to make the first move with bated breath.

“Alex Burgess,” Dream says, neither resentful nor fond. A simple acknowledgement.

Alex still stands rigid but he nods. “Yes. I-It’s me.”

“You watched them throw me in the tank.” The flinch Alex did all but confirmed that statement. He averts his gaze, almost bowing his head in apology. Dream regards him, his starlight gaze sweeps over the younger boy, and he takes a minute step forward. “You are bigger than last time. You were but a small boy when we last met.”

“I was 16, actually.” Alex says, wincing again at the implication that the merman still saw him as a “small boy” when he was well into his teens. Hob dared not speak. This was between Dream and Alex. But nothing in their agreement said that he couldn't reach out to hold Dream’s hand to ground him. The grateful squeeze he got in return told him that the gesture was very much welcomed.

Alex didn’t miss the movement, and his eyes softened at the sight. Finally, he looks up, true remorse in his eyes as he says, “I’m so sorry we locked you up here. I-It’s not right.” Alex shook his head, hugging himself. “You didn’t deserve to be imprisoned like some wild animal. If it were up to me, I’d set you free, I would.”

Hearing it out loud was a balm to Hob’s weary soul. He all but assumed that Alex would help him free Dream but it felt a lot more certain now. It might not be for another year or so, depending on how long good old Roderick Burgess had left. Hopefully it won't take too long. Hob would still like to be young enough to carry Dream around without the threat of his back breaking.

“You are a kinder soul than your father, Alex Burgess.” 

Hob could not see it from his position behind Dream, but one look at Alex’s grateful smile told him that Dream awarded the boy with one of his rare tiny smiles. Sure enough, when Dream looked over his shoulder at Hob, his eyes sparkled with something Hob knew was reflected heavily in Hob’s heart. 

It was one of those rare moments – shared in this liminal space – where everything felt perfect.

It was only natural that the universe disagreed.

“Alexander Burgess!”

Hob jumped to push Dream behind him immediately. Alex’s face, pale as a ghost, dropped at the sound of a voice that could be heard every day in his nightmares. Dream’s hand gripped Hob’s hand, not daring to let go.

The thunderous voice of Roderick Burgess came down the hallway. There was nothing the three of them could do but stand there and await their fate. They didn’t know how many guards he brought with him. All they could hear were footsteps. Hob kept one hand on Dream and the other on his halberd.

Alex looked absolutely petrified.

When his father came into view, Hob could see Alex’s shoulders shaking. He hasn’t looked behind him yet, where the hallway is. His terrified, tear-filled eyes were trained on Hob’s. For strength? For courage? Hob did not know. But he was ready at a moment’s notice for whatever may happen to them. However, if push comes to shove, Hob hopes Alex knows his loyalty is with Dream and no one else.

“You ungrateful faggot of a son!”

Hob flinches with Alex. It’s been years since someone’s called Hob that word but it stings just as much as the first time. Dream’s comforting hand soothes the ache, but only for a fleeting second before Roderick storms into view.

“Conspiring against me, eh?” The elder Burgess, old and feeble, but with a fire still burning in his eyes, raised his cane and swung at his son. Alex ducked in time. Practiced. Like it was a routine. Hob reacted without a second thought. He drew his halberd and blocked the cane from going down any further.

“Terribly sorry to interfere in family matters,” Hob growls dangerously. Burgess doesn’t budge. He’s spry for an old man. “But either you yield or I’ll be forced to send you upstairs bedridden.”

“Ten years I tried to get that merman to talk. Then you,” Roderick pushed hard against Hob’s halberd, his arms shaking with the effort. Hob stood his ground. “You waltz in and think you could take what is mine?”

“He does not belong to anyone,” Hob pushed back, almost catching Roderick losing balance. “Least of all to the likes of you.”

“What did he offer you?” Roderick snarled in Hob’s face. His breath smelled putrid like sewage. “Wealth? Power? Immortality?”

“Why? Because he offered you nothing?”

Burgess’ face twisted into something rageful. “Why you insolent–”

He launched himself at Hob but found he could not go further. Hob looked down to see that Alex had his arms around his father’s waist and was pulling him back with all his strength.

“Father stop!”

“Let go of me, you fool!” Roderick thrashed in his son’s arms. But Alex stayed steadfast, using every bit of energy he had to counter his father’s rage. “You’re no fucking son of mine!”

The echo of guards coming down the hallway crawled closer and closer. Time was ticking. Hob let go of Dream briefly and swept his leg below Roderick’s writhing feet. The old man tripped and landed nearly face first. Alex let go of him with a squeak just in time. Fortunately for Roderick, his cane broke his fall but Hob pointed the tip of his halberd at Roderick, rendering him prone.

But before Hob could get a word in, Alex pushed him aside, catching Hob off guard. The younger man grabbed Roderick’s velvet robe and stared his old man dead in the eye.

“You could have let me, you know.” Alex said, his voice distant and longing. Hob could do nothing but watch them with caution. 

Alex laughed, low and breathless, dangerous. “You could have taught me everything, prepared me as your heir.” His grip tightened on Roderick’s robe, pulling him in. “But instead you chose to hate me. You chose to cast me aside, make me think I’m less than dirt, when it’s you who are truly more wretched than cockroach shit.” Alex was crying now, clear streams running down his face paired with his shaking ragged breaths against his father’s face. “If Randall were alive today, he’d hate you as much as I do.”

Alex raised his fist slowly and Hob’s eyes widened. Roderick’s did too. For the first time ever, Hob saw fear in the eyes of the elder Burgess. For the first time ever, Hob could no longer see the little boy he started to grow fond of – he only saw the beginnings of a monster. 

One second, there was a picturesque statue of father and son. Fist raised and eyes blank with rage.

Half a second later, there was only blood. 

Hob was too shocked to stop it. For he blinked and it was all over.

Roderick Burgess laid on the floor – dead.

It was at this time that the rest of the guards filed in. They all witnessed Alex stand up slowly from his father’s lifeless corpse, blood dripping from his still curled fist, sinew and bone curling at the shoulder. There stood their new master, the new great collector, and he stood tall despite his lanky frame.

For a while, Hob thought it was over. For a while, Hob contemplated whether he should rejoice in the death of the man he knew everyone here hated. But there was only silence. Uncertainty. Unease at the unpredictability of what the new Burgess master will do next.

The guards – namely Brute and a few others – surround Hob and Dream. Brute steps forward to grab Hob’s arm and Hob attempts to disengage.

“Be gentle, Brute.” Alex commands, his presence seemingly larger now that his father lay dead at his feet. “He still has to undergo a task for me.”

This is it. Hob looks at Dream hopefully. He’s gonna set Dream free.

But what Alex said next filled him instead with a deep and terrifying dread.

“Put him back in the tank, Hob.”

Hob blinked, startled. “What?”

“I said…” And Alex had the audacity to look at Hob with a cold glare. “Put him back in the tank.”

“Alex, you can’t be serious.” Hob wrenches his arm away from Brute to get to Dream, who was nearly hyperventilating on the floor. He got down on his knees, gathering Dream up in his arms and standing up shakily. All the while, he’s looking back up at Alex. 

“You said–”

“I know what I said .” Alex snapped at him. “Just… I need time to think.”

Hob couldn’t take it anymore.

“Think?” He said incredulously, his voice shaking with rage. “Think? Listen to yourself, lad. Not only a few moments ago were you telling Dream that he didn’t deserve to be imprisoned like this, that he deserves to be free . Was that all for show? So that he could trust you?”

Alex shook his head, fingers tangled into his hair. He tried to cover his ears with his blood soaked hands – so much like a child and yet so much worse .  

“No! That’s not it at all–” He whines like a child too. Unfit to inherit the crumbling kingdom his father left him.

“Your father is dead , Alex.” Dream’s fingers dig into Hob’s arm. Hob notes that his claws don’t come out and pierce him. Hob places a reassuring hand on Dream, pulling him closer to his chest. “There’s no one else who could tell you what to do now. Please… just let me take Dream back to the ocean. Please.”

Despite it all, Hob still hopes. He hopes that Alex could find it in his heart to keep his promise. He hopes that he’ll step aside and let him and Dream walk through the hallway, up the stairs, and into freedom. He hopes that the scared little boy who dared not defy his father could find the courage to make his own choices. To be his own man – a kinder man. A better man.

However, if hope is the food in which it has kept Hob alive ‘till this point, it’s hope that taketh away.

Alex’s eyes shimmer with tears but his gaze was resolute. “I’m so sorry, Hob.”

“No.” Hob shook his head and the distress that courses through his veins wracks Dream’s entire body. The merman looks up at him, eyes wide and panicking. Hob can’t say anything – couldn’t say anything because the guards around them grab the two of them and wrench them apart.

Dream, whose voice has been caught in his throat, screams for the first time.

“Don’t touch him!” Dream’s voice was molten lava and broken glass. Hob’s ears rang with the amount of anguish coloring Dream’s demands. “Give him back to me!”

It’s a vision of pure terror to witness merfolk engulfed in pure rage. Dream’s eyes no longer held stars. Just black holes that sucked the light out of anything and everything. His claws and teeth were sharpened to a near deadly point. He almost gauges a guard’s eyes out if it weren’t for one of them throwing a steel mesh net over Dream’s nightmarish form.

Hob struggles against the guards holding him back. He doesn’t know how many there are pinning him to the floor. Three? Four? Heck, a whole army could be on his shoulders and he’d still fight his damn way back to Dream. But his energy is waning and he’s no match to their sheer numbers. His merman continues to thrash and scream and bite and claw but the guards were equipped with more tools, more training, and expert use of their own legs, of which Dream is yet to get used to.

“Don’t hurt him!” Hob pleaded – begged breathlessly beneath the guards who held him down. His lungs were burning. His eyes were watering, helpless as he watched Dream attack his assailants to no avail.

Then, a large plastic bag is thrown over Hob’s head in an instant. 

Dream’s screams were the last thing he ever heard before the world went completely silent.

It all happened too fast.

Blurred vision. Muffled screams. Dream could barely keep a hold of reality. He was more than angry – he was furious. But more than that, he felt pain. Hob’s lungs were burning with lack of oxygen and Dream could feel his own lungs constrict and stutter. The torment of being so close to the man he’s bonded with – the human who had given him nothing but the love he had been missing for ten years – and yet be incapable of saving him?

Dream felt even closer to death than the first time he was captured. Because now, he truly had something to lose.

And he’s losing him before his very eyes.

Dream doesn’t stop struggling – doesn’t stop fighting – as he watches the other guards wrestle Hob to the ground, tie him up, and start carrying him up the ladder. Dream screeches and wails but even he doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore. He isn’t entirely sure if he’s even speaking the human tongue. 

All he knows is that he wants to get to Hob.

But he can’t. The soles of his feet feel like they’re standing on shards of glass and his legs shake with overexertion. He can’t save Hob and he watches – helpless – as the guards heave him up the last few steps and throw his unconscious figure into the tank. Dream cries in distress – give him back. Save him. He promised we’d leave together.

He promised.

Dream screams like a drowning banshee as Hob sinks to the floor of the tank. 

Then he’s dragged away and a piece of Dream’s soul dies right there.

His previous prison was merciful compared to this.

This one was smaller and bracketed with pure steel and glass. This one was dome shaped and levitating above the floor of Alex Burgess’ study.

This one was dry .

Alex said that this was prepared long before Roderick’s death. That at one point, Roderick wanted his little merman to be ogled at and whispered over – a frail thing plucked from the ocean. Powerless and weak. Dream’s feet are searing with the phantom of the curse his greatest ancestor had befallen. Becoming seafoam would have been a much kinder sentence than this constant agony.

Dream curls up into himself, refusing to look at the man – the boy –  who took Hob away from him. He could still feel the water filling up Hob’s lungs. He could still feel the air slowly escape his lover’s mouth and the sand that sticks to his skin. Empathy is a curse too, Dream thinks, for he’d rather die than constantly live with the pain that his one and only suffered in his last waking moments.

“I’ll let you go,” Alex pleaded with him one day. Dream’s memorized this script already. “As long as you promise not to hurt me or anyone dear to me.”

Why should I promise you something you never gave me in return?

Dream remained silent for hours. Days, even. He could no longer keep track. The only thing that has made him feel like time isn’t an illusion is the distinct but distant feeling of Hob. By now, he should have gotten a sign. By now, he should have felt Hob’s heart stop beating entirely.

It’s just stillness.

But it isn’t the stillness of death.

Not yet.

So Alex Burgess doesn’t get the luxury of hearing Dream speak, not after he had so willingly thrown away and stomped on the trust he had given him. Alex Burgess does not get to know about merfolk, or braid Dream’s hair, or pretend they are friends when he’s done unspeakable things. Dream will not let Alex lure him back into another false sense of security.

Although Dream does not speak, it doesn’t mean he deprives himself the willingness to listen to the world around him. Because his new prison is now dry, he could hear the sounds around him much more clearly. The whispers in the hallways, the shuffling of footsteps, the ring of the telephone — Dream could hear it all.

Alex stays with him most days. Offers the same boon over and over again – Dream’s freedom for his protection. Dream, over and over again, refused him. He does not speak of the pain he’s currently experiencing. He does not speak of the hope still beating in his heart about his soul bond. He dares not to speak at all. Alex grows more and more frustrated with each passing second of silence.

Dream loves to watch him squirm.

“You blasted creature,” Alex bellowed one night. Half past three in the morning and with bags under his otherwise youthful eyes, Alex roared with disdain for Dream in his bone dry prison. “I just want to be rid of you. Don’t you want that too? Don’t you want to go back to the ocean and forget about all of this?”

Dream does not give him the satisfaction of a response.

Alex scoffs. “Maybe father was right about you lot.”

Everyday, Alex becomes more and more like his father. Short-tempered, obsessed with magic and mythos, and a growing hatred toward the merman encapsulated in his study. Dream almost felt pity for him, if it were not for the circumstances.

He’d been sat hunched over his feet the past few weeks now, hiding the way his face contorts at the constant stabbing. On some days, he allows himself a tiny sob. It’s when Alex isn’t in the study and Dream is left alone. No guards watch him, not this time. Not after what happened to Hob, He became just another story to the rest of the mansion’s staff. Another poor man who succumbed to the seductive wiles of a monster.

But Dream knows who the real monsters are.

Monsters who party every night and treat other creatures like playthings or entertainment. Monsters who break promises as soon as they make them. Monsters who take and take and take without ever considering the consequences of their actions. Monsters like Roderick Burgess.

Monsters like Alex Burgess.

How dare they call Dream a monster when they are the ones who have murdered one of their own kind? How dare they look at Dream and classify him as other when they don’t so much as have an ounce of sympathy in their bones? How dare they think him cold, ruthless, and hard-of-heart when Dream is the one who feels so much – feels emotions Hob had taught him the names of, feels the anguish and suffering from afar, and despite it all, feels sorry for Alex Burgess and the path he had chosen to walk.

It’s a night of solitude again as Dream allows himself to cry. He never realized how deeply and utterly lonely he was until he lost Hob. No sound leaves his throat, not while he knows Alex sleeps not too far from him, but the pain was unbearable all the same. He thought he got used to the pain now, the shards of glass piercing through his feet, the ghost of a curse inflicted upon his kind because one of them was foolish enough to fall in love.

Perhaps it was fitting that Dream had to go through this. However, he will never feel foolish for falling in love.

For it’s the memory of Hob’s smiling face that keeps Dream going. For it’s the uncertain stillness that does not signal death that gives Dream hope. Dream knows what death feels like – he’s lost countless brethren in his lifetime before and it never gets easier. But it does get familiar. He’s familiar with the black hole that opens up when merfolk die. The ocean stills and the skies mourn with them. It is only relieved when the afterlife takes their soul.

There is no black hole where Hob’s soul used to be. He would know if there was.

So Dream hopes. 

That was when Dream heard a loud CRASH from outside the door. He heard voices screaming and the thunder of footsteps running for their lives. He heard orders being thrown around, guns being shot, and the roar of trapped creatures – free.

Despite the pain, Dream found himself smiling.

Alex ran to his study for safety, barring the doors as best as he could with furniture and wood. Dream watched him struggle and he did not dare to move.

After a few seconds, Alex marched over to Dream, eyes wild.

“It’s fucking impossible,” Alex whispered, genuine fear once again coloring every syllable of his sentence. “H-He shouldn’t–” Alex swallowed and banged on the glass of Dream’s prison. “Did you know about this? Did you know all this time?”

Once again, Dream didn’t entertain him with an answer. Alex yelled in frustration, whipping his head around when he heard something – or someone – slam against the study doors.

“I’ll let you out,” Alex pleaded again, now on his knees. Dream watched dread fill Alex’s entire body as he seemed to pray up at Dream with shaking hands. “Please just tell him not to kill me.”

I cannot tell him what to do, Dream wanted to say to him. But Alex will never earn the right to hear Dream’s voice again. He allows himself one smirk. That was all it took to have Alex sobbing before him.

I will simply watch as he takes his revenge.

With a deafening crash, the doors to Alex’s study burst open. The left side had gone askew off its hinges and the squeaking sound it made was awfully similar to Alex’s simpering. Dream averted his gaze from the Burgess boy to the entrance and his heart swelled to three times its size.

Hob Gadling stood at the doorway, hair wet and eyes glowing golden like the light of a thousand burning suns. His neck flared with new gills and his hands were curled into the familiar shape of razor sharp claws. There were a few scales along his collarbones — iridescent even in the darkness, golden like sunlight. His shirt was ripped to shreds, revealing expanses of tan skin that Dream could see were dotted with their own lines and shapes. Dream had marks like that too. Marks of swirling clouds and nebulae, of whirlpools and black holes and riptides along a blackened morning shore.

The marks that are unique to a merman.

Hob never looked more beautiful.

Dream could feel it – the thrill of a new heartbeat. The breath of new life. Could feel Hob’s own relief and joy at seeing Dream again as well as the pure livid rage at seeing him imprisoned once more. He could feel Hob’s anger in waves and it should have made Dream feel afraid. But he wasn’t. He could never be afraid of Hob.

For Dream knew Hob was more than human.

“H-How?” Alex questioned as Hob slowly approached him. “You were drowned in the tank. I-I saw them do it.”

Hob regarded Alex with a slow tilt of his head. He did not say anything and even his silence carried power. Alex shrunk into himself with every step Hob took towards him.

“Don’t you understand, Alex?” Hob’s voice was deeper than Dream remembered but still sounded like music to Dream’s ears. Then Hob’s eyes darkened. Dream’s eyes shone .

“You can’t drown a merman.”

Dream smiled at the horror on Alex’s face at the revelation. Now, everyone has seen Hob for who he truly is. Dream knew it, deep down in his heart of hearts. He knew when Hob walked into the dungeon and started telling him stories. Since Hob told him of the underwater castle that was once a story but felt more like a distant memory. He knew when Hob told him that he never tried to swim because his mother told him he was allergic and would drown.

And when Hob’s heart didn’t stop beating even when he did drown, Dream knew that they’ll find their way to each other again. He held tight to the makeshift bracelet Hob gave him, for he knew that he would return.

He promised, after all.

What a sight it was to see Hob in full power. He would be described as a nightmare by those who are too ignorant to understand. With claws sharper than swords and eyes brighter than the hottest stars, he was as inhuman as any creature could be. But Dream knew better. Hob was more human than any of them. And yet Hob was also more than that.

Roderick’s old cane lay at Alex’s feet, the younger Burgess too shocked to remember the only weapon within vicinity. Hob, thankfully, was quicker. A soldier’s agility blessed him with the cane in his hand. Alex cowered beneath him, crying, praying, begging on his knees for Hob to spare him. He rambled apologies and false promises at Hob’s feet, hoping against all hope that Hob would show him mercy.

Hob takes Roderick’s old cane and raises it up high. Alex closes his eyes. 

But Hob instead turns around and uses the cane to break Dream’s glass cage.

The glass trembles and cracks beneath Hob’s power, each impact creating a mosaic spider web on the surface. Dream shakily stands up, presses his hands to the glass, and gazes at Hob. Up close, he looked even more beautifully terrifying. His claws were retracting but his eyes were still burning. It made Dream forget his own pain.

With one final thwack, the glass shatters and Dream is able to climb out of the cage. It’s difficult to use his legs again but he manages. He wobbles on his feet, careful of the broken glass, but what is that compared to what he’s already gone through? 

The first thing he feels is Hob’s hands on his waist, then Hob’s face buried into his neck, and Hob’s tears wetting his skin.

“You are shaking,” Dream says, voice hoarse from lack of use. Hob breathes in deep and almost laughs.

“I’m learning how to breathe again.” Hob’s hold on him tightens. “It’s different underwater.”

“You will get used to it,” Dream reassures him, fingers tangled in Hob’s hair. Hob relaxes into his touch.

“How long have you known?” Hob asks and Dream almost expects something accusatory. Except all he heard was curiosity – a longing for confirmation that Dream knows should not come from him.

“How long have you?” For Dream knows Hob is not stupid. They pull away, far enough to see Hob’s sheepish little smile.

“I think I always knew,” Hob chuckles, leaning forward to rub their noses together. Dream doesn’t close his eyes. He missed the sight of something so tender. “Just never had the chance to test it out.”

Dream smiles. “I wish it were under more favorable circumstances.”

“Speaking of…” Hob turns around to look at Alex, who is still whimpering and covering his face on the ground. It would have been such a pitiful sight if it were anyone else. But Dream found he could not find remorse for the younger man. Perhaps Hob still had his sympathy left – however slim it may be.

Dream watches curiously as Hob approaches Alex on the floor. He crouches down, taking the cane again, and places the end of it beneath Alex’s chin. The whimpering man shakily follows the motion of the cane, looking up at Hob with tear-filled eyes.

“You live with my mercy, Alex Burgess.” Hob says, his voice level and threatening. “I should hope you never feel the need to go see the ocean.” Then Hob presses the cane against Alex’s throat. He watches him choke before releasing him, making him gasp for air. 

“For I will not be as kind if I meet you there.”

With that, Hob throws the cane to the ground and stands back up to his full height. Dream reaches out to take Hob’s hand and the tension in the man’s shoulders dissipates almost instantly. Hob turns to look at him, eyes no longer planet cremating novas, but a warm glow of a distant sunrise – comforting and true. The promise of a new day to come.

They leave Alex there in his study, his pathetic sobs getting softer with each step away from him. Dream’s feet feel like they’re on fire but it’s pain he’s learned to endure now. Hob, however, could sense his discomfort easily. He is a merman after all – whatever pain Dream feels now is magnified a hundredfold within him.

“I know you’re pretending to be okay for my sake,” Hob says, tucking a strand of hair behind Dream’s ear gently. “But you don’t have to. I can feel you now, Dream. Every emotion, every beat of your heart against your chest. It’s overwhelming sometimes but…” Then Hob cups Dream’s cheek with all the tenderness in the world. Dream nuzzles into his hand happily.

“If it’s you, I don’t mind sharing the pain.”

“Silver-tongued siren,” Dream teases. Hob grins something beautiful. “What on earth am I supposed to do with you?”

Hob thinks for a moment, wrapping his arms around Dream’s waist to pull him impossibly closer. Dream decides to be bold and jump up to wrap his legs around Hob. His soul bond was more than happy to carry him, his joyous laughter an indication of pure bliss.

“I think you know what you should do to me.”

“Is that so?” Dream presses their foreheads together, a grin on his face so large he could feel his cheeks burning. “And what might that be?”

Hob leans in to press the lightest kiss against Dream’s lips. Dream chases after them when it is done too soon.

“Take me home.”

Once upon a time, there was a lost boy.

Endless nights saw him dreaming of a home he did not know. He would toss and turn in his bed, reaching out for the great big blue, yearning for its embrace even in his waking hours. He’d walk along the shores, the low tides kissing his toes, and feel the call of the sea.

But his mother told him he’d drown. She let him play in the sand but would pluck him back to safety every time he got closer to the water. She was a kind mother but could not understand the boy’s longing to be closer to the sea. She was a kind mother but it was so cruel of her to deny him the ocean that calls to him in his dreams.

For when he was growing up, the people on dry land were cruel to him. They called him names, kicked him to the ground, reminded him day in and day out that he was different. That he didn’t belong. That he was better off in the corner with the rest of the freaks.

Soon enough, the lost boy wore his freak flag with pride. But it took him a long time to do so. He went far away from the sea, ignored her cries, and went to war just to remember how important it was to keep living. He’s been around death enough times to cherish the life he has.

When he came back, he went to the city. A town bustling with people and life. The call of the sea was distant but she was there, nestled in the back of his mind. But he trudged on. He found a job that would be as far away from the sea as possible.

Only to be met with a merman who came from the sea he had worked so hard to stay away from. The lost boy – now a man – found something precious. Someone who reminded him why he loved the sea as a child. Someone who reminded him that life is richer with another by your side.

Soon, the lost boy fell in love.

But there was an evil family who tried to wrench them apart. They filled their heads with false promises and pretty words that held no true meaning. 

The lost boy had been drowned for treason. He was killed for failing to protect the one he loved.

The lost boy had always wondered what it would be like to dive into the sea, to heed her call, and swim among her tides. He never thought that he would feel her embrace bound and gagged and left for dead. The sea was distant but she was there. The sea was distant but she held the lost boy and told him that he could not give up.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was not drowning. He was swimming! With fins and a tail and gills and everything! His bindings lay broken at his feet and the sea was rejoicing with him. She told him to go – to find his love and come back to her.

To come home once and for all.

“Wait… is that it?”

“Afraid so, love.”

“But,” The little girl who was so enamored with the story looked up at Hob with wide, teary eyes. “That can’t be the end of the story.”

“Yeah!” Another child chimed in, this time a little boy no older than 10. “You gotta tell us what happened to the evil family!”

“ And the merman the lost boy fell in love with!” The little girl argued, sticking her tongue out at the other boy. She climbed up on Hob’s lap hastily and Hob had to quickly wrap an arm around her tiny frame to keep her from falling. “Please continue the story, Mr. Gadling. Tell us how it ends!”

“That’s the thing though, little one.” Hob gently fixed the girl’s hair out of her face. “It doesn’t end. This is a story that could go on and on. It’s up to you to figure out where you think the lost boy went.”

The rest of the children surrounding Hob seemed dissatisfied with that answer – as they always have been every time Hob told this story. And Hob would tell them what happens next if he wanted to. He could tell them about the lost boy meeting his merman’s family. He could tell them of their many adventures beneath the surface of the sea.

He could tell them what happened to the evil family – perhaps a small snippet of the tragic fate of a boy who made promises he could not keep. How the lost boy may or may not have let a wild creature into the evil one’s study to take care of him. How news spread across the land that the evil empire had ceased due to the untimely and tragic death of its heir.

But this was supposed to be a story that never ends. Why give them an ending at all?

Besides, he doesn’t see an end in sight. At least, not for a while.

Soon enough, the town bell rings, signaling the start of the school day. The children all groaned and begged to stay with Hob for a little bit longer. The little girl, in particular, clung to Hob like a baby koala bear and refused to leave him even if her mother was already begging her to let go.

“It’s alright, sweet thing.” Hob reassured the girl, whose bright blue eyes reminded him of that caressed their little town’s ports. He touched her nose with the tip of his finger, earning him a precious little giggle. “I’ll have stories ready for you when you’re home from school.”

“Promise?” She held out her pinky, cheeks puffed out all serious. Hob resisted the urge to laugh and wrapped his pinky finger around hers.

“Promise.”

Satisfied, the little girl gave him one last hug before going with her mother. Hob watched the kids run off and say his goodbyes to him, waving at all of them with a small smile. Once everyone else in town had gone inside, Hob walked the path he had worn down through many years. The sea breeze was crisp this morning, kissing his cheeks and painting them scarlet.

He reached the beach in due time. Waiting for him there was a lonely figure sitting on a rock.

The figure turns to look at Hob – galaxy eyes shining bright – and smiles like there is no one else in the world who could bring him such joy.

“How did your story fare with the children today?” Dream asked as Hob greeted him with a kiss to his forehead. Hob sat on the rock with him, crossing his legs.

“They wanted an ending.”

Dream raised an eyebrow, amused. “And did you give them one?”

Hob looked over at Dream again, marveling at how after so many years, he still looked just as gorgeous as the day they met. The constellations that tattooed his body moved with each breath he took. His hair was a little shorter now, still going a bit past his shoulders, and his cheeks were flushed a beautiful pink color. Hob could not resist taking Dream’s hand and placing a kiss on his knuckles, right above where his claws would usually manifest. For even the most terrifying parts of Dream were beautiful to him.

His eyes wandered to the bracelet Dream still wears and it reminds him of the story of two intertwined souls, bound together in love and devotion, and how the string of fate is not red like most tales were inclined to make you believe. 

Instead, it’s a makeshift thread of leather, mismatched beads and pearls and shells, and oaths unbroken even by death.

He leaned in this time, seeing how the glow in his own eyes reflected brilliantly in Dream’s starry gaze, and grinned like they shared a little secret no one else knows.

And no one will ever truly know, would they?

Not as long as they don’t end the story.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Hob whispered and Dream laughed, a small breathless thing. Hob loved that sound.

“In that case…” Dream stood up, stretching his arms up to the sky. Then he looked down and held his hand out for Hob. “Shall we continue the story then, my love?”

Hob took his hand without hesitation.

“Always,” And with one last kiss to his Dream’s waiting lips, Hob grins. “I’ll race you.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed. “You dare challenge me?”

“Oh, I dare.” Hob squeezed Dream’s hand with a cheeky smirk. “I have yet to beat you.”

“And you will not beat me today, Hob Gadling.”

The two of them took off a split second later, their laughter filling the air, clothes flinging here and there. Then a loud splash is heard as the lost boy and his beautiful merman dive into the abyss.

The next chapter of their story awaits.