Caspian murmured to himself as he wandered outside of the Emerald Palace, the bustling noise of the kingdom's market greeting him. Mers darted about, some holding the hands of their children, others speaking to the vendors about their produce. The lively hum of conversation and the soft clinking of shells and coins filled the water, creating a scene that felt strangely familiar.

It looked so similar to the one back home. At least before his people retreated to their homes, avoiding the shadow of their rather moody king.

What does Marcus think of me? he thought while rubbing the back of his neck. He frowned deeply, his fingers massaging away the tension that settled there. Why should he care? He's just a simple human, someone I'd never get close to. Yet, silver eyes lingered in his mind, unbidden. They burned into his thoughts, and the thought of lush lips pressing against his stirred something deep within him—something he wasn't ready to name. The warmth that came with those thoughts left him uneasy, like drifting into the deep without knowing which way was up.

"What are you thinking about?"

Caspian's head whipped around, his heart jolting in his chest. His eyes landed on someone he thought he'd never see again.

"Lilith," he said breathlessly, his eyes widening in surprise.

Her violet irises flashed, framed by dark lashes that accentuated her sharp gaze. Her black hair floated about in neat dreadlocks, each one adorned with tiny shells and beads. Her dark olive skin seemed to glow faintly in the water's light, and the gold tattoos framing her eyes gave her an otherworldly allure. She had always been beautiful, but now she carried herself with an edge of danger that hadn't been there before.

His lips stretched into a wide grin. "Lilith!" he laughed as she swam up to him, wrapping her toned arms around him in a tight embrace. The familiar scent of sea salt and wild currents washed over him.

"How are you, old friend?" she purred, pulling back to examine his face. Her fingers lingered on his cheek for a second too long, nails grazing his jaw. "Have you missed me?"

Caspian's laughter echoed around them, but there was a slight tightness to it. "I have! I thought you'd forgotten all about me when your parents sent you away. How was your journey?"

Something dark flickered across her features, like a shadow moving beneath the waves. But it was gone so fast he almost questioned if it had been there at all.

"Nonsense," she said smoothly. "My master has shown me much. Perhaps I'll become a witch as famous as Morgan. I've heard much of his magic. Speaking of which, is he here somewhere?"

Her eyes scanned the crowd as if searching for him.

"You just missed him. He left a few moments ago," Caspian replied, his gaze following hers briefly.

Lilith pouted prettily, her lips curving into a soft frown. "Darn. I was hoping I could learn a few things from him."

Caspian chuckled, shaking his head. "Perhaps next time, love." He offered his arm to her in a gesture as old as their friendship.

Lilith's violet eyes glittered with mischief as she slid her arm through his. Her nails tapped lightly against his arm as she leaned in close, her lips grazing his ear. "Goodness. I can't remember the last time you said that to me. It's been so long—almost a century!"

He felt a nostalgic smile tug at his lips. If there was anyone who could pull him from his dark moods, it was Lilith. They had been friends since they were children, along with Elric and his younger brother, Merlin. The mention of Merlin stirred something deeper in his heart—a soft pang of melancholy. Merlin, with his soft-spoken nature, periwinkle eyes, and that odd but charming shade of pink hair. He'd gone missing so long ago that even hope had withered to dust.

"How is Elric? Have they found Merlin yet?" Lilith's voice was gentle but curious.

A low growl rumbled from Caspian's throat, his muscles tensing. "Elric and I are no longer friends. He's been banished from my kingdom."

Lilith's brow rose in surprise, her violet eyes narrowing with concern. "What did he do? You two have always been close friends."

His blood boiled at the memory, and his tail thrashed against the water. "He was manipulating me. Using his cursed magic to turn me into his pawn in whatever game he's playing."

Her eyes softened, and before he could say more, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips lingered for a moment, grounding him, reminding him to breathe.

"Tone it down, love. You're scaring the children," she teased, her fingers tapping lightly against his bicep. Her eyes drifted down to his hand, her smile curling with amusement. "You're gripping your hands so tightly, I'm surprised you haven't drawn blood."

He blinked and glanced to his right, spotting a wide-eyed merchild staring at him. The boy's mouth hung open, and in his small hands, he held a cube-shaped toy covered in strange symbols.

"What are you looking at, boy?" he said gruffly, folding his arms in mock irritation.

The young boy's grin widened, revealing a gap between his two front teeth. "Well, I sure dun kno', mista. Jus' waitin' fer somethin' to happen," the boy said with a playful shrug.

Caspian's frown quirked into an amused smile. He bared his sharp fangs in an exaggerated grin. "Is that something for you?"

The child giggled, his laughter bubbling like air pockets rising to the surface. "You're funny, mister," he said, swimming off to join his mother, who smiled warmly and pinched his cheek.

"You're good with children," Lilith said with a light laugh, her hand squeezing his bicep playfully. Her fingers trailed down his arm, stopping briefly at his wrist. "Why don't you have any little ones of your own?"

The innocent question hit him harder than it should have. His thoughts immediately shifted to Marcus—the human boy stranded on the island. It was an impossible, foolish idea, yet his mind wouldn't let it go. His lips tightened into a grim line.

What the hell are you thinking? he scolded himself, his chest tightening. Marcus is a human. He can't live underwater. Unless... His eyes narrowed. Unless the Onyx God decides to make him a host.

"Caspian?" Lilith's voice brought him back to the present.

He let out a soft sigh, turning his gaze to her. "No. Just haven't found the right maiden."

Her eyes flashed with humor, and her lips curled into a wide grin. "I am your friend, just so you know," she said, her tone teasing but layered with something he didn't have the patience to decipher.

Women, he thought with exasperation. They were as complex as whirlpools. He simply smiled, patting her hand. "I know."

She nudged her hip against his black tail, tilting her head toward the market. "Come on. Let's distract ourselves from our troubles and gorge on Emeraldinian dishes."

Her mischief was infectious, and just like when they were children, she tugged him toward the bustling market. The weight on his chest lightened ever so slightly, and for a fleeting moment, he let himself be pulled along by her laughter and warmth.

****

Marcus wrapped his arms around his legs, a slight chill seeping into his bones. The dark sky stretched far, glittering stars dotting the velvet blanket, reflected by the black sea. The gentle sound of waves lapping against the shore filled the air, a quiet, rhythmic lullaby that only made the emptiness in his heart feel more pronounced.

It was a breathtaking view, his eyes never breaking away from the twinkling stars. However, a sense of loneliness filled his empty heart. He never thought he would miss his family, his brother who enjoyed picking on him by cutting the strings of his violin, the subtle jabs his mother threw his way, or even his father's grunts that always greeted him when Marcus entered the room. Small annoyances, but now they felt like home.

Do they miss me? he wondered, his chest tightening with the thought. 

Are they even looking for me? Did they just pack away my things and move on? Tears pricked the corners of his eyes but never fell. He wouldn't let them. Not yet.

"I'm crazy, aren't I?" he murmured, glancing at the violin that lay by his side. The strings had started to fray, small threads splitting like unraveling fabric. It was a painful sight. His fingers hovered over the instrument for a moment before he gently cradled it in his hands. The warmth of the wood, smooth from years of use, felt like the only familiar thing in this unfamiliar world.

Fingers lovingly caressed the wood, brushing away a few specks of sand that clung stubbornly to its surface. "I'm sorry, old friend," he murmured, his voice cracking under the weight of his words. "It looks like our days will come to a close."

The bite wound on his neck throbbed in time with his pulse, a constant reminder of how much had changed. His shoulder burned as he moved, but he ignored the ache. Gritting his teeth, he raised the violin to his shoulder, his fingers settling into place like they'd done a thousand times before. It was muscle memory, a ritual that grounded him even now.

The first note quivered into the air, soft and gentle, like a distant whisper calling from the stars above. His bow glided across the strings, smooth but deliberate. Each note that followed felt heavier, rawer. His heart poured into every movement, his breath syncing with the rise and fall of the melody. It wasn't a song of hope or victory. It was a song of longing, a plea carried on the sea breeze to any ears that might hear it. The sound mingled with the world around him—the crash of waves, the rustle of palm leaves, and the distant cries of seabirds. Nature became his orchestra, his only audience the stars and the moon.

His fingers pressed down harder on the strings, his movements growing more frantic. Every ounce of sorrow, anger, and longing he'd buried for days was poured into his music. His breath hitched as he felt the weight of it all crash into him at once. 

Please. Please hear me. He didn't know who he was calling for—his family, himself, or someone else entirely.

The final note echoed like the end of a heartbeat. Silence followed, thick and absolute.

Then came the sound he feared most—the sharp snap of a string breaking. The bow jerked from his hand as the string curled in on itself, like a thread pulling away from a frayed cloth. Another string broke, and then another. Each snap echoed louder than the last. Marcus's breath shuddered in his chest, his fingers going slack as his violin fell to his lap.

He stared down at it, his hands hovering over the broken strings as if he could will them to heal. The ache in his chest grew unbearable. Slowly, he lowered his head, pressing his forehead against the smooth wood of the violin. His breath was shallow, his eyes squeezed shut to stop the tears that threatened to fall.

He didn't say anything. There was nothing left to say. His voice had already been carried away with the music, leaving only silence behind.