Morgan's small island loomed ahead, the entrance to the cave shrouded in shadow. The sight brought a flood of memories crashing over him, most of them dark and unwelcome. This was his childhood home—a place where loneliness had been his closest companion and where the disdainful looks of the merfolk had driven him into isolation.

But amidst those bleak memories, flashes of red lingered, like embers in the darkness. He didn't know what they meant, but he hoped that returning to this place might provide answers.

As the cave came into view, the glow of several potions illuminated the dark interior, their soft light reflecting off the walls in hues of green, purple, and blue.

"Wow, Morgan! Your home looks so cozy!" Cassio giggled, flitting around excitedly. The tiny fae bounced on Morgan's seaweed canopy bed, his glow brightening with every movement.

Morgan chuckled at the fae's enthusiasm, his smile fleeting but genuine. He made his way to the stone shelf where his potions and tools stood in neat rows, their colors swirling faintly in their vials.

"How long will it take to complete the potion?" Atlantis's voice echoed softly through the cave. The prince stood near the entrance, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, watching Morgan with a quiet intensity.

Morgan kept his gaze fixed on his potions, resisting the pull to look at Atlantis. Instead, he focused on Cassio's radiance. "If I recall correctly, Marcus's potion will differ from the one I made for Ren and Aceso," he said, selecting a few ingredients.

"May I ask why?" Atlantis pressed, his tone calm but curious.

Morgan bit the inside of his cheek before replying. "Marcus is no longer entirely human. His transformation is already underway. This potion will simply accelerate that process, allowing him to fully become a merman."

Atlantis stepped closer, resting his spear against the wall. "Is he..." The prince hesitated. "Is he Caspian's other half?"

Morgan stilled, his fingers brushing over a hidden vial tucked behind the others. "When I saw them together," he murmured, his voice soft, "their auras were in sync, glowing like the stars from the heavens."

The cave grew quiet. When Morgan glanced at Atlantis, he caught a flicker of something in the prince's golden eyes—a sadness so deep it seemed to pierce the very air.

A strange image suddenly flashed before Morgan's mind: a younger version of Atlantis, his golden eyes wide and filled with innocence, a single hand outstretched, accompanied by a radiant smile.

Morgan blinked, shaking his head. Focus. Atlantis was undeniably attractive—his red hair framing sharp features, his soft lips, the way his muscles rippled beneath his pale, scaled skin. But Morgan couldn't afford distractions now. Not when he had a task to complete, and certainly not when his missing memories still lingered on the edges of his consciousness.

He squirmed at the intrusive thoughts clouding his mind. "Cassio," he said abruptly, turning to the fae, "I need octopus ink. Do you think you can fetch a small vial?"

"Aye, sir!" Cassio chirped, zipping out of the cave in a flurry of light.

*****

Atlantis leaned against the wall, his golden gaze fixed on Morgan as the witch began to mix the potions. Morgan's hands moved with practiced precision, his lips murmuring unfamiliar words under his breath. The sight brought Atlantis a strange sense of reassurance. Morgan was acting like his old self again—a flicker of hope that the witch might one day remember him fully.

"You're staring," Morgan teased, his voice low and teasing as he stepped closer. Far too close.

Atlantis's breath hitched, his golden eyes locked onto Morgan's familiar green ones. The space between them disappeared, leaving only the heat of their bodies and the magnetic pull of their proximity. Morgan's full lips were mere centimeters from his, and Atlantis felt his heart hammering against his ribs, the sound like the crash of distant waves.

And then, it happened.

Lips met in a fierce, desperate kiss. Morgan's hands tangled in Atlantis's hair, pulling him closer as soft whimpers escaped the prince's throat. The kiss caught Atlantis by surprise, but the familiar touch of Morgan's tongue against his lips stirred a torrent of emotions he couldn't suppress.

Atlantis's hands moved instinctively, threading through Morgan's dark, seaweed-laced hair. The kiss deepened, raw and consuming, a dance of passion that blurred the lines between love and lust. Fingers roamed hungrily, nails scraping over skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Their breaths grew ragged, their arousals pressing against each other, tails shifting and splitting into legs as the intensity of the moment overcame them.

"Take me, Atlantis," Morgan murmured, his sharp teeth grazing the prince's lips, sending a shiver down his spine.

Atlantis's mind swam with desire, every fiber of his being aching to give in. Oh, how I want to, he thought, his resolve trembling under the weight of his longing. But before he could act, a high-pitched voice shattered the moment.

"Master Morgan? Your Highness?"

Atlantis's eyes snapped open, his gaze darting to the cave's entrance. Cassio hovered there, clutching a small vial of black liquid, his glow now a deep shade of embarrassed red.

The two men broke apart quickly, their legs shifting back into tails as they scrambled to compose themselves. Silence filled the cave, thick and awkward, until the tiny fae spoke again, his cheerful voice breaking the tension.

"I brought the ink!" Cassio chirped, holding the vial up proudly.

Morgan cleared his throat, his cheeks flushed as he took the vial from the fae. Atlantis looked away, his own face burning as he silently cursed both the interruption and his inability to resist Morgan's allure.

The tension between them remained, simmering just below the surface, as Morgan turned back to his potions, muttering softly to himself. Atlantis couldn't help but watch him, his golden eyes lingering on the witch's every movement, his heart still pounding with the echo of what might have been.

****

"Are you sure this is safe?" Marcus asked, eyeing the vial filled with glowing silver liquid. The luminescent swirl within seemed alive, pulsing faintly as if responding to his hesitation.

Morgan grinned, his sharp teeth glinting mischievously. "Of course it is. Trust me—it's going to make you look extra pretty!"

Marcus frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. Pretty? The word felt emasculating, and the smug look on Morgan's face didn't help.

Before he could retort, warm lips brushed against his temple. "Drink it," Caspian murmured, his deep voice soft and coaxing, "and I'll show you my world."

Marcus's pout deepened. "That sounds like a cheesy line straight out of a Disney movie," he muttered under his breath, only to burst into laughter at Caspian's confused expression.

The merman tilted his head, his black orbs narrowing in bemusement. "What's a Disney?" he asked, his tone serious.

Marcus waved his hand dismissively, his laughter bubbling up again. "Ignore me," he chuckled. He raised the vial to the light, watching the liquid catch the faint glow of the cave, and swallowed it in one quick gulp.

The taste was unexpected—sweet, like honey tinged with salt. A strange aftertaste lingered, making Marcus scrunch his nose. "So... what are the side effects?" he asked cautiously, turning to Morgan.

The witch's grin widened, unapologetic. "A tail and a little bit of pain."

Marcus's eyes widened in alarm, but before he could protest, a searing pain shot up his spine. His legs buckled beneath him, his body crumpling into Caspian's waiting arms.

"Marcus!" Caspian's voice was sharp with worry as he caught him, lowering him gently to the mossy floor of the cave.

The pain intensified, radiating through Marcus's body like molten fire. He gasped, clutching at Caspian's shoulders, his nails digging into the merman's pale skin. "What's... happening?" he managed to choke out, his voice strained.

Morgan knelt beside him, his green eyes flickering with curiosity and focus. "Your body is adjusting," he said, his tone oddly calm despite Marcus's evident distress. "The potion is accelerating your transformation."

Marcus barely heard him over the sharp, bone-deep ache that spread from his spine to his legs. He cried out as his legs twisted unnaturally, his muscles spasming beneath his skin. The sound of bones shifting filled the air, a wet, cracking noise that made his stomach churn.

"Stay with me," Caspian murmured, his hands cradling Marcus's face. His voice was steady, grounding, even as worry flickered in his dark eyes. "You're strong, Marcus. Breathe through it."

Marcus tried to focus on Caspian's voice, on the warmth of his hands and the calm determination in his gaze. But the transformation was relentless. His legs fused together, the skin taking on a pearly sheen as scales began to spread, shimmering faintly in the cave's light. The pain began to subside, replaced by a strange, tingling sensation.

"It's working," Morgan said, his tone laced with satisfaction. He leaned closer, studying Marcus's new form with a critical eye. "Your body is accepting the change beautifully."

****

Destan approached the cell, the sound of his tail sweeping through the water echoing faintly in the dim, sunken dungeon. The faint glow of bioluminescent coral illuminated his chiseled features, the shimmer of his pearlescent scales catching the pale light. Behind the bars of the prison, wild eyes stared out at him, unblinking, filled with a feral hatred.

"Are you ready to talk?" the Diamond King asked, his voice smooth and commanding, carrying the weight of the ocean's depths. His arms crossed over his chest, the glint of encrusted gemstones on his golden cuffs catching the light.

The prisoner sat curled in a fetal position on the rocky floor, his claws clamped tightly over his ears. He trembled, as if the voices in his head were louder than the silence of the dungeon around him.

Destan hovered just beyond the bars, his blue eyes cool and sharp, watching with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the prisoner's defenses. "Well?" he pressed.

Slowly, Elric removed his hands from his ears, his sharp talons scraping against his temples as he lowered them. His black, fish-like eyes flickered with a mix of rage and despair. His voice, hoarse and brittle, finally broke the silence. "What have I to say? The only thing I have left to lose is already out of my reach. I disobeyed my master. I tried to kill your precious royals."

Destan tilted his head slightly, his long, flowing hair drifting lazily in the water. "Who is your master?" he asked, his tone calm but insistent.

Elric didn't answer. He dropped his gaze to his taloned fingers, his sharp claws tapping against the rock as if to distract himself. The thought of his master's wrath was a weight pressing against him, suffocating. Yet there was a cruel hope buried in the depths of his mind—that perhaps, if he kept silent, his master might show mercy.

Destan sighed, his tail curling lazily behind him as he floated closer to the bars. "What do you gain by serving this master of yours?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "What could possibly be worth your suffering?"

Elric's head snapped up, and his wild eyes narrowed into slits. "Something I desire!" he spat, his voice a guttural growl. "Something you royals are too egotistical to care about!"

With a feral snarl, he launched himself at the bars, the water rippling with the force of his movement. His claws scraped against the coral-encrusted metal, his face mere inches from Destan's.

But the king didn't flinch. He met Elric's rage with unshaken calm, his gaze steady and cold. "Are you willing to talk, then?" he asked, his voice unbothered by the outburst.

Elric's lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing jagged, shark-like teeth. "Never," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom.

Destan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. His tail flicked once, propelling him backward in a languid motion. "You will," he said, his tone soft but brimming with quiet certainty. "Sooner than you think."

Without another word, he turned and glided away, his shimmering tail disappearing into the shadows of the dungeon. The soft hum of his presence faded into the silence, leaving Elric gripping the bars, his breath ragged and his hatred flickering like a dying ember in the cold, oppressive water.