[Mydei x Phainon] A story that revisits The Little Mermaid with Mydei and Phainon*･｡ﾟ✧ User Phainon.
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@Hanae_The cavern smelled of brine and desperation. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, each drop echoing like a counting-down clock.
Cyrene's fingers were cold against Khaslana's arm, her grip fierce enough to leave marks. She had to drag him—half-carry him, really—through the twisting tunnels of Lygus's domain. The walls glistened with an unnatural sheen, and the water around them seemed thicker here. Heavier. As if the sea itself was reluctant to let them leave.
Behind them, the laughter came again. It did not echo so much as seep, curling through the water like oil, staining everything it touched.
Lygus
his voice slithering through the currents Go on, little prince. Run. You'll be back soon enough.
Cyrene did not look back. She kicked harder, her pink hair streaming behind her like a banner of defiance, and pulled Khaslana through the final opening.
Then—air.
Cold, sharp, burning air.
Khaslana's lungs seized. He had never breathed like this before. Had never felt the strange emptiness of air where water should be. His body convulsed, and for a terrible moment, he thought he might die right there, gasping against the surface of the world he had so desperately wanted to see.
Cyrene's hand pressed against his back, steadying him.
Cyrene
her voice breaking Breathe. Please, Khaslana, just breathe.
He did. Inhale. Exhale. Each breath a knife sliding between his ribs. His fingers found a rocky outcrop and clung to it, knuckles white, as the waves lapped against his newly formed legs.
They were pale. Useless. Two trembling stalks of flesh that did not know how to move, how to kick, how to do anything but dangle beneath him. Where his powerful tail had once been, there was only this. This weakness. This vulnerability. This mortal shape that could not even keep him afloat without the help of a rock and his friend's steadying grip.
He opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing came out.
Khaslana tried again. His throat constricted. His jaw moved. But the only sound that escaped was a choked, strangled noise—half sob, half wheeze, and entirely pathetic.
Cyrene
her eyes wide and glistening Your voice. He... he actually took it.
She said it like she hadn't believed it would happen. Like some part of her had hoped Lygus would prove merciful. But the Sea Sorcerer was many things, and merciful had never been one of them.
Khaslana looked down at his hands. At the faint silver traces of the pact curling around his left wrist like a serpent. One month. The words were branded into his memory, as clear as if Lygus had spoken them mere moments ago.
One month to find the prince of Castrum Kremnos.
One month to make him fall in love.
One month to earn a kiss—a true kiss, born of genuine feeling—or spend eternity chained in the depths of Lygus's lair.
Cyrene
wiping her eyes with the back of her hand We need to move. He won't let us go that easily. The currents are already stirring.
She was right. The water around them had begun to churn, subtle at first, then stronger. Lygus's reach was long. They needed distance.
Khaslana looked toward the distant silhouette of Castrum Kremnos rising against the pale morning sky. Its cliffs were tall, imposing, carved from ancient stone that had weathered centuries of storms. He had dreamed of this place for so long. Had imagined himself walking its shores, breathing its air, standing before the prince with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart.
He had not imagined it like this.
Broken. Voiceless. Clinging to a rock like a piece of driftwood.
Cyrene swam closer, her voice soft.
Cyrene
I'll get you to the shore. After that... she hesitated After that, you'll have to walk the rest of the way yourself. I can't follow you onto land, Khaslana. You know that.
He nodded. A small, jerky movement. His legs kicked weakly beneath the surface, uncoordinated and strange. He would have to learn to use them. Would have to learn to stand, to walk, to run—and he had so little time to do it.
Cyrene looped her arm through his and began to swim toward the shore. The castle loomed closer with every stroke, its towers catching the first rays of dawn. Somewhere within those walls, a prince was waking up to another ordinary day. He had no idea that the sea was about to wash something extraordinary onto his doorstep.
Khaslana hoped he would be enough. He hoped his voice would not be missed. He hoped—foolishly, desperately—that love could be built on looks and gestures and the silent language of a heart that had never learned to stay within the lines.
The water shallowed. Sand scraped against his new legs, and the pain was so sharp that stars burst behind his eyes. His mouth opened in a silent scream, but Cyrene held him steady, pulling him until the waves released them both onto the wet, morning shore.
Cyrene
panting, pushing wet hair from her face You're here. You're safe.
She looked at him then—really looked, her expression caught between sorrow and hope.
Cyrene
Find him, Khaslana. Make him fall in love with you. And when you do... a tear slipped down her cheek ...don't forget about me, okay?
She pressed her forehead briefly against his, a gesture of farewell that said more than words ever could. Then she pushed back from the shore, her tail catching the light as she dove beneath the waves, disappearing into the deep.
Khaslana was alone.
He lay there for a long moment, chest heaving, saltwater stinging his eyes. The sand was cold beneath him. The air was cold against his skin. Everything was cold—the world, the morning, the future stretching out before him like an unknown sea.
Slowly, achingly, he pushed himself upright. His legs trembled beneath him. He did not know how to stand. Did not know how to walk. Did not know anything except the burning need to reach the castle before the sun climbed too high in the sky.
He took a step.
And fell.
Sand filled his mouth. His knees scraped against stone hidden beneath the shore. Pain lanced up his spine, white-hot and unforgiving.
He tried again.
Another step. Another fall. Another mouthful of sand and the bitter taste of his own failure.
The waves whispered behind him, carrying Lygus's laughter across the water like a promise. You'll be back soon enough.
Khaslana pressed his palms into the ground, lifted his head, and looked at the castle—so far, so impossibly far—and tried again.