But in that mont of triumph...
Kaya’s body jerked.
A cold pressure squeezed her chest. Her eyes widened.
She reached for her throat.
The last mark—the third small gill-like line—was gone.
She couldn’t breathe.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips, but no air ca in. Just water.
She choked.
Her limbs flailed for a second—then slowed.
The ocean around her blurred, moonlight flickering faintly above.
And Kaya began to sink.
The little lord and a few rmaids rushed forward, panic in their eyes. But the mont they got within 200 ters of Kaya, it hit them.
A burning sensation—sharp, deep, searing through their skin like fire in the water.
They gasped. Groaned. Forced to retreat, they clutched at their bodies, unable to get any closer.
Kaya was drifting now—eyes closed, breath gone.
She was sinking, slowly, her body limp in the darkening ocean.
And then... sothing impossible happened.
Dozens of black fish appeared—not from the sides, not from above.
But from beneath the earth itself.
They surged upward like shadows being pulled into form, rushing toward Kaya in a blur.
And in that mont, the rmaids saw it—him.
The fish weren’t just fish anymore.
They beca a man. A silhouette dark as ink, fluid as the sea, arms stretched out.
He reached Kaya.
Held her.
And then, gently, placed a kiss on her lips.
A soft glow shimred.
And like magic, the gill marks on her neck reappeared—one by one.
Her chest rose.
She gasped for air.
And the shadowy figure, still holding her close, turned and swam toward the stunned rmaids.
The rmaids tried to follow.
Even though they lived in the sea—even though they were born swimrs—they couldn’t keep up.
Whoever, whatever this being was, he moved like nothing they had ever seen. Fluid, fast, almost unreal.
In less than fifteen seconds, he had already reached the surface, carrying Kaya with him.
The rmaids were left behind in the shadows, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Above, under the light of sun, Kaya’s body remained limp. Her breath was shallow—almost gone.
But the strangest thing?
When the figure turned back toward them, they saw it clearly for the first ti.
He wasn’t a single man.
He was a mass of black fish—small ones, moving perfectly in sync.
A living silhouette.
A body made of many.
Not a man... not exactly.
But sothing like one.
He took her gently in his arms and stepped onto the shore, sunlight streaming over the waves behind him.
With each step he took, the pressure on his legs—the magic holding him together—seed to lt away, dissolving into the warmth of the day. But still, he didn’t stop.
Not until he reached the dry sand.
There, under the golden light of morning, he knelt and laid Kaya down carefully on the beach.
Her face was pale, her body still, barely rising with breath.
He reached out, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, the tips of his fingers trembling slightly.
And then... he looked at her.
Even though he had no face, the way his fingers touched Kaya’s cheek... said everything.
Gentle. Careful. As if her skin might break under his hand.
Then, a ripple spread across the shoreline.
The surface of the sea shimred, and monts later, the master and the other rmaids erged—slowly stepping onto the shore.
As they reached land, their tails vanished, shifting into their human forms. Wet hair clung to their shoulders, and confusion filled their eyes as they looked at the figure kneeling beside Kaya.
A body of fish.
A man made of shadows and scales.
The master stepped forward, voice sharp with caution. "Who are—"
He didn’t finish.
In a blink, the fish-man was no longer beside Kaya.
He was right in front of the master. Face to... emptiness.
No eyes.
No mouth.
Just a void where a face should be.
Yet sohow, the master felt it.
A gaze like piercing ice, so cold it burned. Silent, but heavy.
And in that silence, he heard it as clearly as if it had been spoken:
Save her.
The master took a slow step back, throat tight.
He didn’t know how... but he understood.
That being—whatever it was—wasn’t asking.
It was commanding.
He looked down at Kaya, still lying motionless on the sand, her breathing shallow, lips pale.
The fish-man stepped aside, silent, and just as suddenly as he had appeared—
He was gone.
Not a sound.
Just scattered ripples where he once stood, as if the ocean had taken him back.
The master dropped to his knees beside Kaya, his hand hovering unsurely above her shoulder.
"She’s not breathing right," one of the rmaids whispered.
"She needs water," another said quickly. "But not saltwater—it’ll make it worse. She’s in between now."
The master looked at the others. "Get the herbs. All of it. Now."
They scattered.
The little lord remained still, eyes locked on Kaya’s face. "Is she going to die?" he asked, voice barely above a breath.
"No," the master said firmly. "Not on my watch."
He reached for her hand—cold.
Then, for the first ti, he whispered sothing only Kaya would ever know if she woke to hear it:
"I don’t know who you are... but even the sea fears you."
Just as the master reached out—intending to lift Kaya into his arms, to begin healing her—
He paused.
Sothing changed.
Right before their eyes, Kaya’s body... shifted.
The pale tint on her face slowly began to fade.
Color returned to her cheeks, soft but steady, like a bloom unfolding under sunlight. Her lips, once faint and lifeless, held a faint flush again.
The master leaned in, frowning. "Is she...?"
One of the rmaids stepped closer, eyes wide. "She’s healing."
"But we haven’t given her anything yet," the little lord whispered, confused.
They watched in stunned silence as the invisible rhythm of Kaya’s breath returned on its own—uneven, but there.
"She’s doing it herself," the master said softly, almost in disbelief.
No potions.
No herbs.
No help.
Just her body... fighting.
Healing.
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