#ladsficrec

Lemuria. Age 3

At three, you were the demure little darling of the nursery, always humming, always trailing after him with wide eyes and a bashful smile. 

You were the one who swapped the temple’s ceremonial orbs with glowing fish eggs with him, the ones who would chase down the other kids of the temple with crabs.

He took the blame every time.

And when you kissed him on the cheek as a thank you, his cheeks would turn molten.

...

It started with a crab.

No bigger than a sand cookie, bright blue, and utterly furious at being poked by a stick.

You were the one wielding said stick, unrepentant, curls tied up in two stubby tails and your cheeks puffed in serious concentration. Rafayel, barely taller than a conch shell himself, stood behind you like a loyal footman-slash-snack provider, chewing on dried kelp and watching your “expedition” with wide, mesmerized eyes.

“Corawlie,” he whispered, already mispronouncing your name with a bubble of reverence. “You gonna make him mad…”

“I want him mad,” you hissed, eyes sparkling. “So he’ll do the claw dance . Talia said that’s how crab gods sing.”

“She also said lemon shells make your pee glow in the dark.”

“Well,” you said confidently, “she’s right about that too.”

He squatted beside you, plucking a pebble and offering it to the crab like a peace treaty. “Crabby-crab, you can be our pet. You can live in the Cowal Cave with us. But you gotta share snacks and not bite Corawlie.”

You grinned at him. “Deal.”

He grinned back. His developing tail curled in delight.

Lemuria. Age 7

You followed Rafayel like a shadow that smelled of coral and mischief.

You had grown demure but precise, voice always a little softer than the girls around you. But your pranks were sharp. Deliberate.

“You won’t,” Rafayel dared, watching the ceremonial pearls tremble in your tiny palm.

You tilted your head, slow and sweet. “ Ei sei’a i’thara, ” you whispered in Lemurian. 

He did.

The pearls exploded mid-sermon, and you just blinked wide-eyed and held his hand as though you had been the victim.

When scolded, you looked up at the priestess and said, “But I’m only little.” Batting long lashes and suppressing tears. 

And somehow, Rafayel end up taking the blame. Again.

...

“I told you this was a bad idea!” Rafayel hissed, legs dangling from the coral scaffolding.

“And I told you ,” you grunted, halfway through an air vent above the Elder pantry, “saltberries don’t steal themselves.”

“ Kama-tesh, kama-tesh… ” he muttered, invoking every sea-spirit he could think of as you wiggled forward, your tail swishing dangerously close to his face.

You were fearless. And very bendy.

“Got it!” you whispered, triumphantly holding up a small sack of glimmering saltberries. “Dinner’s going to be deluxxxxe. ”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help grinning.

When you wriggled back and fell right on top of him with a squeak, the two of you tangled up in a mess of limbs and laughter, the saltberries scattered like stars over the floor.

You didn’t even care.

You fed each other handfuls of them by moonlight, juice staining your fingers, cheeks warm.

Something had begun to bloom, and it was not more saltberries.

Lemuria. Age 11

The first time Rafayel noticed your lashes were longer, you were tending to his scraped fin after a failed attempt at wrangling a wave serpent.

“You’re really bad at this,” you murmured, gently dabbing his cheek.

“I saved you.”

“I saved you ,” you corrected, glancing up at him through your lashes. “You’d be fish food if I hadn’t pulled you out.”

He stared.

Your fingers lingered on his cheek a moment too long.

“ Why are you looking at me like that? ” you asked softly in Lemurian.

He flushed. “No reason.”

You smiled.

You knew.

...

“Rafayel,” you whispered, cradling a starfish like it was treasure, “If you tell anyone I kissed it, I’ll cry.”

“You kissed a fish.”

You blushed. “It was cute.”

He laughed until he choked on bubbles.

When Talia found you both cuddled up in a tide pool, you had one arm around Rafayel and one hand stubbornly clutching the soggy starfish. You looked up with wide eyes and said, “It needed love.”

Talia said, “I know dear one, I know.”

Lemuria. Age 15

Fifteen. And everything began shifting.

He was taller. Voice lower. His tail had developed sleek streaks of night-cerulean. You wore your hair in ocean-knots now, pearls braided through. He noticed.

Rafayel couldn’t stop noticing.

You caught him staring once during diving drills. You swam up close, so close your noses nearly brushed.

“Bet your heart skipped,” you whispered, in Lemurian. “Like a coral crab.”

He blushed. “N-No.”

“Yes.”

He swam into a reef wall fifteen seconds later.

You helped him bandage the scrape with a mischievous grin.

...

Fifteen, and you had blossomed.

Still girlish, still gentle, but your tail had fully developed, and so had your skill to shift from human legs to tail and vice versa. Your hair fell in soft, curling waves, often pinned back with bits of shell. You spoke little in public, but your voice in private always had the effect of being stronger for its softness.

Rafayel caught you humming once—your hands trailing along a water thread, making it dance mid-air like silk.

He stared too long. Again.

“What is it?” you asked shyly.

He did not have a tangible answer for you. 

You blushed, hiding your smile behind your hair.

He pretended not to notice.

But he did.

Every time.

...

Rafayel started realizing you smelled different from other girls—like sugar kelp and something softer. It drove him insane in a way he didn’t have words for yet.

One day, while trying to “impress you” by riding a reefwing fish, he faceplanted into barnacles.

You gasped and rushed over, pressing your hands to his bleeding cheek.

He hissed.

“You’re so reckless,” you scolded in a whisper. “Why do you always try to act strong?”

“To impress you,” he mumbled.

You paused.

Then leaned in—and licked the cut on his cheek.

He yelped.

“W-what the shells was that?!”

“Lemurian healing,” you said, turning pink. “That’s what Talia said. I didn’t mean to… I just…”

His heart exploded.

Your hands were trembling as you brushed his curls away. “You don’t need to bleed to impress me, Rafayel.”

His voice cracked. “You like me?”

You blinked. “...I think I always did? As a friend, yes. A friend.”

Lemuria. Age 16

Your rituals had become more elaborate, your hair pinned in intricate plaits woven with tiny ivory beads. Your tail shimmered in a beautiful blue, greenish celadon in moonlight, fins moving like petals. You'd grown quiet, ethereal, aware of the space you held.

Rafayel had drawn you again—secretly.

He left it by your cot in a rolled scroll, no signature.

The next morning, you slipped a single seashell onto his palette as thanks. He made a bracelet out of it. 

That evening, you found him watching you from the reef edge.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” you whispered.

“ Ei’ven ae’ari, ” he murmured. I can’t help it. He truly couldn't. 

...

You were nearly seventeen now. A vision. A siren sculpted by the latest sea gods.

Your conch-shell bustier clung like a spell, shimmering light blue, kissed by ivory pearls and crushed crystal dust. Your tail had finished blooming into its full colors— glimmers of cerise and celadon —and ceremonial ink swirled down your arms in ancestral script. Your hair was draped over your shoulder, silky and perfumed with saltflower oil. You glowed.

Rafayel stopped breathing.

The drumming began. You turned to him before you entered the chamber, gaze steady.

“Do I look foolish?”

He swallowed. “You look…”

You tilted your head, bashful.

“Pretty.”

He didn’t sleep for two nights. He wishes he could have told you what he really thought of you. 

He dreamed of it instead.

With his hand on your hair, the other cradling your waist as he murmured the words atop your lips.

Breathed them in.

Nelei'ka elen thari, solmira’el ven korvian — ni'len thari'ka solé, sael vyrra velen to'veth em.

'You appear like you were shaped with sacred love, because only someone who has known you deeply and loved you so fiercely, could make you this devastating.'

He kept thinking of you this way past the destruction of Lemuria. 

He met Lia by accident.

A land girl. Frightened. Fragile. Forbidden.

Meant to be sacrificed so he could complete the rite and awaken his powers as the last Sea God, and the wick that would illuminate Lemuria would do it forevermore.

Yet.

Rafayel spared her. Lied to the temple. Said she was taken by the sea.

Doomed everyone. You.

And now you were here walking in front of him as if you both were back to being 11 and naive, with trays of ingredients to nurture those kids that had starry eyes everytime you so turned their direction.