One-Shots [Boboiboy]

Ocean Eyes [Part 2]

He turned towards the ocean. The waves sploshed hypnotically on the sandy beach, as if it was inviting him, beckoning him to return to them. The sand had turned a dull shade of graphite in the water, each wave revealing new treasures like shells or clams under the layers.

Sunlight bounced off the horizon of the sea, the sapphire blue surface reflecting light like a diamond. The world that he came from was reflected in his eyes, an endless view of blue and magic.

He curled his fists, his claws replaced by sharp fingernails, the nails digging into his palm as he receded from the aquatic realm. He forced his new legs to move towards the inwards of the Earth, every step weightless and unbalanced. The sand's silky texture proved to be a challenge, his red tinted legs sinking into the sand, rendering him near immobile.

He clenched his fangs, determined to explore the world where he was born. Like a salmon returning to its birthplace to nest, he will stop at nothing to rediscover his existence.

This time, from a new perspective.

The beach posed as a difficult voyage, but there were no signs of surrendering. He could feel his body adapting to Earth, his body timer counting down as he left his source of life. But when his sandy toes brushed against the soft blades of green, emerald-like grass, he had never felt more satisfied and serene.

He was facing a small hill. With his wobbly legs and uncertainty, he hitched up his cloak and forced his limbs to carry his weight as he scaled the slope. It may be simple for others, but to him, it was harder and newer than anything he's seen and done before. Each step felt like agony, his body accustomed to the even and lightened weight distribution underwater.

By the time he arrived at the top, he fell on his bottom, his legs throbbing in soreness as he struggled to breathe with his new respiratory system. His cloak was spilled out behind him, his white hair sweaty and droplets of his sweat falling on his black hood.

Oh, he thought, sweat rolling down his cheeks. So I used to produce water?

He reached his tongue up, and a bead of moisture dripped precisely on the centre of his tongue as he sat upright. His brows furrowed instantly and his expression was scrunched up in distaste. This was a taste that he's never tried before. He thought all water was supposed to taste flavourless.

He spat his saliva out, the secretion landing amongst the greenery. Wiping his lip with his palm, his eyes fell on the scenery that was laid out before him. The area was sunken, with hills and mountains surrounding the alley like walls that segregated them from everything outside. It was huge, the end infinite.

The surface was invisible from Cyclone's area. One wrong move, and it'll all be over. Underwater creatures were able to move anywhere, any direction they pleased. People on earth were glued to the ground.

Pitiful.

From what he was able to interpret, he saw three kingdoms, all their structures as tiny as ants, and barriers were created elaborately, but purposely opened for different kingdoms to converse with one another. He could only assume the biggest buildings were the most important ones. One of them had a tower created of stone. The other was weaved from the tallest tree of the land. The final possessing a magnificent castle crafted of marble.

Their countries were fixed in area, all surrounding a single turret at the very centre. It gleamed gold and silver, which Cyclone could only deem it as extremely important. A declaration of peace, perhaps.

The sight sparked something in his mind. This scene was familiar to him, but he can't recall when, how, or why. The first thing he remembered in his life was the face of a small Guppy, Ochobot, who was his guide.

At least, until he was killed anyway.

What could he say? He's here now. He just needs to figure out something that would assist him to arrive at the kingdoms and not fall to his death. He doesn't need that in his schedule.

How can he get there? There's only one way, but he's not certain whether it'll work. In the water, he had the ability to manipulate currents. He wasn't so sure about the surface.

He raised his palm, his hand raising to the sky. He summoned the magic he welded, and he waited. Indeed, strands of wind answered his call, surrounding his arm like ribbons. Soon, an entire miniature tornado responded to his summoning, enveloping him in a case of air.

He was able to speed himself up underwater, but was he able to carry himself by the power of air?

Only one way to find out.

Standing up, ignoring the throbs of his poor limbs, he bolted towards the cliff—nearly tripping over air in the process—and leaped off the edge, the wind blasting against him as he free-fell towards the bottom.

Wasting no time, he called upon his magic, and the winds arrived to his air once more. They formed a cushion under him, slowing his fall, and eventually enabling him to hover, then fly at will.

Thanking himself for his dumb luck, he propelled towards the surface continents in curiosity, and to locate something that was a key part of his missing life. His body was suspended in the air, the shade of blue unrealistic, unfamiliar compared to the dark, sapphire coat from his world. Shades of white patterned the sky, moving gracefully to the wind's calls.

Entranced by the sight, he rotated his body, creating a cushion of air beneath him. He kicked his legs, which shimmered like silver under the sun's rays in the air, hand brushing against a white puff of cloud. The cloud was moist, weightless and airy.

His red eyes were transfixed on the infinite blue, wondering how long he'd remained in the ocean. If this was where they belonged, what had happened? Why was he a Siren? He knew about Slyrens, but Sirens? Not so much.

Cyclone retracted his hand, his finger still lingering on the airy touch of the clouds.

Why did he only remember that girl? It was a remembrance of the past, a remnant never to be found. Somehow he was able to hold on to an insignificant piece, with not even a face to remember.

His eyebrows furrowed, ruby eyes glancing to the side.

He knew nothing. He drew a blank on whatever happened between the fragments and his Siren life. No explanations. He never bothered to question it.

Until now.

Aren't we friends?

* * *

She fought.

She resisted.

She held on.

Thunderstorm's head hung low, her eyes barely open. Her shoulders were sore, her back scraped from the rocky walls. Hair drifting by her face, weightless and dull.

She tried to lift her neck.

She failed.

Oh

𝚂𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐

Her arms were encased in rock, her tail and fins frozen.

There was nothing she can do.

What did they want from her?

Why was she here?

Why

Why do they look so familiar

Why won't she sing

𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐