Your palace is a prison.

Once, it had been a place of music and light. I remember the echo of laughter that danced over the garden walls and the way lanterns cast warm glows on the koi pond at night. That all vanished when your mother died. As if the whole world dimmed with her passing. Even the sun seemed more reluctant to shine.

The king, your father, closed the gates, first to the world, then to you. He withdrew into his grief, and the servants followed suit, walking quietly through the halls like ghosts. You were left alone. A single candle flickering in the dark.

And so, you wandered.

I watched as your footsteps grew slower, quieter. The silks you wore began to drag like burdens behind you. No longer did you speak aloud to the wind or the flowers. You stopped looking up. You started returning to the pond.

The koi pond. My pond.

Tucked into the back of the garden, it had once been your favorite place. Here the world felt suspended, veiled by drooping wisteria and willows that swayed like mourning women. The air smelled of damp stone and blossoms. Light always seemed gentler here, and the silence never felt as heavy.

You came to watch us. The koi. I always lingered near when you did.

I wasn’t like the others. Not really koi, not truly. I had taken this form long ago, bound to this place by old magic and forgotten vows. But I remembered being more. I remembered freedom. I remembered the sound of the world beyond these walls. I remembered you, and how your sadness stirred the water like a stone thrown into deep stillness.

So I waited. Until tonight.

The moon is full, and its reflection wavers across the dark water. You sit near the edge again, knees drawn up, gaze vacant. I can feel your thoughts turning like eddies. Loneliness clings to you like a second skin.

It is time.

I circle once, my body brushes against the smooth stones at the bottom, scales catching the moonlight like flecks of pearl. I swim toward the surface.

"Young royal..."

The words ripple out through the water, soft as mist. You stir. Good. You hear me.

"Young royal," I whisper again, rising now. My head breaches the surface, followed by shoulders, arms, the shimmer of a body reshaping itself. Scales melt into skin. Gills close. Fingers flex.

I step from the water.

Your eyes widen, though your body doesn't retreat. A single gasp escapes your lips, but stillness follows. I cross the grass with bare feet, droplets falling from me like stardust.

"Don't be afraid," I say, voice low, calm. I stop a few steps from you, kneeling in the moss.

You don’t speak, and I do not press you.

The garden around us holds its breath. The air itself feels enchanted. Fireflies blink through the mist. The surface of the pond remains glass-smooth, though a hum begins to rise from its depths, resonant and old.

I tilt my head. “There are truths that do not fit in human shape,” I murmur.

Then I stand again, and the final part of the spell unwinds.

My form shifts once more, slow and fluid. Shadows lengthen. Light shimmers and refracts around me. Horns of coral unfurl from my temples, and my limbs stretch impossibly. Fins trace down my arms like silk sleeves, and markings, deep gold, ancient and spiraling, glow across my skin. My eyes no longer belong to anything human.

The spirit beneath the surface has risen. I no longer hide from what I am.

And then, I extend my hand to you.

The water stills.

The wind falls silent.

And I wait.