Atlantis watched Morgan swim a few paces away, the water shimmering around him like a halo.

The light faery, Cassio, darted excitedly in and out of Morgan's path, his glowing form painting trails of light through the water. Morgan's amused smile curled his full lips, a small dimple appearing in one cheek, a sight Atlantis couldn't help but notice.

"And then Lady Ren said, 'Ain't nobody got time for that!'" Cassio exclaimed, his tiny, high-pitched voice mimicking Ren's exaggerated tone. He twirled mid-sentence, the soft tendrils of his magic spreading in rippling waves of golden light as he relayed the story.

Morgan's laughter echoed between the trio, a deep, warm sound that made the water seem to hum. "I remember bits and pieces of her. She's such a lovely girl. Full of fire, isn't she?"

Cassio nodded enthusiastically, his tiny legs kicking as his arms extended outward, conjuring a burst of shimmering illumination that sparkled like tiny stars. "Oh, she's a force to reckon with! I don't know how Kai survived her stubborn streak."

Atlantis's gaze lingered on Morgan as he spoke, his eyes tracing the elegant lines of his face. A smile tugged at the corners of Atlantis's lips, but it didn't last long. Morgan had regained fragments of his past—glimpses of his life before, pieces of Ren, and memories of Aceso. Yet the memories of Atlantis himself seemed to remain locked away, inaccessible.

Atlantis tried not to let it sting, but the coldness in Morgan's green eyes when they settled on him, detached and indifferent, was a reminder that some things were still broken. It wasn't just the memories; it was their connection, too.

His fingers brushed absently against the pendant resting on his chest. The kiss of cool metal met his fingertips—a simple ring tied by a leather cord. A cruel symbol of a promise made and forgotten, tethered to a time Morgan no longer remembered.

"Atlantis?" The familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

He blinked, startled to see Morgan looking directly at him, his expression curious. Atlantis's fingers had clenched around the ring without him realizing it. He let it go hastily, the pendant falling back against his chest. "Yes?"

Morgan's lips curved into a smile, soft but disarming. Atlantis's heart raced, a traitorous reaction he had no control over. "Would you like to take a break and eat?" Morgan asked, his tone inviting.

A blush crept up Atlantis's neck, blooming into his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time Morgan had smiled at him like that—or if it was genuine. "Of course," he murmured, letting his body drift downward toward the ocean floor.

As they descended, the vibrant coral reefs below came into view, a breathtaking display of colors that rivaled the finest treasures of the surface. Cassio zipped ahead, weaving through the coral like a firefly dancing in the night.

Morgan drifted closer, his green eyes catching the faint light filtering through the water. "I like your hair," he said suddenly, his voice soft but deliberate.

Atlantis froze for a fraction of a second, his fingers instinctively reaching for the long, crimson strands that floated around him like ribbons in the current. "Thank you," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt. Inside, his heart leaped with unrestrained joy, hammering in his chest as though trying to break free.

Morgan's gaze lingered, and for a moment, Atlantis thought he saw something—warmth, perhaps, or recognition—but it was fleeting. The green eyes turned away, leaving Atlantis wondering if it had been real or just his imagination.

He followed silently as Morgan swam ahead, his laughter ringing out once more as Cassio attempted to wrangle a tiny, curious fish that had taken to following him. Atlantis's grip tightened on the leather cord around his neck, the weight of the ring an anchor to both his hope and his despair.

For now, he would savor the small moments—like a smile, a compliment, a fleeting glance—and pray that one day, the memories they had shared would return to Morgan, bringing back the warmth Atlantis had known so long ago.

****

Marcus groaned as he pushed himself upright, his hand instinctively moving to rub the sleep from his eyes. A dull ache in his lower back made him wince, and he became acutely aware of the cool water lapping against his legs. Normally, the cold would bother him, but each splash seemed to soothe his skin, like a balm quenching something dry and cracked within him.

As the heaviness of sleep faded from his gaze, Marcus blinked, taking in his surroundings. He was no longer on the beach. The gentle roar of the waves had been replaced by the muted echoes of dripping water. Around him, the dimly lit cove shimmered with hues of blue, purple, and green. The slick walls glistened, their surfaces illuminated by an otherworldly light. Soft green moss cushioned his tender backside, but the realization of his nakedness sent a shiver racing up his spine.

His arms wrapped instinctively around himself. What happened? The last thing he remembered was pain—sharp, searing, all-consuming. Then there had been warmth, blurred flashes of pleasure, the press of lips against his skin, and hands that had guided him through the storm of agony.

Heat surged to his cheeks as the memories came rushing back: Caspian. The thought of their intimacy—his first—made his heart pound. He had given himself to a man he barely knew, yet his body had responded as if it had known Caspian forever, surrendering without hesitation.

"Marcus?" The familiar voice broke through his thoughts, rich and low, reverberating through the water.

He turned his head sharply. "Caspian?" he whispered, his voice trembling with equal parts relief and uncertainty.

Before he could process the sight of him, warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him close. Marcus shivered at the contact, the solid press of Caspian's chest against his back, the heat of his lips brushing against the nape of his neck.

"Hello, love," Caspian murmured, his voice a husky caress.

A soft noise escaped Marcus's lips, his heart racing at the affectionate term. He leaned into the embrace, the happiness bubbling up inside him so potent it was almost overwhelming. Caspian no longer regarded him as a stranger but as something closer, something infinitely more intimate. The hazy memories whispered the truth in his mind: mate.

"Do you feel well?" Caspian's deep voice rumbled against his back, the vibrations spreading warmth through Marcus's body.

"I'm... just a little sore," Marcus admitted, his blush deepening. Turning to face Caspian, he let his gaze linger on the sharp planes of his face, barely visible in the dim light. "What happened to me?"

For a moment, something dark flickered through Caspian's gaze. "You were turning," he said softly.

Marcus's brows furrowed. "Turning? Into what?"

Caspian hesitated, his black eyes gleaming faintly with an unnatural light. "A wraith," he murmured finally, his voice thick with guilt. "It's my fault. All of it. And worse still... I stole your innocence."

Marcus reached up, his hands cupping Caspian's face. The roughness of his scruff scratched against his palms, grounding him. "No, Caspian," he said firmly, his voice trembling with emotion. "None of this is your fault. You saved me. You gave me your strength when I couldn't go on. For that, I am in your debt."

Before Caspian could protest, Marcus leaned forward, pressing their lips together. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but quickly deepened. Their tongues met, exploring, and their hands moved instinctively, memorizing the curves and dips of each other's slick bodies. Heat surged between them, a fire igniting in the depths of the water.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingled, warm and heavy. Caspian's forehead rested against Marcus's, their connection palpable in the charged silence.

"Come with me to my kingdom," Caspian murmured, his voice laced with longing.

Marcus's breath hitched. Kingdom? The word conjured images of an entire world beneath the ocean's surface. A thriving nation hidden from human eyes. But even as curiosity sparked within him, doubt crept in like a shadow. "Caspian," he began hesitantly, "I'm not like you. I don't have gills. I don't have a tail. I won't survive down there."

Caspian's low chuckle sent shivers down Marcus's spine. "Come with me," he repeated, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that melted away Marcus's hesitation.

Taking his hand, Caspian led him toward the water. Marcus allowed himself to be pulled along, his legs propelling him forward until they reached the entrance of the cove.

The bright sunlight hit him like a wave, momentarily blinding him. As his eyes adjusted, the glittering ocean stretched out before him, its surface rippling with vibrant blues and greens.

"Why did you bring me here?" Marcus asked, turning to Caspian, who had stopped just ahead of him.

Caspian's gaze softened, his dark eyes studying Marcus intently. "I want you to see something. Look at yourself."

Confused, Marcus obeyed. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at his reflection in the crystalline water. His skin was no longer sunburned or pink but a pearly white, shimmering faintly in the sunlight. Dark, intricate lines traced across his arms and torso like ink, and black webbing stretched between his fingers. His nails were no longer their usual shade but stark black, glinting like polished obsidian.

"What... what is this?" Marcus whispered, his voice trembling with awe and fear.

Caspian stepped closer, his hands tracing the delicate marks on Marcus's shoulder. The touch sent shivers cascading through Marcus's body. "I don't know," Caspian admitted, his voice low and reverent. "My people have marks, but not like yours. Yours are... abundant. Unique."

Marcus turned to him, his expression a mixture of wonder and unease. "Is it because of our bond?"

"Perhaps," Caspian said, his tone contemplative. "But I'll find someone who knows." His lips pressed softly against Marcus's forehead. "Stay here in the cove. I won't be long."

As Caspian moved to leave, Marcus grabbed his arm, pulling him back. Boldly, he brought their lips together in a passionate kiss. The intensity of it startled them both, but neither pulled away, their connection burning brighter with every second.

When Caspian finally pulled back, his eyes were dark and molten, filled with promise. "Wait for me," he murmured, his voice heavy with meaning.

And then he was gone, leaving Marcus standing at the entrance of the cove, his heart racing as he stared at the shimmering sea and the unknown future that awaited him.

****

Elric shivered in the suffocating dark of the cell, the cold stone pressing against his bare skin and leeching the warmth from his body. The air was stale, heavy with the metallic tang of blood and despair. The silence around him was not peaceful—it was a void, broken only by the incessant voices that echoed in his mind, growing louder and more insistent with every passing second.

Traitor. Murderer. Coward. Disgrace.

The words lashed at him like a scourge, each syllable a dagger plunged into his heart. He clamped his hands over his ears, as though that could stop the sound, but it only grew louder, an unrelenting chorus of guilt and condemnation.

"Shut up!" he screamed, his voice hoarse and cracking under the strain. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

But the voices wouldn't listen. They never did. They chanted relentlessly, a cacophony of torment that reverberated inside his skull. His magic flared in desperation, raw and unfocused, streaks of pale light shooting from his trembling hands. He hurled them at the bars of his prison, but each blast fizzled out before it even reached the cold, unyielding metal.

Elric slumped to the floor, defeated, his breathing ragged. His tail curled around him protectively, a pale, sinuous reminder of the part of him that set him apart—what some had called his blessing, and others, his curse. Now it was nothing more than a hollow comfort, as powerless to save him as he was to free himself.

"I'm so sorry, brother," he whispered, his voice barely audible, broken by a sob that clawed its way out of his throat. His tears flowed freely now, glistening in the faint, eerie light that trickled in from the tiny grate above him. Each droplet floated upward, defying gravity, shimmering like stars as they drifted toward the ceiling—a cruel mockery of beauty in a place so filled with despair.

"I've failed you," he choked out, clutching his tail tighter, his body trembling with the weight of his guilt. The memory of his brother's face—his smile, his trust—seared into his mind like a brand. It was unbearable. He could almost hear his voice, feel his presence, and it tore at him, making the walls of his prison seem closer, the air thinner.

The darkness wrapped around him like a living thing, feeding on his sorrow, whispering promises of escape through surrender. But Elric couldn't let go, not yet. His brother's name lingered on his lips, a fragile tether keeping him from spiraling entirely into the void.

And so he sat there, consumed by guilt and self-loathing, the voices in his head louder than ever, drowning out the faint sound of his heart still beating.