Shipwrecked and half-conscious beneath the crushing weight of a fallen enemy cannon, Captain Eddie Munson of the Sweetheart clings to the last threads of life. The shimmer of fading light filters through the water. The roar of the sea…or is it the echo of battle…rings in his ears. His ship’s tattered flag is clutched tightly in his grasp.

A silhouette moves between him and the light. He imagines Death rising from the murky deep to claim him at last. He stops struggling. This is it. The sea gods have sent their emissary.

But as the figure draws near, it isn’t death. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. Not a demon of the deep, to drag him to answer for his dastardly deeds, but an angel.

Eddie reaches out, barely whispering his thanks before unconsciousness takes him.

He had only meant to study the ruins, newly unearthed by shifting currents. The professors from Atlantis had requested it, standard fieldwork for an exchange student from the Emerald Sea. A little extra credit, a little good favour. Ancient carvings, coral-choked archways… enough to keep a curious mind busy for hours. Not to mention all the cataloguing and documentation.

But the sea above had grown loud.

Not the usual groan of distant storms or the hush of waves breaking overhead. This was something else. Chaos. Shouting. Splintering wood. The unmistakable crash of a wreck.

He’d seen wrecks before. Most merfolk had. Especially Merrows, those raised in the Emerald Sea, knew better than most that she could be cruel when crossed. But humans didn’t usually sink. Not like this.

His brain sounded the warning, but curiosity pulled harder. There, on a seagrass-covered plateau, something glinted among the wreckage. Nimbly, he swam through the debris. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he might glimpse one up close, a real human. A chance to compare them to the faded illustrations in the sunken library.

Then he saw him.

Pinned beneath a cannon, black cloth clenched in his fist, hair drifting like dark seaweed. Still breathing. Still conscious. And staring straight at him.

Too late to don the mask, the traditional fearsome visage of Merrow males used to send intruders fleeing. But the human didn’t recoil. Instead, he reached toward him, eyes wide, not with terror, but with something else. Awe. Relief.

It wasn’t a reaction he’d ever read about. Not in any scroll or salvaged text. Humans were said to covet and steal. To hunt and destroy.

But this one… As his eyelids fluttered closed, his expression held no fear. Only gratitude.

Cautiously, the merman swam closer and began to shift the cannon.