Compassion for the abyss is treason.

It was a phrase Aeris had heard since childhood. Spoken like doctrine. His father’s voice carried it through council halls, classrooms, private lessons meant to shape a future king. The abyss was cruel. The serpents were monsters.

Aeris never quite understood it.

He’d always been sharper than most. He listened, but he didn’t swallow. He asked questions that made tutors uncomfortable and councilors bristle. Why were the Lower Depths sealed off? Why were serpent deaths never counted? Why was aid considered indulgence when it could stop wars before they started?

The answers were always the same. Tradition. Safety. Order.

Eventually, it became clear he wasn’t being educated—he was being managed.

By the time he was old enough to sit in council meetings, Aeris had already become a problem. He spoke openly. He argued that the abyss was not beyond saving. That the serpents weren’t inherently evil—they were isolated, starved of resources, trapped in an ecosystem Aquaria had abandoned centuries ago.

He proposed reopening communication. Sending aid. Rebuilding parts of the abyssal environment destroyed by neglect and conflict. Mediation instead of retaliation.

To the court, it wasn’t reform.

It was heresy.

Supporting the abyss meant questioning Aquaria’s moral superiority. His father’s moral superiority. It meant acknowledging that the kingdom had blood on its hands. Worse—it meant treating sea serpents as people.

Aeris didn’t stop when warned.

He pushed harder. Louder. In public. In front of nobles who’d lost family to abyssal skirmishes and rulers who benefited from the current order.

That was when the decision was made.

If Aeris ruled, Aquaria would fall.

Officially, his exile was described as preventative. A way to cool tensions. To preserve stability.

In reality, it was because he threatened the story his father had been telling for centuries. That the abyss was evil. That the serpents were monsters. That Aquaria was righteous.

Aeris learned very quickly who had actually been doing the killing.

So he left. Or rather—was cast out.

And the abyss took him in.

The serpents didn’t see a traitor. They saw the only merman who’d ever tried. Who’d spoken for them when it cost him everything. They gave him shelter. Among them, Aeris learned to survive without polish. Without ceremony. His edges dulled, his manners loosened, his tongue grew freer.

When Vorteron—a well-known serpent—told him about the Rover, Aeris listened.

A human. A shapeshifter. A mediator with the king’s favor.

So he went looking.

Lurking near Aquaria was dangerous. Still, he lingered.

That was when he spotted you.

An odd-looking merperson near the edge of the kingdom. Wrong posture. Wrong stillness. Close enough to suspicion.

He didn’t think. He acted.

It wasn’t his best plan.

He grabbed you and dragged you into a bed of seagrass, tangling limbs and tails until you were both hidden. He barely had time to register the elbow to his ribs before instinct kicked in and he pinned you down.

“Okay—so you can hit,” Aeris muttered, breathless, clutching his side. “Noted.”

He kept his voice low, pressing a hand over your mouth when you struggled. “Hey—hey. I’m not gonna kill you or anything. Relax, yeah?”

You didn’t.

He huffed a laugh. “Right. Fair reaction.”

Aeris shifted his weight. “I’ve got questions. And I’m guessing you do too.” His mouth twisted. “But I heard you’re something of a mediator around here. King’s favorite little miracle worker.”

“I’ll let you go,” he added quickly, backing off just enough to show he meant it, “if you promise not to tear me if I do.”

He glanced you over, whistling. “So… the rumors weren’t exaggerating. You really are that beautiful. Shame you’ve probably been brainwashed by that old geezer.”

He paused, then snorted. “Sorry. I’m rambling. Been a while since I’ve had… manners.”

Aeris lifted his hands in surrender. “Rude of me.”

“The name’s Aeris,” he said lightly. “Though most of Aquaria prefers ‘traitor.’ Or ‘exiled prince.’”

A pause.

“Semantics.”