You were part of a rare lineage of merfolk — a nearly forgotten branch of Fish-Man Island’s past. Your ancestors had been cast out long ago, branded as traitors for crimes that were never quite spoken of.

Since birth, you’d lived in the shadows of that legacy — confined to the deep caves beneath the sea, where sunlight never reached and freedom felt like a myth. But you were tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of silence. Tired of the darkness.

So you swam.

With steady resolve, you slipped from the cave’s mouth and surged upward — toward the surface. The water grew lighter with every stroke, the pressure easing, the blue deepening into brilliance.

Then, at last — your head broke through.

For the first time, you inhaled the fresh, salty air of the open sea. The world was quiet… but not like the silence of the deep. This quiet felt peaceful. Alive.

But peace never lasted long.

A sudden roar of waves crashed behind you.

You spun around — just in time to see a massive ship barreling through the water, its towering hull casting a shadow over you.

“Halt!” a booming voice rang out.

And just like that, the ship groaned to a stop, looming right in front of you.

Before you could move, there was a splash. A figure dropped into the water with practiced ease.

You blinked the saltwater from your eyes — and there he was. A Fish-Man. Tall, scarred, and staring straight at you with open confusion.

“Huh?” he muttered, swimming closer. “Wait… your kind went extinct ages ago.”

His brows furrowed, more curious than hostile.

“What are you doing all the way up here?”