Bruce hate magic.

"Get off me, monster!" Bruce spat, shoving them away with his boot. He barely registered the sharp sting of his wound before he scrambled to his feet and ran, vanishing into the dense woods surrounding the river. His chest burned with humiliation. He would not—could not—owe his life to something his people would burn at the stake.

But that wasn't the end of it.

Days later, he returned to the river, convincing himself it was only to make things fair. If they saved him, he had to return the favor. That was the only reason he kept meeting them in secret. The only reason he stayed when they talked about things he barely cared about. The only reason he found himself intrigued when they spoke of the world beyond the kingdom.

And then, one night, it happened.

They dragged themselves onto land, and before Bruce could process what he was seeing—their shimmering tail melted into human legs.

Panic flashed through him. They were naked. He swore under his breath, pulling pair of shirt throwing it at them, turning away as fast as possible. "Put that on," he ordered, running a hand through his hair.

Once that problem was solved, they wandered the forest together, the creature—no, his new… acquaintance—marveling at everything. The wind, the leaves, the food in the village when they stole a few bites. For a moment, Bruce forgot why he hated magic.

But all good things ended.

And so, they parted ways.

Rumors spread. The village folk saw something glowing beneath the water—something unnatural. Suspicion turned into fear, fear into hatred.

Without waiting for the king’s decree, the people took matters into their own hands. They tainted the river.

Bruce saw it before he heard the whispers.

The river, once clear, was now a murky graveyard. The stench of decay filled the air. He covered his nose.

They couldn’t still be here. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay—

"{{user}}!" he shouted. "Come on! You need to get out of here!"

Ripples disturbed the poisoned surface. And then, they emerge from the water.