"Even in the silence of the deep, a voice can still reach the stars."
The wind carried salt that morning.
It danced gently across the adventurer's cheek, tugging at his dark cloak as he stood on the hillside trail. Below, like a dream rising from the sea itself, was a city built on water. Bridges laced across canals, gondolas drifted like leaves, and shimmering towers reached toward the sky with glass windows that reflected the clouds. It looked as if the whole city was floating on a mirror.
The locals called it Velmareth, the Kingdom Between the Currents.
He walked the slope, step by step, until stone met his boots and a soft splash welcomed him at the edges of the city.
A little girl by the docks pointed at him. "He has stars in his eyes," she whispered to her brother.
He smiled faintly but said nothing.
He wandered the narrow paths and arching bridges, watching markets that sold pearls the size of plums, bottled raindrops from ancient storms, and paintings made on fish scales. The air was thick with music—harps, flutes, voices. A place full of life. But beneath it, he felt it again:
The quiet.
That strange emptiness people wore behind their smiles.
A strange old sailor approached him, wearing mismatched boots and a hat covered in shells. "You've got the wind of the outer lands on you," he said with a crooked grin. "Careful where you wander, starlit boy. The sea's singing a cursed tune lately."
The adventurer paused. "A curse?"
The sailor only chuckled and hobbled away.
Later that evening, while crossing a bridge lit by floating lanterns, he heard singing, no, almost singing.
A melody that never quite formed. Notes that hung like threads but never tied together.
He followed the sound, walking along the quiet canals until the city faded behind him. Out past the far edges of Velmareth, where the moon lit the water silver, he found a girl by the rocks.
No, not a girl.
A mermaid.
Her hair was pale as the seafoam, flowing like a veil in the wind. She sat on a stone, her tail like a glistening river, shimmering in blues and greens. But her eyes were full of pain.
She opened her mouth, tried to sing, but nothing came.
Only silence.
She looked up, startled to see him.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soft but shaking. "You shouldn't be here. The silence might follow you too."
He stepped closer. "I heard your song."
Her eyes trembled. "That's impossible. I have no song."
He sat nearby, keeping a respectful distance. "Then what did I hear?"
She didn't answer at first. Then, barely louder than the waves, she said, "My name is Syra. I was born with a voice meant to calm storms and tame the hearts of men. But I gave it away… to save my sister. I made a trade with her."
"The same kind of her?" he asked, remembering the thread of guilt and madness he'd seen before.
She nodded. "The Sea Cradle Witch."
The same being. The one who fed on memories and twisted wishes. The adventurer clenched his hand unconsciously.
Syra looked down. "Now I cannot sing. And if a merfolk cannot sing, she becomes less than a shadow in the sea. I will vanish. My people are already forgetting me."
He felt a weight in his chest. A slow ache, familiar.
"How do we stop her?" he asked.
Syra looked at him in surprise. "You would help me?"
"I don't know much," he said simply. "But I've seen what she leaves behind. Guilt. Pain. Emptiness. That's not something I want to see again."
She stared at him, this quiet man with no name, whose eyes sometimes flickered like stars, and nodded slowly.
"But the Sea Cradle Witch does not stay in one place. She rides with the tide. And she is guarded by the beasts of the deep—kraken, leviathan, and worse."
The adventurer stood.
"Then I'll ride the waves too."
—
The next day, he sought out help.
At the harbor, he met a group of sea explorers, former pirates turned protectors of the city. Their ship, The Coral Dream, was a beauty of silverwood and violet sails.
At first, they laughed.
"You want to fight the Sea Cradle Witch?" said the captain, a one-eyed woman named Velka. "You're either brave or stupid."
"Both," the adventurer replied. "But I'm serious."
He told them about Syra, the silence, and the beasts. Velka's grin faded. She poured a drink, took a long sip, and sighed.
"She took my brother's voice too," she said. "Left him staring at the sea, waiting for a name he can't remember."
She stood.
"Alright. We sail tonight."
The stars had begun to gather when the ship left the harbor, cutting through moonlit waters. Syra was with them, wrapped in a cloak, sitting quietly at the bow. The adventurer stood beside her.
"Are you afraid?" she asked.
He looked at the sky. "Only of forgetting who I am."
She smiled faintly.
"You remind me of someone. But I don't remember who."
—
They sailed for hours before the water turned dark, too dark.
The wind died.
The sea became like glass.
And then the screaming began.
The kraken rose first, massive arms coiling from below, dripping salt and black oil. Its eyes glowed like burning coal. The adventurer moved fast, sliding across the deck, helping Velka's crew ready their weapons.
He didn't wield a sword.
Just a thread of light.
It flowed from his palm, soft as moonlight, thin as silk. He danced with it, graceful, swift, like a leaf on the wind.
When the kraken struck, the thread of light cut through its arm like water. No force. No hatred. Just peace. Gentle. Beautiful. The kind of end that made even monsters sleep.
But then came the leviathan.
A serpent longer than a mountain, its scales like stone, its roar shaking the skies.
The ship broke apart.
Waves swallowed the crew.
The adventurer plunged into the deep.
Darkness wrapped around him. Cold. Endless.
Until a hand reached him.
Syra.
She held him close, her eyes wide with fear.
And before them… she came.
The Sea Cradle Witch.
Not a woman.
A creature.
Ugly. Twisted. A mass of kelp, bones, and lost voices. Her face was ever-shifting, young, old, familiar, forgotten. Her laughter was made of broken echoes and the cries of those who could no longer scream.
She rose from the deep, water spiraling around her as though even the sea wished to avoid touching her.
"What have you come here for?" she hissed, her voice like cracked shells scraping together.
The adventurer stood on the trembling wooden deck of the pirate ship, swordless, shieldless, yet calm. The merfolk girl behind him shivered, hiding behind a mast, clutching her throat.
The creature's eyes flicked toward her.
"Ah. You've brought her back. How sweet. She was mine. Her voice was mine."
"You stole it," the adventurer said quietly, stepping forward.
The creature sneered. "Borrowed. Traded. Earned."
"By what right?" he asked.
She laughed, the water churning with her breath. "By the same right this world gives everything—power. And she gave it willingly. Her voice… for her people."
The merfolk girl sobbed softly, gripping her chest.
The sky turned gray. Lightning curled in the distance. Waves crashed harder against the hull. The crew, stunned into silence, held onto ropes and rails, watching the battle that was never theirs.
"You're just a human," the sea witch croaked. "No blade. No magic. No song. And yet here you are. To do what? Die for a fish?"
"I don't need to be anything," he said, raising his hand slowly. A single thread of light glowed between his fingers, thin, soft, almost invisible, like the trail of a falling star.
The witch flinched.
That gentle glow—so warm, so quiet—yet it made even the sea hold its breath.
She growled, backing into the rising tide. "You can't hurt me. I am eternal. I am forgotten and feared. You have no power here!"
"I have something better," he said.
He looked at the mermaid.
She looked at him.
The wind stopped.
Time held its breath.
And then—
The witch screamed and lunged forward, arms twisting into black tendrils. The adventurer dodged, rolling to the side. The mast cracked as the creature slammed into it, splitting wood and snapping ropes. Sailors screamed, ducking, some falling into the sea.
The adventurer landed near the edge of the ship. His feet slipped but found balance. Another tendril came for him, he jumped, slicing it mid-air with the glowing thread of light. It hissed, sizzled, and vanished into steam.
"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?" the creature shrieked.
He didn't answer.
He only moved.
Quick, graceful, like a falling leaf catching the wind. His body flowed with the rhythm of the ocean, not against it. His steps had no force, only purpose.
More tendrils shot out. He ducked, spun, and leapt through them, never stopping. One grazed his cheek, cold as death, but he didn't flinch.
Then, he reached her.
The heart of the storm.
The sea witch screamed and opened her mouth, dozens of voices poured out, howling, screaming, crying.
He thrust the thread of light forward.
Not with anger.
But with peace.
The thread touched her chest. The storm halted.
The wind died.
The sky cleared.
And the creature froze.
Her many faces twisted in disbelief. Her body crackled like shattered glass.
"No… it's too soft… too kind… I… I…"
"You took too much," the adventurer whispered. "Now return what was never yours."
Her body cracked, piece by piece, vanishing into soft sparks, like fireflies floating into the sky. And as she faded, a single sound rang out...
A voice.
Clear.
Pure.
A song.
The mermaid's.
Her voice returned.
She gasped and cried out, a melody the sea itself had longed to hear again. The water calmed. The ship steadied. The wind turned warm.
And the creature was gone.
Silence.
Then applause.
From the crew.
From the pirates.
Even the captain, scarred and toothless, wiped a tear from his eye.
The adventurer turned to the mermaid. She looked at him with wide, grateful eyes.
"You didn't fight with fire," she said softly.
"No," he replied. "Some things… don't deserve anger."
She walked toward him, and for the first time, she smiled.
"Thank you… for giving my song back."
He smiled in return. "Sing it well."
They stood together as the stars peeked through the clearing sky, the ship gently swaying, the water quiet like the world had finally fallen asleep.
The stars above shimmered gently.
And in his hand, the thread of light vanished, its purpose fulfilled.
But its warmth remained.