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[sunset-fins]

((Technically speaking, Sheena is not a merperson in this AU. But merSheelos anyway))

[sunset-fins]

The seas were rough tonight, the wind churning the waves into a foaming froth as it whipped across the surface. It was the perfect night to slip away from his watchful guardians, for most of merfolk tended to stay in when the currents from the surface drifted deeper than usual. Though the wind was harsh, the clouds were sparse, skidding occasionally across the moon but not obscuring the light for long. A storm was brewing, but it was still a long way off. He swam for the surface, making instantly for the island where his sister was kept captive, wriggling his way atop the rocky perch he’d discovered that allowed for a good view of her island.

It also gave him a view of an odd situation. Someone was pushing a small rowboat through the turbulent waves, barely getting it safely onto the beach without it capsizing. Even from here Zelos could see that there was a person in the boat, and he very quickly realized he wasn’t the only one skirting the rules this evening. He saw the telltale flash of red that was Seles’ hair, and knew she’d noticed the commotion from the boat beaching upon her small prison. She always walked the island’s perimeter at night, particularly when it was windy like this, as if she wished the winds would pick her up and carry her away from her lonely home. Pressing himself lower against the stone, Zelos watched her pick her way across the sand toward the boat.

A voice behind him startled him nearly enough to pitch backward into the sea and he whirled around to see the prince staring up at him wide-eyed. His heart sank in his chest, but he swallowed the fear that threatened to close his throat and attempted to school his expression into haughty indifference.

“You shouldn’t be here either” he retorted, but he was cursing himself for getting caught at the surface, particularly here. One word from the prince and even the limited freedom he had would be gone. “Your highness,” he added belatedly. Even with Adrian staring up at him, he couldn’t resist darting another glance over his shoulder, where Seles’ hair stood out like a beacon through the froth tossed by the waves. She’d reached the boat by this point, standing by the sea despite the sting of the droplets on her skin. He knew she never entered the water, but he also knew it didn’t have quite the same effect on her as it did on most humans. It was probably their shared blood that gave her some resistance to the king’s curse.

“…There was a human in that boat.” Zelos looked steadily at the young prince, watching for his reaction, knowing that they were both in a dangerous position now. If either of them spoke out against the other, he would only implicate himself in return. “You weren’t trying to capsize it, were you?” It was a statement rather than a question. “You were pushing it to shore.”

The Eastern Seas had always been a hotspot for trade, ideally situated to allow ships with food and supplies for those rich enough not to need them to travel quickly from one landmass to another. Such coveted prosperity had, over time, attracted those who favored less favorable means of acquisition: pirates. Their actions had, in turn, resulted in quality goods traveling longer routes to the West– with proportionally higher fees for safe travels. Widening economic division and intrigues further ensured widespread tension both above and below the sea.

Time only brought hushed debate over whether or not to sacrifice the chosen; such notions were quickly quelled by the king and the high priests, who explained that the chosen had no proper replacement, but acrimony remained amongst the populace. With pirates fishing merfolk out of the shallow waters, paranoia was rampant, and many saw the sacrificial ceremony as the only option to appease the gods.

Demands for an alternative solution only grew louder when the youngest prince returned with tales of being sold as a trophy to the highest bidder; if Slyvarant would have no mercy on merfolk, then why shouldn’t they experience the wrath of the sea?

For his part, Adrian had no desire for revenge, but the king succumbed to his own frustrations and that of his people, and so the sea was cursed. Any human to touch salt-water would find it burned like acid to the touch, and any ships that bore a pirate flag were to be sunk on sight. This was the decree that the king passed and the priests approved of, and so it became law– law that no one could question.

The people of Tethe'alla finally had a scapegoat to blame for their problems: Sylverant. Their anger justified their actions, and those who would dispute it were silenced by their fear of heresy.

The young mer-prince, unable to speak but unwilling to remain compliant, had taken to quietly rescuing humans; he and a small ragtag group of dissenters acted from the shadows– thwarting attempts to sink ships and guiding those they could to shore on lifeboats and debris. Speed was a necessity in such situations, for each had to disappear before their pursuers could regroup. This was not as easy as it seemed; humans were rarely cooperative when the sea was trying to kill them.

“Kindly stop shouting!” Adrian hissed, pushing the rickety rowboat further onto the beach. “There is a girl who lives on this island– she can help you far more than I-” probably “- and I need to leave!” Another heave. The human he had rescued was babbling deliriously; his legs had gotten splashed rather thoroughly, and while he was making his pain clear, he would live.

…At least he would if he didn’t draw every goddess forsaken creature’s attention first.

The girl who lived on the island was out and about, Adrian had seen her before– when he’d approached the shore– and for his part he had done all that he could. Already more time had passed than he’d have liked before he departed; it was time to make his getaway. There was a rock crevice he had in mind that provided a good view of the island; it was ideal for laying low while surveying that things worked out alright…

…Except someone was already there, and oh dear goddess he recognized that flaring red hair.

“C-Chosen?” Adrian recoiled. This was bad. Very bad. “Y-you’re not supposed to be here!”

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I should probably actually settle on a type of fins for Zelos. Whoops.

[sunset-fins]

Time had shuddered to a quiet halt, in a manner very similar to that fateful day not so many years ago when the water had run red. Zelos lay curled in a heap, small fingers still clenched in fists, the horror of his destiny hanging over him like a shroud. The room was dark and silent as the two phrases echoed around and around in his head. “You are a sacrifice. Your life has no other meaning.” His mother had told him he should never have been born in the first place, and now he knew that he was living on borrowed time. Born to die, a life without meaning, a life without purpose. The priest claimed his death would ensure the survival of his people, but this very room seemed to deny that statement. Why else would there be so many, many tombs?

His death would not ensure the survival of his people. The ritual had no real power if it had to be repeated so often. It was nothing more than a spectacle for the priests to show the people. Had his mother known the fate planned for her son when she whispered those words to him? “You should never have been born.” He curled tighter in on himself, eyes squeezed tight, wishing he could just disappear. No one would even miss him.

After a long while, so long that he could not even say how much time he had spent lying there, Zelos realized that the room was not completely dark. The priest had taken his light with him, but there was another light somewhere ahead of him, further into the cavern. His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that that subtle glow had become noticeable, though the stone tombs around him were still nothing more than dim shadows. Curiosity overtook the numbness that had consumed him and the young redhead shifted, pushing himself up from the cavern floor as he sat up, fins uncurling.

He moved toward the light cautiously, swimming slow and low to the floor. The room was old and full of unknown magic, and the sense of foreboding still weighed heavily upon him. As he neared the source of the light, another shadowy outline appeared from the murky darkness. It appeared to be an enormous sculpture, a pair of cupped hands cradling an orb. The orb was the source of the light, and Zelos realized it was made of pure energy, not glass or any other of the clear substances he had encountered before. There was a slightly blue cast to the light, and he recognized the sacred fire that burned on the alter in the shrine of the goddess, pale and unearthly when compared to the yellow and orange imitation lights used in everyday life.

Looking upward, Zelos saw that the hands were merely part of an enormous effigy, the goddess herself carved from the cavern walls. Her body disappeared into the darkness below, and her face was impossible to make out in the dim light from the sacred fire, but he was certain that was who it was meant to be. The effort put into creating such a figure would have taken lifetimes, and he felt lost next to the magnitude of it.

Within the shimmering orb of flame, Zelos realized there was no water. A pocket of air, trapped here leagues below the surface, somehow sustained by the same magic that suffused the waters in the cavern. A shudder rippled down his spine at the realization that there were things far beyond his knowledge, far beyond anything he could ever know, even if he escaped the death he had been born into. For the first time, he wondered if there really was a goddess out there somewhere, if the prayers of the Chosen really could be heard.  He wished he could ask her questions, if she could truly hear his voice. Why would he be born to die? Why would anyone? What kind of a goddess demanded the sacrifice of her people?

The hopelessness still ate at the corners of his spirit, but he frowned with newfound resolve. His time was borrowed and limited, but he would use it to learn. He would find an answer, and perhaps an escape. Perhaps his mother was right, perhaps he should never have been born, but he had been born, and he wanted to live. Freedom was an illusion, but he would cling to that illusion. He reached for the fingertip of the giant carving before him, placing his tiny hand against the smooth stone.

“I won’t die for you, you hear me goddess? I won’t let my life have no meaning. I’ll find a way out of this stupid death. You’re stupid and I hate you!” He shouted up at the faceless figure looming above him, righteous anger giving him strength. “I hate you and I won’t die for you!” He pulled back and swam in the opposite direction as fast as his fins could carry him, the direction the priest had disappeared. The water grew dimmer and dimmer around him again, but he refused to let the despair take hold of him, searching for a sign of the entrance he had come in through.

It was a long while before he finally saw the telltale yellow-orange glow of the exit, the hole through which he and the priest had swam hours, or perhaps even days ago. Zelos felt as if he might have been alone in the darkness for years, but when he returned to the familiar streets of the city, far from the dark depths of the tombs, nothing had changed. It was as if he had not been gone at all, save for a cold, knowing smile from the priest when Zelos passed. The boy clenched his teeth and silently reaffirmed his vow. He would not be merely a sacrifice.

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Isolation was nothing new to Zelos, but it bored him. The Chosen was kept separate from the others his own age, brought up amid rules and rituals that left him little time to call his own. He was always surrounded by guardians, but never truly had their attention, alone within a crowd. It became a game for him, how long he could escape their attention and slip away from them. He perfected the art of swimming with as little disturbance of the water currents as possible, moving in silence.

When he was nearly ten, the head priest took him aside and revealed that he knew about Zelos’ “game” and he told the young Chosen it was time for him to grow up. He informed Zelos that it was past time for the youth to learn his fate, to learn what became of the Chosen when he had ‘outlived his usefulness.’ The words word spoken coldly, the threat far from veiled, the priest’s eyes like chips of ice. It was clear that he viewed Zelos as replaceable, despite the tales the boy had been fed from birth about being ‘selected by the goddess herself’.

The young redhead was led to an enormous chamber, a cavern far larger than he had even dreamed existed within the sea, as limited as his explorations had been. The water dimmed to inky blackness in all directions around them, their only light a small orb within the priest’s hand. They swam down into the darkness and shapes began to appear as they neared the cavern floor. Hundreds of identical stone slabs that Zelos would have taken for broken columns if they were not exactly uniform and placed in neat rows. The priest was silent as they swam amid the rows and rows of stone blocks.

Eventually Zelos noticed there was a line running around the top of the stones and a simple carving on the top of each. He swam closer to investigate, and the priest allowed it. His fingers traced the indentation on the nearest stone. It was a date, an ancient one, far older than he was, or anyone he knew. All the stones bore similarly ancient dates, growing older as they swam further into the cavern. The silence was heavy and oppressive, and Zelos felt as if he had touched something forbidden.

“What is this place?” he whispered, small fists clenching as he tried to rub the feeling of the stone from his fingertips. For something so old to be so clean, untouched by the currents and coral that regularly had to be cleaned from the temple and shrine above them, was unnatural. A cold smile traced across the priest’s lips.

“These are the final resting places of the Chosen before you. One day you too will lie within one of these stones and a date will be carved to commemorate your death.” Zelos’ fists clenched tighter, a horrified feeling building in the pit of his stomach. There were no names on these stones, nothing but numbers. He was nothing to this man but another number in a long string of figures. “Though the dates are inaccurate” the priest continued. “It is merely the entombment that they commemorate, not the actual death.”

“Entombment?” Zelos repeated, his tone a low whisper as the leaden feeling in his stomach grew.

“You are a sacrifice to ensure the survival of your people. Your life has no other meaning.” There was no sympathy in the cold voice, no pity for the child before him. “Your father thought to leave behind this life, but we will not make the mistake of allowing such freedoms again. Your life belongs to your people, and to the Goddess. Remember that, Chosen. Any illusion of freedom you might have is merely that: an illusion.”

With those words, the priest turned and began to swim back toward the cavern’s entrance, leaving Zelos alone in the darkness with the dead.

[sunset-fins]

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I think a thread in which the two muses have a language barrier would be fun. They’d have to learn one another’s language to communicate, and rely primarily on gestures and expressions in the meantime.

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Seafolk are born with gills, but their lungs develop as they age. Children are not capable of surviving outside the water, as their lungs are not fully formed. Only after they reach puberty can a merman or mermaid learn to transform their appearance into that of a human.

Shedding a tail is not a quick process, nor is it painless. However, returning to the sea is a great relief, and it is much easier to transform back into a mermaid or merman than it is to become human. Those who have practiced the art can assume the appearance of a human in a much shorter span of time, but even they cannot rush the job or they risk damaging the membranes of their tail skin.

Walking, though painful, becomes less difficult with time and practice. However, a life without the sea is physically taxing on the bodies of the seafolk, as they rely on the water to renew the magic that allows them to hold the shape of a human. Water is life for them. Those wishing to retain the form of a human must return periodically to the place where they keep the shed tail skin and soak it in the seawater, for if it dries out completely, they will die.

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Sacrifice

In times of prosperity, there is no need for bloodshed. The Chosen will undergo the sacred pilgrimage every five to ten years, but they will not be killed at the end of the journey. They offer up their prayers at the alters of the Goddess around the land, a total of five temples.

To the north, where the waters are frigid and even the most hardy rarely swim, lies the temple of ice, deep under a thick sheet of ice. Here the Chosen prays that the cold heart of the Goddess will thaw, and that she will extend her grace to his people. In the south, where the sunlight warms the waters and the coastline of the scattered islands are fringed with tropical plants, lies the temple of earth. At this seal, the Chosen offers prayers for protection for his people against those who live outside the sea, the humans who Tethe'alla strives to keep apart from themselves. 

In the east, the temple of lightning is dedicated to the spark of life found in all creatures. The seas here are perilous and fraught with storms, and few save the Chosen ever venture near the temple. Here the prayers offered are in hope of long life and prosperity. To the west lies the temple of darkness, dedicated to the abyss into which the dead are sent to be with the Goddess, an unknown depth from which none return. 

The central temple is in the capital city, Meltokio. This temple has no guardian spirit, but is dedicated to the Goddess alone. It is here that the Chosen is killed at the end of his or her journey, should their death be deemed necessary. Unlike the bodies of most seafolk, the body of the Chosen is preserved, sealed into stone in the temple in crypts deep under the surface, a permanent offering to the Goddess.