The sea deepened as Elara followed Nerissa, the water growing colder and denser, pressing against her bare skin. Her tail propelled her forward with growing ease, though the sensation of scales instead of legs still sent a shiver through her. The ocean stretched endless and dark, broken only by flickers of bioluminescent fish darting through the gloom. She kept close to Nerissa, whose indigo tail cut a steady path ahead, her spear glinting in the faint light of the pearl she carried.

  “How much farther?” Elara asked, her voice reverberating oddly in the water. She hugged her arms across her chest, still uneasy with her nudity despite Nerissa’s indifference.

  “Not far,” Nerissa replied without turning. “Look.”

  Elara squinted through the murk. Ahead, a glow emerged—soft at first, then sharpening into a sprawl of light. Towers of coral rose from the seafloor, their spires twisted and luminous, pulsing with greens, blues, and purples. Shells encrusted the structures, reflecting the light like scattered jewels. Merfolk swam between them, their tails flashing in a kaleidoscope of colors, some wielding tridents, others hauling nets of kelp. It was a city, hidden beneath the waves, alive and alien.

  “The enclave,” Nerissa said, slowing as they approached. “Home of my people. Stay near me—outsiders aren’t welcome without cause.”

  Elara nodded, her gills fluttering nervously. As they entered, heads turned. Eyes—some curious, some hostile—tracked her, lingering on her emerald-and-sapphire tail, so unlike their own. Whispers rippled through the water, too faint to catch. She straightened, forcing her arms to her sides, refusing to shrink under their stares.

  Nerissa led her to the city’s heart, where a grand structure loomed—a palace of white coral, its arches adorned with pearls the size of fists. Guards flanked the entrance, their tridents crossed until Nerissa spoke a word Elara didn’t know. The weapons parted, and they swam inside.

  The chamber within was vast, its ceiling a dome of translucent shell that filtered light into a shimmering haze. At its center floated a figure—regal, imposing, her silver hair cascading like waves, her tail a pearlescent white that gleamed against the coral throne she occupied. A crown of shells rested on her brow, and her violet eyes fixed on Elara with a piercing calm.

  “Queen Syrith,” Nerissa said, bowing her head. “This is Elara, daughter of Aldric, saved by the pact.”

  Syrith’s gaze didn’t waver. “So this is the human-turned-fish.” Her voice was smooth, resonant, carrying a faint edge. “You bring a stranger into our sanctuary, Nerissa. Why?”

  “She’s no stranger,” Nerissa replied, her tone firm. “The pact binds her to us. Veyris razed her kingdom, hunts her still. She needs refuge.”

  “Refuge?” Syrith’s tail flicked, a ripple of displeasure. “We are not a haven for land-dwellers, pact or no. What use is she to us?”

  Elara bristled, swimming forward before Nerissa could stop her. “I’m not here to beg. My father died for Thaloryn—your ally. Veyris won’t stop with my kingdom; he’ll come for your seas next. Help me, and I’ll fight him.”

  Syrith’s eyes narrowed, but a faint smile curved her lips. “Bold words for one who can barely swim straight. You’re a liability, not a warrior.”

  “Then make me one,” Elara shot back, her tail lashing. “I’ll learn.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The queen studied her, silent for a long moment. Then she gestured to a guard. “Take her to the training hollow. Let’s see if she’s worth the trouble.”

  The guard escorted them through winding passages to a cavern carved into the seafloor, its walls studded with glowing anemones. Merfolk sparred within, their tridents clashing in fluid arcs, tails weaving through the water with lethal grace. Elara watched, her stomach knotting. She’d held a dagger once, for ceremony, not combat. This was another world.

  Nerissa handed her a blunt coral spear. “Start here. Strike me.”

  Elara gripped it, the weight awkward in her hands. She lunged, her tail propelling her too fast—she overshot, tumbling past Nerissa, who sidestepped with a smirk. “Again,” the mermaid said.

  Hours blurred into a grueling rhythm. Elara struck and missed, her movements clumsy, her human instincts clashing with her new form. Nerissa corrected her relentlessly—tail lower, arms loose, use the current. Slowly, muscle memory shifted. A wild thrust became a controlled jab, then a glancing blow against Nerissa’s spear. Sweat didn’t bead underwater, but exhaustion burned through her all the same.

  “Good,” Nerissa said at last, lowering her weapon. “Now magic.”

  “Magic?” Elara panted, leaning on the spear.

  “Your transformation left a spark.” Nerissa tapped her own chest. “Feel it. Call it.”

  Elara frowned, closing her eyes. She focused on her core, where her breath—her water—flowed. A faint hum stirred, like the sea’s pulse. She reached for it, and her gills flared. A ripple shot from her hand, weak but real, stirring the sand below.

  Nerissa nodded. “A start. Rest now.”

  They returned to the palace, where Syrith awaited. A merfolk elder hovered beside her, his scales dulled with age, a scroll of kelp in his hands. “The girl’s arrival stirs the old words,” he said, his voice reedy. “The prophecy.”

  Syrith’s gaze sharpened. “Speak it.”

  The elder unrolled the scroll, reading: “‘When the tide turns flesh to scale, a daughter of the cliff shall rise. With trident and storm, she’ll break the raven’s reign, or drown the world in her wrath.’”

  Elara’s tail stilled. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you,” Syrith said, her tone unreadable. “Or so the seers thought when the pact was forged. A human heir turned mermaid, destined to challenge a foe—the raven is Veyris’s sigil. But prophecies are fickle. You could save us, or doom us.”

  “I don’t care about prophecies,” Elara said, her voice hard. “I want Veyris dead.”

  “Then prove you’re more than a tale,” Syrith replied. “Train. Earn our aid. My people won’t die for a weakling.”

  Before Elara could retort, a scout darted into the chamber, his tail thrashing. “My queen—Veyris’s ships patrol the coast. His sorcerers cast nets of light into the shallows, seeking her.”

  Syrith’s expression darkened. “He’s bolder than I thought. Nerissa, keep her hidden. If she’s found, we’re all at risk.”

  Nerissa pulled Elara aside as the queen dismissed them. “We stay low,” she murmured. “But this changes things. He’s hunting you hard.”

  Elara’s fists clenched, her scales glinting. “Let him try. I’ll be ready.”

  That night, she lay on a bed of kelp in a small chamber, the enclave’s glow filtering through a shell window. Her body ached from training, her mind churned with the prophecy’s weight. A daughter of the cliff. Trident and storm. She didn’t feel like a savior—just a girl stripped of everything, even her skin’s old shape. But the spark of magic lingered, a promise beneath her ribs.

  She rose, swimming to the training hollow alone. The spear felt lighter now. She struck at an imaginary foe—Veyris’s gaunt face, his raven cloak billowing. Her tail moved with her, a weapon of its own. Then she reached for the magic again. The hum grew, and a stronger ripple burst forth, scattering pebbles across the floor. She stared at her hands, trembling but triumphant.

  Footsteps—finsteps?—echoed behind her. Nerissa leaned against the entrance, arms crossed. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “Too much to do,” Elara said, lowering her hands. “I won’t hide forever.”

  “You won’t have to.” Nerissa’s tone softened. “You’re stubborn as coral. That’s a start.”

  Elara managed a faint smile, the first since the castle fell. She turned back to the hollow, raising the spear again. Veyris’s ships loomed in her mind, his sorcerers scrying the sea. Let them come. She’d learn their game, twist it against them. The prophecy might name her, but she’d write her own ending—one carved in his blood.

  The enclave hummed around her, a fortress and a cage. Tomorrow, she’d push harder. For her father. For Thaloryn. For the princess she’d been, and the mermaid she’d become.