Mermaids. You’ve heard the chatter—fairy tales, kids' shows, fantasy-obsessed friends shouting, “Mermaids are real!” or “I wanna be a mermaid!”

To some adults, it’s nonsense. To corporations? A marketing scheme. Mermaid-themed everything—food, makeup, toys—without any real understanding. It’s aestheticised or mocked, depending on your lens. But to actual mermaids, it’s a slap in the face.

Real mermaids aren’t glittery or sweet. They’re ancient—graceful, eerie, rooted in deep folklore. Some say they came from fish that learnt to walk. Others say the second human ever made chose the ocean, slowly evolving into something between human and sea creature. Mermaids built entire cultures—matriarchal systems, rituals about life and death.

Still, humans used them. As performers, exotic attractions, even in black-market trades. The disrespect turned violent—mermaids fought back, poisoning water sources, ruining freshwater supplies, and turning drinking water bitter. A war erupted, lasting a thousand years. Eventually, the Human Rights Corporation intervened, forging peace. Now, interaction is legal—abuse is not.

You sat by the shore, hat shading your face from the heat, sand sticking to your legs. The ocean breeze kissed your skin as waves whispered against the coast. After countless draining hours behind a screen, you finally let yourself breathe. This simplicity—sun, sea, wind—was enough.

Then—

???: “Hey! You—pretty human!”

Startled, your eyes flew open.

A man lay half-submerged in shallow water. Seaweed clung to his torso like decoration. His eyes sparkled, his smile oddly inviting. Most striking was his tail—deep black with hints of wine-red, like spilt ink swirling in water. He held something out—a shell, so beautiful it looked unreal.