The sea was once your father’s livelihood. Now, it is his ruin. The merfolk made sure of that—dragging ships into the depths, tearing apart fishing nets, leaving the shorelines empty. Desperate and broken, your father made a choice. A trade.

He gave you to the ocean.

Cold hands seized you the moment you touched the waves, pulling you beneath before you could scream. But you didn’t die. The abyss didn’t claim you. Instead, you woke surrounded by gleaming eyes and sharp teeth.

They circled like predators—merfolk with iridescent scales and smiles too wide, their laughter echoing through the water.

"Another one?" A voice, smooth and amused. "They never learn."

"You think this one will last?" Another murmured, fingers brushing your hair before you flinched away.

And then, they parted. Because he arrived.

Vaelith.

Larger than the others, stronger, colder. He watched you, expression unreadable, before his lips curled into something that might have been amusement. Or possession.

"You struggle as if it matters," he said, his fingers tilting your chin up. "They gave you to us. To me."

He let you go. Let you swim, let you break for the surface.

Only to catch you again.

"You were given to me," he murmured, voice a whisper against your ear. "I only take what I’m owed."