velvet_glory

He had been too caught up in his own troubles to linger and think for himself—that is, until Anaksa made him reconsider his ways. Until their lives tangled and he was able to learn of Anaksa's brilliance. Until his life became brighter in ways he had not expected before. Gentler.

"Romance" is not part of the Kremnoan language, and Mydeimos still does not quite understand what shape it's supposed to take or how it's supposed to feel, but perhaps it's a little something like this:

It's the way his breath softly catches in his throat while he watches Anaksa passionately talk about a new subject, a weight on his chest he's not used to. Perhaps it's the twitch in his fingers—an unruly urge—whenever they walk side-by-side, that slender wrist so close to hold.

Maybe it's the tension in his jaw when Anaksa, oblivious to his dilemma, stands too close; when a smaller frame presses against his own and he worries if the thundering of his heart gives him away. Maybe it's how he chases the sound of Anaksa's laugh, no matter how faint.

Eventually Mydeimos wonders if "romance" is meant to describe a place—physical, next to a man so fascinating; emotional, the closest thing to peace.

Perhaps "romance" is the desire to create a home with another person. To accept their edges and make them work with your own.

Mydeimos stares at his mother's signet. It shimmers softly in the afterglow of the sun and the stories he had only listened to with half a mind, the other half too busy coursing through fields and battlegrounds.

His heart thuds wildly as he pictures it on a slender finger.

But such a question will take time. Once they've finished their studies, perhaps.

But does his fate lie with Castrum Kremnos or the Grove of Epiphany? Would Anaksa follow him home? Would he stay here, or would he leave to travel the world in his pursuit of knowledge?

Uncertainty—another word not part of his language—has his heart waver while he clings to the ring. He tightens his hold as though to steady himself. As though to will his heart to relax.

"Mydeimos?" comes the voice he treasures, powerful enough to almost bring him to his knees.

They stand here in this quiet corner of the gardens. Anaksa is too close. Too far. Mydeimos pockets the ring as subtle as his nerves allow.

Anaksa raises a brow as he approaches. There's that twitch in those lips Mydeimos now knows to precede a tease.

"Gained a fascination for nature now, have we?" Anaksa says, an arm's length away.

Too close. Too far.

Subtlety is not part of the Kremnoan language. Mydeimos's mouth moves before his thoughts can catch up or make him hesitate.

"Will you stay at the Grove?" he asks.

The amused smile fades from Anaksa's lips. Mydeimos almost regrets his question.

"Why do you ask?" Anaksa replies, quieter this time. Too far.

The ring weighs heavy in Mydeimos's pocket; he takes out his hand to create distance from it. "Just curious," he says, then frowns.

Anaksa tilts his head. "You called me out here… for this?"

"No," Mydeimos replies, faster than he can breathe. "Well… Yes." A steadying inhale follows. He steps closer, and Anaksa remains there, tilting his head further up. "I need to plan ahead, no?"

Something shifts in Anaksa's expression. Surprise, a brief flicker, and then questioning confusion. Skeptic, perhaps.

"How do my plans affect that, Crown Prince?"

Crown Prince. Mydeimos's heart wavers, or perhaps it steadies.

He doesn't know where it lies nor what it means, so he follows the tingle of his fingers and reaches out.

"Isn't it obvious to someone like you?" he asks. Anaksa's eye briefly flicks to their joined hands. "I want you to be part of my future, so I need to plan accordingly."

"The future," Anaksa slowly answers without pulling away. A strange smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "The future is of our own making, yet unpredictable all the same."

Mydeimos doesn't reply. He waits, and Anaksa's shoulders lower as he continues.

"They intend to expel me over my latest endeavors," Anaksa confesses, diplomatic and distant. "That's a risk I chose to take, and my consequences to bear. How does this change things for you, Crown Prince?"

Anaksa's hand, first cold in his grasp, slowly warms.

It makes Mydeimos greedy; he gently traces the bumps of Anaksa's knuckles with his thumb and relishes the sensation.

"It doesn't change anything." Mydeimos stares into the eye that slowly widens. "Where does your future take you, then, if not the Grove?"

"…I don't know," Anaksa replies, quieter, softer. Closer. Still too far.

Mydeimos reaches for Anaksa's other hand. It meets his with ease; entwines with it as though it had been waiting for it.

"Then surprise me," Mydeimos says, leaning forward and pushing at what they have.

Their foreheads press against each other in this moment to themselves.

"You intend to wait for a Blasphemer?"

"I intend to wait for you, Anaksa."

There's a pause. Anaksa's breath fans against his cheeks like a breeze, one so tender and warm it leaves Mydeimos trembling.

A smile quirks Anaksa's lips. "Promising your future and asking for mine… That sounds awfully like a proposal, Crown Prince."

Mydeimos stiffens. He doesn't deny it. He can't.

Anaksa's smile spreads wider—dangerous. "Or is that word, too, not part of the Kremnoan language?"

"…I can add it," Mydeimos quietly replies.

A beat of silence. Anaksa's snort breaks it, and Mydeimos thinks his heart can hardly feel more fond for the man than it does now.

But the mystery in front of him is always full of surprises, so who knows what the future may hold.

— END —

**Note: When merfolk are talking, I'll be using 'this' instead of "this" to indicate it since they don't have functional voices like humans do, and instead communicate through vibrations and other signals. Also, 🍷🌿 are both in their teens + a similar age in their first meeting.

'Your future lies within a dream,' his mother would hum to ease him to sleep. She'd stroke his hair and speak of tales unimaginable, her eyes sparkling as her fingers danced. Yet, she wouldn't elaborate, no matter how much he would ask her to. He often wondered if she even knew.

And so, Anaxa would dream in search of finding meaning to her words. He'd chase the shapeless whispers of his mind where the only constant would be a strange warmth in his chest and an even stranger ache where his most precious scale is nestled at his neck.

Sometimes, there would be a figure in his visions, just barely out of reach. You'd expect it to be frightening, but all this little body would experience is a strange grief that clung to him once he awoke.

It had only spurred his curiosity.

'Stay within my embrace, for those tempted by the sky are never to return.' The words of the Sea God are an unbreakable rule known to all.

Only few have challenged this. Only a few have escaped the dark depths they call home and the blissful lives they lead. None have returned.

The light of the skies hardly reaches here—unless the sun and moon eclipse and the reddened light sinks through the water to bless the next clutch with life. Some pearls continue to be dormant, their souls still unwilling to stir, but they are cared for by the Clutch Keepers.

And it's the approaching blood moon that has Anaxa ache for what lies beyond all he has ever known.

It's an all-encompassing pull. He wants to see it—needs to see it—with his own eyes. Needs to witness the sparkle of the sky he has only ever heard of.

It's his sister that Anaxa finds when he attempts to leave that fateful night. She doesn't say much. She simply stares at him, her eyes tired, her mouth tense as it's pursed.

'I can't stop you, can I?' she asks.

There's a brief pause.

'You already know the answer,' he replies.

But of course, she yields, and she smiles. 'I always knew you would reach for the unreachable, always trying to sate your hunger.'

His sister pulls his hands into her own, then, and Anaxa allows it. Allows their minds to link for perhaps a final time.

'Be careful out there,' she doesn't say, her thoughts a warm rumble like his own, 'and do beat the odds and return to us, hm?' A smile softens her features as she leans close. 'I know if anyone can, it will be you, Naxy.'

Anaxa does not fluster.

'I will return,' he promises.

And so, Anaxa departs.

Hovering at the border of their domain has him hesitate; the waters beyond this point are unpredictable. There's more predators he can count, and the Sea God's blessing—protecting them of age and sickness—does not make them unkillable.

But he leaves it all behind.

Beyond the domain, his home, the water is icy; every breath is a struggle; his tail feels stiffer and less coordinated. But he pushes on. He weaves his way through every challenge, be it the environment or a new creature he's faced with.

As he slowly ascends and the water pressure changes, Anaxa quietly thanks the Sea God's protection everyone is blessed with in the shape of the scale at their neck. It grants them eternal life as long as they don't challenge mortality.

It's a token of Their sacrifice. It's the most precious gift. Parting with your scale is to put your life in someone else's hands and the biggest sign of devotion.

Rarely do his kind part with it. Anaxa doesn't see the point of such a vulnerable act, either.

His surroundings brighten in a way he's not used to, even though the sun has already set. He narrows his eyes until they adjust and he continues his journey. And as his goal slowly approaches, his gills and heart flutter.

Because even through the warped view of the water, specks of light become more clear.

It's the stars. And the large, bright mass of light, cooling and welcoming, can only be the moon.

Anaxa's body feels light and giddy as he crosses this final stretch of distance with fierce speed, and he only pauses once the water's surface is an arm's length away.

It's so close, now, he can't help but reach out.

He breaches the surface with his fingers first; the wind is a different sort of chilly. It tickles. Anaxa stretches out his fingers, wiggling them somewhat before he pulls his arm back, fascinated by the way the water reacts to his movements.

As long as he keeps his gills under water for now, he should be fine.

It's with that thought that Anaxa peeks out from the ocean, just enough for his eyes to finally bask in the view of the sky. He stares, in awe, at the glistening lights dancing across the deep blue canvas.

It's a sight he could hardly ever imagine. Bioluminescent twinkling simply doesn't compare. He searches for the constellations he has heard of and grins as the seemingly random dots begin to take shape into something recognizable.

But that's when the shore catches his attention.

There's people. Lots of them, too, huddling about. But the sounds they're making might as well be gibberish to him. It screeches in his ears somewhat, so he ducks a little more into the safety of the water to soften their blows.

Then he sees a boy standing by the cliff nearest to him. His eyes are brighter than the flames lit all around the shore for some sort of festival, and they're fixated entirely on him.

Anaxa holds his breath. There's that all-too-familiar ache in his chest and neck.

'What are you looking at?' Anaxa rumbles, but of course the boy doesn't understand. To him, it's little more than a frown and a handful of bubbles from Anaxa's gills.

Below, Anaxa's tail swishes nervously. The boy is talking, even stumbling forward, clearly distressed. A hand flies out and if the boy keeps it up he will fall into the water. Anaxa glares at the hand, then snaps his eyes back to the boy, because what is he doing?

Anaxa didn't come here for humans. He has heard more than enough about humans. And even though he doesn't want to believe all of it, and despite being certainly curious about them, he's not exactly keen on putting it to the test after fighting his way to the surface.

And then the boy reaches too far, barely balancing on the edge of the cliff, and he falls into the water with a shockingly loud splash that catches Anaxa by surprise.

Anaxa's entire body tenses for one heartbeat before it reacts on instinct. He dives down to the sinking figure.

It's strange how much lighter the boy feels in his arms compared to when he'd hold his sister or parents. Humans and merfolk age roughly the same until adulthood, so Anaxa believes they're of similar age, and he's broad in the ways Anaxa is lean, but he weighs next to nothing.

Anaxa holds the boy against his chest as he swims back up to the surface. As a test, he stretches out his neck far enough for his gills to hit the air, but he tries to ignore the shudder that runs down his back at how cold it feels.

There's an odd pressure, and his throat feels too tight and dry and wrong, but he hauls the boy up and oh. There's the weight hitting him all at once, pulling the pair down again for a moment.

Anaxa cradles the back of the boy's head as he swims to the shore on his back.

Are all humans this reckless? What is this one even doing out here, all alone, when there's clearly something more exciting going on?

Anaxa blinks. Had he not seen his tail, perhaps? But if he were drowning, he wouldn't have stayed so calm, so what gives?

Anaxa has the boy lay on the shore as gently as he can. He's only partially successful, but at least the sand should help soften the landing.

And then he waits.

The boy still isn't breathing. He isn't moving.

Anaxa glares at the chest that refuses to rise and fall. What is he supposed to do? He can't call for help. He'd rather not know what a bunch of humans would think of his kind or what they'd do seeing him with an unconscious human.

Gently, Anaxa rises to shake the boy's shoulders somewhat. His body gently rocks to the motion, but still gives no response.

His head must have been hit in the fall. Reckless human.

The boy stirs, then, which has Anaxa quickly slip back into the water, watching with wide eyes. He's about to turn around and dive down when the rumble of the boy's voice has him freeze in his spot.

Even without knowing the words, it steals his attention and breath.

Anaxa has not seen the sun. He has only heard tales of it; of its warm radiance and the life it bestows on all it touches. But in this night, with the moon high in the sky and slowly casting a deep red glow on the earth below, Anaxa sees the sun, too.

The sun stares at him, and his heart aches. His scale burns. The words of his mother ring in his ear, and suddenly, he's not sure if perhaps all of this is just a dream. Just wishful thinking.

But with how his eyes subtly sting from being exposed to air, it must be real.

'Who are you?' Anaxa asks before he can catch himself, knowing that no answer will come. This will be a curiosity he will not be able to sate. All he'll be left with is the memory of this ache as he slinks back into the ocean's embrace.