"Use them wisely."

That sentence keeps on ringing in my head. No matter how much I try to forget it, it stays in my thoughts like an annoying pest.

The bioluminescent coral in our kelp garden did not light it up like the day—it was as dim as tonight's moonlight through the water. A few sea slugs and fish darted in and out the kelp stalks here and there, but their movements seemed more sluggish than usual. Were they frantically fixing their beds for a night of rest? Or were they waiting for their energy to wane and sleep to catch up to them?

Thinking, yes . . . thinking always helped to keep the more violent thoughts away, even though it was so much like discussing nonsense with yourself. Not tonight, though. I'd had enough. Yesterday's events jarred me back to reality. I was forced to finally choose for myself.

I've feared Cetacea so much. Though the Mermaids have incessantly declared their benevolent intentions to the other races, their actions continue to betray their words. Each kind statement is stabbed in the back by an act of desperation born from a deep, profound fear of another race. The Sirens are too scary to befriend. The Selkies are too strong for their own good. The Naiads are too nice to do business with. The Nereids-to them, we are fallen gods.

The Mermaids rule Cetacea. They grip us all with an iron fist.

I sighed, detecting an outward ripple disturbing the water as it reacts to the simple release of my breath. That small detail reminds me of the power that I possess.

I've feared Cetacea enough . . .

I raised my fist. I imagined one of the notorious Mermaid slave traders before me. The Mermaids think that they have us secured in their grip, but we're only playing along. Our desire for peace is genuine, but they continue to tempt us into wrath. Have they truly seen a Nereid's hold over the waters of this sea?

I could crush them, end their tyranny with a few waves of my hand. I had the power, I could do what I wanted. I could finally bring this sea peace . . .

"Use them wisely."

There it was again.

With great effort, I lowered my fist. I calmed my rage, taking deep breaths. I knew what happened in the past-one of us lost control, one of us became a tyrant. Atrocities flowed from the hands of a Nereid with so much power, no one could stop her, not even the other Nereids. Too many died, and even the innocent were not spared. Anyone who showed even a hint of disagreement was put to death, often by her own hands. Rumors of so-called "rebels" exploding in a cloud of blood and guts ran wild.

No wonder the other races were so afraid of us.

"Tyranny begets tyranny, and we'll have blood on our hands if we try to end it now."

I turned, already knowing who I will see. Mother never failed to speak in riddles, but I'd never understood her as clearly as I did now.

"Tyranny can't give birth, can it?" I asked, feigning ignorance. "It isn't alive."

"Oh, it is. And you know it."

"Why should we hold back?"

"You know why."

I knew her reasons.

"Well, I don't see why we should! We can end all of this, Mother. I can end it alone if you don't want to. Do you know how many will suffer if we don't? Please, just let me—"

She faced me. Her face shined, sparkling with a Nereid's tears. I'd made her cry, again.

"Do you remember what happened yesterday, Cari?"

"Yes."

"There are rumors that the royal family is involved in the slave trade."

I grit my teeth. Royalty. Oh, I can only imagine the satisfaction of scrubbing those pieces of scum from their stupid thrones! Popular, yes, but charismatic!? Their titles and honorifics can only fool the blind, and even then, their illusions wouldn't last too long. No one could think of the royals as kind and elevated beings once they've felt the cruelty kings and queens are capable of. Behind the scenes, the dainty monarchs hold the slavers' whips.

And yet they fool so many.

"Is the queen involved?" I ask.

"We do not know. She refuses to speak with us, as always."

"I, I don't . . ."

I struggled with my words as I tried to search my mind for a way to make my mother finally see the truth. We could end all of this, we could end all of our problems with a snap of our fingers. We had the power to do so. Why was she so against it?

"They're using the slaves to search."

I waited. What else could the Mermaids want? They must have everything they want—and yet they're willing to resort to this. And all for what? For a search? What obscure piece of treasure warranted this much injustice?

"I want to you find it before they do."

"Find what?" I wasn't sure whether I wanted to hear the answer. Why was she telling me this?

"The weapon that started it all."

My heart skipped a beat.

There was no way.

There was no way they wanted to have that.

I'd heard of the Mermaid Queen's scepter, passed on from generation to generation, fabled to grant the wielder great power. However, it was an open secret among the Nereids that the scepter's power was a sham. The real power of Mermaids was shown in their storm songs.

The weapon, unlike the queen's scepter, had real power. It was the favorite of our tyrant ancestor, a trident that served as a cursed prison for her soul. It was declared lost after her defeat. I guessed that did not deter its searchers even a little.

If they found it . . .

"Use them wisely, Cari. Use your abilities carefully," my father's words rang in my head. "Power does not equal freedom. Being on top of everything has no freedom. Having a hold over someone else's life has no freedom. To seek power is to seek loneliness—the death that keeps you alive."

"You can't expect me to do that!" I yelled. My mother was on the verge of sobbing, and I yelled at her. "You said that I'd go mad if I touched it! We don't even know where it is, and you're asking me to do your work for you!?"

"You think that we'd forget where our ancestors hid the most dangerous weapon in our history? Cari, we aren't that careless."

"Careful enough to remember but careless enough to consider sending someone else," I muttered under my breath.

"We know where it is. They don't. Even now, they're . . . they're just, uh, monitoring our movements for now. Trying to find clues," she replied.

I didn't believe her one bit.

"I think there's a way that doesn't involve searching for a cursed weapon, Mother."

"Cari, no. We can't resort to—"

"WE CAN!!!"

If my sigh caused a ripple, my yell made the water go wild. Kelp was flattened as my anger shook the garden with the force of a surface tidal wave. The current crushed coral and snuffed out lights in a radius of destruction that completely wiped out the garden.

The seafloor became lifeless. I watched as corpses of fish decayed before my eyes, dissolving into sand. I stared blankly as my diffusing rage leeched the life out of every creature that was barely clinging on to life—until they, too, became sand.

Mother's familiar sigh met my ears as she waved her hand, repairing the damage. To her, it was a nuisance. Nothing irreparable, nothing impossible to change.

With a single wave of her hand, she restored the garden. She restored life—she returned breath to grains of sand so that they would become fish and sea slugs again, so that they could grow as stalks of glowing coral once more.

All was well, again.

It was nothing.

What is this horror I feel, then?

I stared at my trembling hands. If I'd done that with anyone else in the vicinity . . .

So much power, and Mother had more.

So much destruction, so much lost, so many years of sea life shattered by one yell, and all it took to bring everything back to normal was a wave of her hand.

Why does she hold back, then?

"You . . . you just . . ."

"Do you see it now, Cari? Do you finally see what we have always reminded you of? Do you realize the burden every Nereid must carry as they grow in age, gaining more of this cursed power?"

"Cursed? To you, it was nothing. You only had to wave your hand, and . . . and you fixed everything."

She frowned.

"Is that how you see this power?"

"Yes," I replied.

I balled my fists. How could I break through that everpresent doubt of hers? I needed her to see reason.

"If we can do all of this, why can't we use it, then? Why can't we make everything right?"

"It's not that you can't, Cari."

She drew closer and placed a hand on my cheek. As she caressed it tenderly, I calmed down. She was still my mother. Maybe I could convince her, but not like this. Not with force.

"Many complain about what they can't do. They see moral laws as chains that bind them, imprisoning them in a life where their will is dead. They don't see that they aren't restrictions—they give them the freedom to choose something else."

With that riddle, she left me floating there, a mess of confusion—and my frustration grew once more.