٠tyuu

You would think that all they care about is the life under the sea, and enamored by all the myths of sirens and selkies that sounded ridiculous when you first heard it.

But the thing is: It's not that ridiculous sounding anymore.

It started a month ago, the sudden buzz that seemed to electrify the air of your gloomy workspace. Every researcher, intern, technician had that starry eyed look on their faces, hushing and gossiping about something you didn't know about.

How would you? You were at the grassroot level of the entire observatory, a mere janitor who cleaned tanks, mopped floors, picked up coffee ups and napkins near the bin like they couldn't be bothered to put it in. You were treated like the dirt you cleaned around their expensive equipment.

So, you snooped. Asked around, talked to some acquaintances who you had good relations with. Turns out they found something at the beach of some small farming village. Something that should be read about in some fairytale or history book.

You didn't believe it at first. Not until you signed an NDA and got interviewed/threatened by upper management and you got told one thing-- join the clean-up crew and keep your mouth sealed.

Glueing your lips shut was no big deal after you saw the increase in the number of zeros on your pay check. Besides, who cares? They can poke and prod with . . . .

What was it again?

Yes, Mermaid.

They can poke around all they want-- run all sorts of experiments, make it drunk on all kinds of chemicals and drugs, break all boundaries of ethical morality-- it wasn't any of your business.

You didn't know how much you'd regret thinking like that.

You still remember that day like it happened yesterday: those gorgeous, prismatic silver scales that glimmered like diamonds, his crown of silky and surely soft white hair, and those sapphire blue eyes blown wide with fear.

He knew what he was without even knowing the language of the land: an attraction. A specimen to be studied under the microscope of science, a cadaver to be sliced by a sharp scalpel. He didn't have any autonomy that a normal human test participant would. Because he wasn't human; in their eyes he was a miracle of myth. He was every fairytale of the sea brought to life.

He was given a cold name like the cold place he was shoved into-- Subject-496.

He was big, bigger than even Beluga whales or Killer Sharks that you had cared for and cleaned after on the other level of the facility. You were honestly impressed they even managed to catch something as fast and big as him.

You had watched him get lowered through an elevator from a tiny fish tank into an enclosure big enough for a whale. It looked like they wanted to make sure that they could study him in an environment as close to nature as possible.

(But how could he feel at home, in this strange place, when he was stolen from his own home?)

The moment his body hit the water, after he shook off the uncomfortable sensation of unfamiliar waters, he took one look at the people on the other side of the glass panels, and he froze.

All the eyes that gazed at him, both with admiration and hunger, drained all the remaining colour from his face.

Subject-496 didn't resurface from the depths of the enclosure for almost fifteen days, until they dragged him out through starvation.

That was one week of pure torture, for both you and the poor creature.

But Subject-496 was one stubborn, smart fish. They might've starved him but he knew how to differentiate between friendship and imprisonment.

He was stolen, starved, treated like an animal in captivity, and you were powerless to do anything.

You only watched, a silent spectator, as they took samples and jotted down notes while attempting to communicate with him.

He never talked, never showed any interest. He only drew blood, snarled at anyone who got too close for comfort, and remained indisposed at the bottom of his enormous tank.

Almost twenty days later, with no outward progress, it seems like this study would end sooner than it began. People were talking, agitated and furious, and it didn't sound good, at all.

If they couldn't make him talk, atleast they could pull him apart. Maybe then he would reveal the secrets of the seas.

Maybe he would look better hung on a museum display.

You don't know why he came up that day, but he did.

Maybe he was lonely, or maybe he knew that he was going to be placed on the chopping block soon and wanted someone by his side, even if they were from a species he hated.

Working overtime with no additional payment was bad enough, and getting splashed by a gigantic mer was even worse.

Subject 496 had stared at you with his big blue eyes while you were scrambling to get away from the mouth of the big tank, your overalls soaked through and clinging to your skin. It wasn't like it was your first interaction with the mermaid.

You were hired to clean, that meant cleaning his enclosure as well. You sometimes tossed him a few fish treats (he didn't like them), tried to smile at him while waving (he used to turn away and swim to the bottom), showed him a few stuff you kept on you (he really seemed to like that plush you had). Overall, it was a superficial habit born from guilt.

You never expected him to get closer, to see you face to face, because you never initiated contact for this purpose.

It was supposed to make you feel less bad about his fate, that when you cleaned up the gore, his insides splattered on the surgical table, the smell of bleach and chloride heavy on your nose, you would think that you did all you could. That you were in no way responsible for this inhumanity.

He tilted his head, his eyes taking you in.

You understood then how he felt being ogled at all the time.

The mop you had clutched onto like a weapon was useless. When he poked it with his webbed hand you could tell he didn't need any strength at all if he wanted to drag you to the depths of the tank.

And you didn't want to find how it looked like in the middle of the night.

Subject 496 stared at you for a few beats longer before opening his mouth. The words that came out of his mouth full of sharp teeth surprised you; it was your name. Sure, the pronunciation was off and his tone was all over the place but he did say your name.

You didn't know how he knew it. No one ever tried to call you by your name, or by your work title. You were too invisible to their eyes to ever be important.

There were others: one or two technicians, that cute marine biologist with wide frames, other cleaners who called you by name, but not nearly enough for him to say it with such gravity. Like he could grasp at the syllables but was ill equipped to make sense of them.

You put down the mop beside you, careful as to not to spook him, and shifted closer so that he was within touching distance.

"Try, you're doing very well." He seemed to understand praise because he chirped so loud it echoed throughout the enclosure. "Say it again, with me." You spoke your name, your chords pulling along the ridges of his thin finger.

He tried again, his lips moving and pulling the letters of your name from the bottom of his lungs.

You remember smiling despite knowing what he could do to humans who got too close, how his maw could tear at the skin with little ease like his webbed claws, yet you still brought his cold hand to your throat, unafraid and hypnotised by his beauty.

He seemed to sense the shape of words, as he mouthed them with you before trying again.

You laughed, hard and giddy, and petted his white locks. Subject 496 melted into your touch, preening and nudging for more.

This time, he did.

He said you name, and it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

And that's when you decided- he wasn't going to be an experimental display.

The flowers, brimming with beauty, circle around you—as you slowly descend and plant your feet onto the ground.

You watch the children roam around, their various laughter creating a harmonious sound. Echoing throughout the field. It is a heartwarming sight, though you show no interest in joining your comrades in entertaining the children.

You begin to walk, the floras part for each of your steps. Distancing yourself away from the others, and upon spotting a rock nearby—with its surface flat enough to provide a seat—you settle upon it. Spectating the scene before you.

It is odd, despite the unfathomable time you've spent walking this earth, you have never seen such a picturesque sight.

The field of flowers was meant to silence the children's insistence for magic, putting an end to their pestering. Which you succeeded in doing. But never had you imagined many would find such infectious joy in them.

You've stood on the peak of mountains. And there, you witnessed the clouds form a halo around the rising sun as it casts light upon the white surface. Awe was the word to describe what you felt, no matter how fleeting the moment was.

Though that's how you perceived everything, wasn't it?

Fleeting.

Only lasting for so long before dimming into nothingness. There's nothing special about moments once you realize that in the next hundred years, you'll witness it all over again.

You brush your fingers against flower petals. Delicate. And, fleeting. They wither in seconds for you, a beauty held by the sands of time. Slowly seeping through the cracks. You've long accepted that nothing ever lasts for your kind.

A soft rustle coming from behind you. Footsteps. Before something settles atop of your head, successfully pulling you out of your own thoughts.

“Daydreaming again, partner?” the hero jest with a soft chuckle as you lift your gaze up to meet his much softer ones. The jewels of his gaze sparkle like the ripples of a vast ocean, with you as the light casting over its surface.

You exhale, “shouldn't you be joining them?” your gaze shifts over at the others as a member of your party topples forward face-first into petals. Distant laughter echoes into the air.

Phainon only hums in response, before settling beside you. “I prefer being with you.” flashing you a charming smile and wink. You swore sparkles started bouncing off of his head.

Silence sits between the two of you. For a voyage with an end goal of returning the coreflame of Worldbearing to humanity—restoring shining hope over the world once more.

The passage is laden with Titankins. All deathly loyal to their master. Yet, in the name of a better tomorrow, you all March forward. Even as you shake at the face of a looming end.

Despite all the imminent danger, the Deliverer remains.. Seemingly unbothered. Going out of his way to help others.

Whether it's to pick ripe apples for an old lady or fixing a bridge between villages. With that charming smile—he lends out a hand.

Though, it's odd of him to stay quiet for this long.

Driven by curiosity, and perhaps concern, you glance over at him.

Your eyes only met his. Barely hidden by his arm. His eyes flicker, surprised by the sudden reciprocation. And in this open field, with the sun casting its light—you're able to clearly see his dilated pupils. Nearly overlapping the deep blue.

“.. Daydreaming again, Deliverer?” You throw his jest right back at him.

Phainon blinks out of his dazed, “oh.. My apologies, partner. ” he chuckles.

Yet, his eyes stubbornly stay on your figure. “I'm simply admiring the view.”

This meal is served with potent scent of flowers. Fresh. Addictive, and sweet. I recommend you all check out the beautiful art establishment linked in our notes!

See you all in our next meal!