We arrived at a structure that looked like a humble seaside cottage—if cottages were built from coral walls, sponge insulation, and a roof draped in thick, swaying kelp. The yellow-tailed revolutionary, Denus, pushed aside a curtain of woven seaweed and gestured for to enter.
The group of yellow-tailed rfolk who had been trailing us all this ti ca to a halt just outside. Without a word, they turned away and dispersed into the streets.
Perhaps this place was sacred. Perhaps it was a stronghold. Whatever the reason, their departure spared from their piercing, watchful eyes—and that alone was good enough for .
Inside, the light was dim, filtered through strands of green kelp hanging in the water. Furniture was minimal—if you could even call it that.
Denus motioned for to sit on sothing resembling a couch, though it was clearly made from tightly woven kelp, buoyant and slightly swaying in the current. I hesitated for a mont, unsure whether my human body would be comfortable in sothing so... marine. But in the end, I sat.
Denus took the seat opposite —a chair fashioned from coral and shell. He crossed his arms, his sharp gaze fixed on in silence. The way he was looking at was more than simple observation; he was weighing sothing, asuring every movent, every expression.
I cleared my throat. "So... are you going to ask sothing, or just keep staring at ?"
He gave a small shrug and looked away briefly. "For a mont... yes, I’ll just stare. If you don’t mind, of course."
"I will mind," I replied bluntly. "Just so you know, I like girls."
He staggered slightly, then chuckled. "Ah, yes. I see. I think you might be misreading my intentions. Regardless—tell more about these rift creatures. They resemble the ones that have begun lurking in our waters."
I gave a slow nod. "Why not? To be blunt, they’re not from this world. They co from sowhere else entirely—a different realm, if you will. They are rely the offspring, the spawns, of sothing far more dangerous. A being nad Vorr’Kael. On the land, millions of these rifts have torn open the skies and the ground alike, spilling endless monstrosities into our world. They exist for one thing only—bloodshed."
Denus stayed silent, absorbing every word. His expression didn’t waver; the calm composure in his eyes suggested a man used to weighing heavy truths.
Finally, he spoke. "I assu they’ve only appeared recently? The more dangerous ones began showing themselves here just weeks ago."
I affird, "Yes. The sa thing happened on the land."
He humd thoughtfully, resting his head against his right hand, fingers tapping against his jaw. "Aside from that... the way you confronted earlier, the way you debated—it wasn’t random. What did you hope to accomplish?"
I leaned back into the kelp seat, letting it sway slightly under my weight. "Quite a simple thing, really—a residence."
He tilted his head. "A residence?" His tone made it clear he hadn’t expected that answer.
"Yes," I said plainly. "I don’t want to return to the land. My only real option is to live here. And to live here, I need sowhere to sleep, sowhere to stay. That ans I need allies. Friends, even. Which is why I wanted to speak to you—to see if you’d be willing to help ."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "And how does bluntly questioning my resolve make your friend?"
I chuckled. "That part was just to start the conversation. The real way I’d make friends with you is by helping you achieve what you’ve been fighting for—a separate nation for your people. Of course, in exchange for a permanent residence... and a lifelong supply of food."
Now that made his brow rise. "Oh? That is... interesting. And how exactly do you plan to achieve sothing that I couldn’t in years of struggle—sothing even my ancestors couldn’t manage?"
I raised two fingers. "There are two ways. First, change the perspective of the other rfolk so that the color yellow is no longer seen as a mark of sha, but as sothing tied to the sea—a symbol they respect. Second, create a fabricated association between the color yellow and their deity. Sothing subtle but convincing. And as a bonus—make your people more competent."
His eyes flickered—perhaps with amusent, perhaps with calculation.
Then with a chuckle, he patted his hand on the chair’s armrest. "Ahahhahaha, great job! You are an amusing person. Even if you fail, your resolve makes you a wonderful asset already."
I also joined him in his laugh, "If I fail that is..."
He shot a sharp look, the kind that slices through words before they’re even spoken.
"Yeah. If you fail, that is... Also, we’ve tried to show the other rfolk the importance of the color yellow in the oceans. But it never worked. Down here, yellow doesn’t symbolize life or hope. It’s a warning. A curse. When plants reach the end of their life, they turn yellow. It’s the color of rot, of things fading away. So, that plan is out of the question... Now—" he paused, his gaze narrowing in thought, "—about the deity one."
I couldn’t help but smirk, leaning back ever so slightly.
"You’ve never tried it," I said, "because whatever that deity is... it’s also your deity. That thought never even crossed your mind as sothing to exploit. You’re bound to it in a way you can’t easily step outside of. Conveniently for you, you’ve got a human here—soone who doesn’t share your cultural chains—who can see it from a different angle entirely."
His eyes locked on mine, unblinking, as if he were slowly peeling apart piece by piece. The ocean around us seed quieter at that mont.
"That perspective of yours," he said at last, voice low and deliberate, "could help ... truly."
I gave a nonchalant shrug, though I knew the hook had already sunk into him. "Yes, it would. But if I’m going to spin so convincing story, create a believable association... I’ll need all the details you’ve got on this deity of yours."
He straightened then, almost ceremoniously, shoulders rolling back as he sat upright. There was a strange weight to his movents, the kind that hinted at reverence—or fear.
Then, with a slow inhale, he cleared his throat before speaking, each word carried with a faint undercurrent of pride and warning. "Our deity," he began, "is called the Red Sea—"
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