One

Thunder rolled across the heavens as jagged streaks of lightning sliced through the inky darkness, illuminating a roiling sea that churned beneath a storm-torn sky. Towering waves, dark as midnight and flecked with a furious turquoise, surged against ancient stone cliffs, their relentless assault echoing through the night. The sea, a volatile blend of raw emerald and polished sapphire, reflected the electric fire in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the desolate shoreline.

This was no ordinary storm; it was the wrath of nature unleashed during the tempestuous Spring, a season the locals feared as much as they revered. The thawing of ice, once a protector against the ocean's fury, now allowed the mischievous waters to wreak havoc. Spring was a time of life and death, not for the rebirth of the earth, but for the countless souls claimed by the merciless sea each year.

Most of the townsfolk cowered indoors, their homes locked and shuttered against the storm's fury. But not all. A handful braved the maelstrom, their hearts pounding as they tore through the dense forest that skirted the beach. The muffled thud of hooves against the sodden earth was drowned out by the howling wind and the crack of thunder as a group of men, torches flickering in the downpour, pursued a fleeting shadow.

"Don't let him escape!" the leader roared, spurring his horse harder, its muscles straining as they pushed on. These were Novean soldiers, men who valued human life above all else, with a disdain for anything or anyone different. To them, all others were fit only for chains or the grave. This mentality seethed in Dracomire's mind, fueling his anger as he fled. He, the hunted, was no mere man but a Draconi, a proud and once-powerful race now teetering on the brink of extinction.

Even as he ran, Dracomire couldn't help but feel a bitter irony in his predicament. A Draconi, known for their strength and skill, brought to this—a desperate flight through a storm-lashed forest, arrows whistling past his ears. What was meant to be a simple scouting mission had turned into a deadly game of survival, his brother and their guide now forced to fight for their lives.

Jasper, his older brother, was a giant of a man, his towering frame and iron will renowned among their people. Even now, Jasper's heart raced not from fear, but from frustration. They were warriors, not cowards, yet here they were, running from men who barely knew the meaning of honor. Beside him, Sami, their guide, struggled to maintain her grip on a wind-tossed tree, her sharp eyes scanning the forest for any sign of their pursuers.

The air was thick with tension, the storm masking the sounds of the approaching soldiers. Jasper, crouched behind a mound, caught Sami's gaze, her eyes hard as flint as she signaled to him. He pressed his ear to the ground, his face grim as he caught the distant beat of hooves. "Thirty seconds," he mouthed, and Sami nodded, her smile a thin, sharp line.

Then, out of the darkness, Dracomire burst into view, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion. Blood trickled down his brow, mingling with rain as he stumbled, nearly falling as he dodged another arrow. Every step was agony, but he pushed on, driven by a desperate need to survive.

"Dammit, he's going to get us all killed," Jasper hissed under his breath, his frustration boiling over. But there was no time for reprimand. The thunder of hooves grew louder, closer, and with it, a new sound—the chilling baying of hounds. Jasper's blood ran cold as he whipped around to face Sami, her expression one of sheer horror.

"Hounds… and Shadow Knights," she mouthed, her terror mirrored in Jasper's own eyes. The Shadow Knights—dark, ominous figures clad in black armor, riding black steeds with eyes like glowing embers. Crimson wolves loped alongside them, their snarls carrying through the storm, and the soldiers pursuing Dracomire paled in comparison.

"Run, boy! Run unless you want to be torn apart!" Jasper's voice cut through the storm, breaking the plan they had so carefully laid. Dracomire's heart leaped into his throat at the sight of the knights, their black armor gleaming even in the storm's wrath. Against the burning protest of his body, he forced himself into a sprint, pushing past the limits of pain and exhaustion.

He barely reached Sami and Jasper before the knights would have overtaken him. They joined him, fleeing through the forest with a speed born of sheer desperation. Sami, quick as the wind, soon outpaced them, but Jasper kept to his brother's side, refusing to leave him behind. Dracomire knew he was the weakest link, and it gnawed at him, the thought that he might be the cause of their deaths.

But fate had other plans. A twisted root caught his foot, sending him crashing to the ground. Pain exploded through his leg as his already-injured knee buckled, and a scream tore from his throat. Jasper skidded to a halt, his face twisted with anguish. Jasper ran back to his little brother and extended his hand.

"Get up," Jasper hissed.

"Don't! Leave me! Get the information back to Dad!" Dracomire's voice was hoarse, his eyes pleading as he fought to stand. Jasper's heart shattered as he met his brother's gaze, tears mingling with the rain on his face. But he knew Dracomire was right. With a final, agonized look, he turned and fled, leaving Dracomire alone in the storm.

The knights arrived moments later, their hounds snarling as they circled him, but held back by a command. The soldiers dismounted, one of them yanking Dracomire to his feet and binding his hands. He gritted his teeth, suppressing the rage and pain that threatened to consume him as he was thrown onto a horse, his captors taunting him all the while.

As the rain poured down and the wind howled around them, the humans rode on, taunting Dracomire with each step of their journey. One of the knights, a sneer twisting his face, leaned in close to the bound Draconi prince.

"Look at this pathetic creature," he spat, his voice filled with malice. "A prince, huh? More like a cowardly whelp."

Another soldier chimed in, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. "You Draconi scum are all the same. Weak, spineless creatures who don't deserve to breathe the same air as us."

Dracomire's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with suppressed fury as the insults and slurs continued to rain down on him. The soldiers took pleasure in his pain, relishing in every flinch and wince as they beat him mercilessly, their laughter echoing in the stormy night.

The journey afterwards was a nightmare of silence, the only sound the pounding of rain and the relentless roar of the sea. But instead of the town, the group veered towards the cliffs, and Dracomire's heart sank. He had heard tales of what awaited prisoners at the cliff's edge, and as they approached, his fear turned to cold dread.

The knights dismounted, leaving the soldiers to drag Dracomire to the very brink of the cliff. The wind howled, carrying the scent of salt and death as it whipped his hair into his eyes. He was barely given a moment to comprehend before he was shoved onto a set of narrow, treacherous stairs carved into the rock face. The descent was perilous, but somehow they made it to the bottom, where a dark cave awaited.

Inside, iron bars formed a crude cell, and Dracomire was thrust inside, collapsing onto his knees with a groan of pain. The soldiers jeered as they locked the gate, their laughter echoing off the cave walls as they left him in the darkness.

Alone and wounded, Dracomire's thoughts were a swirling tempest of anger and despair. "I'll kill them," he muttered, his voice low and filled with venom. The storm outside raged on, the wind howling through the cave like a banshee's wail.

But Dracomire was not truly alone. Far below, in the storm-tossed sea, a figure moved with the grace of a predator. A young woman, her hair a deep, unnatural sapphire, watched the cliffs with eyes that gleamed like polished turquoise. Her lips, a soft gradient of red, curved into an enigmatic smile as she whispered to the storm, "How interesting…"

The sea raged around her, but she was unfazed, her slender arms resting on a rock as her tail, a deep cyan, flicked against the currents. She watched and waited, her presence an ominous promise of the secrets the storm would reveal.

"I hate it here".

The girl's ruby-red lips curled into a mischievous smile as she whispered softly to herself, "How interesting."

She had been lingering below the surface for several minutes, her keen ears catching the muffled sounds of voices echoing from the cave above. The storm's ferocity had driven her to the rocky shores, where she had been gathering food—crabs, prawns, and other delicacies stirred from their hiding places by the churning sea. Her mother had scolded her time and again for venturing so close to the cliffs during storms, but the temptation of an easy catch was too great to resist. The sea's chaos made the shellfish practically leap into her net, and her mouth watered at the thought of their succulent taste.

What was a little danger in exchange for a feast? Life was meant to be enjoyed, after all. And besides, she had never been caught before. She always made it home with her catch, a few bruises perhaps, but nothing serious.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a small rock, dislodged by the storm, tumbled down from the cliff and struck her head. She cursed silently, the sudden pain making her vision blur as a thin trickle of blood mingled with the saltwater. With a frustrated sigh, she abandoned her hunt and swam to the surface. The sea, now a furious beast, slammed her against the jagged rocks. It had been a while since she had surfaced during a storm like this—too long, it seemed.

Mermaids were creatures of the deep, their powerful tails capable of knocking a sailor across the deck or even denting steel. In the water, they were unmatched, apex predators who ruled the ocean's depths. But above the surface, they were vulnerable, their strength halved, their agility compromised. The young mermaid clung desperately to a rock, her delicate fingers tearing against the rough surface. Pain shot through her hands as her soft flesh was shredded by the unforgiving stone, her blood staining the water red.

She grit her teeth, hoisting herself partially out of the water, her tail still submerged and working tirelessly to keep her steady. Her gills, located just below her ears, sealed shut to prevent her secondary lungs from flooding. It was a precarious balance—one that only older, more experienced mermaids could manage with ease. She was young, barely past her fifteenth year, and controlling both her aquatic and human anatomies was still a challenge.

The storm raged on, but the voices from the cave had grown louder, more distinct. Laughter, cruel and mocking, reached her ears, followed by the unmistakable sounds of someone in pain. Her curiosity piqued, she strained to hear more, but the roaring sea drowned out the finer details. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the laughter ceased, leaving only the storm's fury to fill the silence.

Disappointed, the mermaid clicked her tongue and let go of the rock, diving back beneath the surface. The grey skies and turbulent waves gave way to the deep, dark blue of the ocean's depths as she swam downward, her tail propelling her swiftly through the water. After several minutes, the faint glow of lights appeared in the distance, beckoning her home.

With her net full of shellfish in hand, she swam faster, her heart lightening as the familiar sight of Aurora, her underwater kingdom, came into view. The rooftops of the city were adorned with iridescent pearls, their soft glow illuminating the dark water. Enchanted with moonlight and the sea's energy, these pearls cast a myriad of colors across the kingdom, creating a breathtaking spectacle.

The mermaid picked a pearl from a nearby rooftop, its smooth surface cool against her palm, and made her way to a grand stone door, embellished with gold and precious gems. Wood was a rarity in the ocean, prone to rotting and decay, so the structures here were carved from the very rock of the seabed, sturdy and enduring.

She rolled the heavy stone door to the side, the ancient mechanism groaning in protest before it finally budged. Peeking inside, she checked for any signs of movement. Satisfied that she was alone, she slipped inside, only to be met with a pair of furious indigo eyes.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the owner of those eyes—her mother, the queen of Aurora. The queen's gaze was cold and piercing, her eyes the deep, intense blue of a stormy sea. They were beautiful, but in this moment, they were filled with an anger that made Leilah's stomach churn.

"She's going to kill me," Leilah thought, dread creeping into her chest as she faced her mother's wrath.

The queen's eyes scanned over Leilah, the intensity of her gaze never wavering. For a long, excruciating moment, she said nothing, her eyes boring into Leilah's with a silent reprimand that cut deeper than any scolding could. Her mother's jaw was set, her lips pressed into a firm, unforgiving line. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, almost emotionless—a sure sign of her simmering rage.

"Leilah Kehlani Hypatia," the queen began, her tone as cold as the deepest ocean trench, "how many times must we go through this? Are you not tired of defying me? Of sneaking out and disobeying my direct orders? I know I am sick of having to repeat myself."

Leilah winced. Her mother's anger was always more terrifying when it was quiet, controlled. The queen's fury, when unleashed, was a tempest, but this—this cold disappointment—was far worse.

"Mom, I—"

"Enough," the queen cut her off, her voice sharp and final. "Spare me your excuses. Go to your room and have Maria prepare your meal."

Leilah's heart sank. She opened her mouth to protest, to explain, but the look in her mother's eyes silenced her. There would be no arguing, no explanations. The queen had made her decision.

"Mom, just let me—"

"Go. Now!" The queen's voice rose, the finality in it unmistakable. She pointed towards the stairwell, where a shimmering, translucent current led upward to the living quarters.

Swallowing her frustration, Leilah bit her lip and turned away, swimming quickly towards the stairwell. She reached the door to her room and flung it open, slamming it shut behind her as she threw herself onto her bed. She buried her face in her pillow made of seagrass, muffling her scream of frustration.

Her mother, the queen of Aurora, never listened—never gave her a chance to explain. While her younger siblings were coddled and praised, Leilah was always the troublemaker, the disappointment. No matter what she did, she could never measure up to her mother's expectations.

"I hate it here," she whispered into her pillow, the words laced with bitterness and despair. She was trapped in a gilded cage, a princess of the sea who felt more like a prisoner with each passing day. Every day was a battle, and Leilah was losing the will to fight. The dark thoughts that haunted her grew stronger, more terrifying with every breath she took in the endless depths of the ocean.

And the worst part was, she didn't know how much longer she could keep them at bay.