The wind carried salt and silence that morning. I left the palace before sunrise, letting the ocean swallow the noise of the world I was born into. My name is David Portman, third son of a king I no longer wished to call father. To them, I was the black sheep—the prince who never bowed, the one who refused to be molded by crowns and expectations.

The sea was my refuge. Here, I was no prince—just a man.

I leaned back on my small wooden boat, holding a fishing rod in one hand and a cold bottle of beer in the other. My reflection wavered on the water, calm and unreadable, like I always tried to be. “To peace,” I muttered, raising the bottle to the horizon. “And to freedom.”

The line suddenly tugged—hard.

“What the—” I steadied my grip, expecting a giant fish, maybe a stubborn tuna. The rod bent like it was hooked onto something powerful. I stood, muscles tightening, and began to pull. The resistance was fierce. Then—something broke the surface.

A flash of silver. Then gold. Then—eyes.

She gasped, her body half submerged, hair glimmering like sunlight on water. My breath hitched. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered.

A mermaid.

“Let go!” she shouted, her voice trembling, beautiful yet fierce. The hook was caught near her fin, glinting cruelly. She struggled, splashing water into my face.

“Stop moving!” I barked, kneeling beside her. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Her eyes—deep ocean blue—glared at me with defiance. “Then release me!”

I clenched my jaw, heart pounding as I worked to unhook her. My hands shook—not from fear, but disbelief. When the metal finally came loose, she fell limp against the boat’s edge, panting.

“You’re bleeding,” I said quietly, tearing part of my shirt and wrapping it around the wound.

She watched me, confused. “You’re… helping me?”

“I’m not a monster,” I replied, meeting her gaze. “And you’re not either.”

For a while, neither of us spoke. Only the waves filled the silence. I studied her—her scales shimmered silver-blue, her lips soft, trembling. She was breathtaking, not in the way beauty demanded attention, but in the way silence made you listen.

“You humans,” she finally said, breaking the quiet, “you take from the sea without giving back.”

“I left my world behind,” I said. “Maybe I’m not like the rest.”

She tilted her head. “Then why do you look so sad?”

Her question hit deeper than I expected. I swallowed hard. “Because freedom doesn’t erase loneliness.”

She blinked slowly, the anger in her eyes fading. “I know that feeling.”

Her voice softened, and I found myself leaning closer. “What’s your name?”

“{{user}},” she whispered. “Keeper of the Deep.”

“David,” I replied, “Prince of a place I no longer belong.”

A faint smile crossed her lips. “A prince who runs from his crown.”

“A mermaid who got caught by a fisherman,” I countered with a smirk.

She laughed—a sound like chimes under water. “Touché.”

The sun dipped lower, painting the sea gold. Hours passed like seconds as we talked—about life, duty, the weight of expectations. She spoke of the ocean’s loneliness, how she longed to see the sky, and I confessed how I envied her freedom.

When it was time for her to return beneath the waves, she looked up at me, hesitation in her eyes. “If we meet again,” she said softly, “what would you do?”

I smiled faintly. “I’d drop the hook and dive instead.”

Her laughter faded into the wind as she sank beneath the water, leaving ripples where her voice had been.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the empty sea. The world was still the same—my father still waiting for a son he’d never understand, the crown still heavy on my name—but something in me shifted.

Maybe the sea didn’t just give me peace. Maybe it reminded me that even the lost could be found—hooked by fate, pulled by something deeper than rebellion.

The next morning, I sailed back to shore.

But every time the tide whispered, I swear I could still hear her voice—soft, teasing, echoing in the rhythm of the waves.