"Awake now?"
The sa voice—smooth, pleasant, yet with that unsettling undertone—echoed through the water, pulling Kaya fully into consciousness. Her eyes snapped upward.
There he was.
That golden-haired rmaid—or whatever the hell he was—lounging like royalty on what looked like a massive oyster throne, way too extravagant for soone who just knocked her out cold. The pearlescent shell shimred behind him, casting soft hues across his perfectly carved features.
And surrounding him? rmaids. A whole lineup. But unlike him, these ones weren’t pretending to be anything human. Their lower halves were all fish—long, gleaming tails in shades of deep blue, erald green, and gold. No legs. Just fins. Real, proper sea-dwelling, tail-swishing rfolk.
Kaya stared, blinking once.
Okay. That’s... a lot of tail.
But after a second, she inhaled deeply and gave herself a silent pep talk.
Calm down, Kaya. You’ve already seen a half-human half-snake crawling on the ceiling once. Fish legs? Pfft. You’re practically a mythological connoisseur at this point.
Her brows furrowed slightly as she raised her head higher, fixing her gaze on the golden r-creature.
"So," she began coolly, her voice calm despite her tied limbs, "mind telling why you dragged here? And, uh, how the hell am I breathing underwater like it’s no big deal?"
The golden rmaid—or perhaps rman, though Kaya preferred Drama King of the Deep—smiled. But it wasn’t warm. No, it was the kind of smile that didn’t touch the eyes. Cold. Calculated.
"You’re here," he said smoothly, "because I brought you. And you’re breathing..." his head tilted slightly, "because I want you to."
For a mont, silence hung in the water like suspended glass.
Then Kaya scoffed. Not the polite kind. The full-on, nose-crinkling, dry, unimpressed kind of scoff.
"Right," she said flatly, "and I suppose next you’ll tell you can make the moon change shape just because you feel like it?"
She shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips.
"They didn’t drag here," she muttered under her breath, mostly to herself. "I chose to co. If I hadn’t... well, I’d have turned a few of you into floating sashimi by now."
Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward slightly, despite the bindings. "So let’s cut the drama and drop the god-complex. What do you really want?"
Hearing her response, the so-called master leaned back lazily, resting his chin in his palm, eyes narrowing with amusent. His voice ca out soft, almost teasing, but laced with sharpness beneath the silk.
"So... why did you call us?"
His words sent a ripple through the room like a silent current.
The other rmaids froze.
They all turned—first to Kaya, then to him—stunned. Called? Did he just say she summoned them?
A few whispered among themselves in confusion, tails flicking with unease.
Kaya, however, remained perfectly still. Calm. Composed. A mischievous glint danced in her eyes.
"Well," she said, lifting a brow, "if I called you, then obviously there’s work to be done, right?"
Simple. Blunt. As if she were discussing a grocery list, not talking to the master of a sea tribe while being tied up.
The master chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving her.
"And you think," he said slowly, "that we would just... work for you? Just because you said so?"
Kaya tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Well, no. You don’t have to. I’m not forcing you."
She paused for effect, letting a small, confident smile curve her lips.
"But if you won’t... I’ll just go to another tribe. I’m sure soone out there will be smart enough to see the value in what I’m offering."
Another silence. This ti heavier, thicker—like the ocean pressing in.
The master’s expression darkened, the playful gleam vanishing from his golden eyes. His next words ca out low and tight, barely above a murmur but cutting straight through.
"And why," he asked, "do you think any of us sea beastn would help a land beast like you?"
Kaya leaned forward as far as her tied posture allowed, her voice calm but bold.
"Because maybe... you need sothing from us just as much as we might need sothing from you. And I have a feeling," she added with a pointed look at the rman’s curious expression, "you already know that, don’t you?"
In truth, Kaya was bluffing.
Sure, she had co here with a purpose. She needed help—and not just any help, their help. The sea beastn were the only ones who had what she was looking for. But the sa couldn’t be said for them. She didn’t know what they wanted. Not yet. But she wasn’t about to let that stop her.
The master stared at her for a long, thoughtful beat. His expression unreadable.
"And what do you think we want?" he asked finally, voice calm but curious, like he was testing her.
Kaya’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Really?" she said, her voice laced with playful mockery. "You really want to talk about it... like this? In front of your whole tribe? While I’m tied up like so washed-up sea criminal?"
That made him pause.
A small, nearly imperceptible flicker crossed his face. Ah. Gotcha, Kaya thought. He fell for it. Just like the others before him. She’d used this sa trick a dozen tis before—bluffing confidence until her opponents convinced themselves she knew more than she did. Works every ti.
And from the way he was looking at her now—studying her like she held secrets even he didn’t know—she could tell it was working again.
He let out a slow sigh and ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "Fine," he muttered. "What do you want?"
Kaya tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Oh, nothing much. Just so seawater."
Silence.
He blinked at her. The rmaids glanced at each other in confusion. And then he asked again, slower this ti. "What... did you just say?"
"I said," Kaya repeated with a casual shrug, "I just want so seawater."
The silence turned sharp.
The master gritted his teeth, the irritation clear in the tightness of his jaw. "Then why," he asked, voice low and dangerous now, "did you cause chaos on the seas? Why drag half my guards into a brawl if all you wanted was seawater?"
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