The sea stretched wide beneath a sky brushed in morning gold, its surface glittering where sunlight scattered like spilled coins across the waves. The tide rose and fell with a rhythm older than memory, drawing long sighs along the shoreline and sending crests rippling towards the reef with the gentlest of hands. The tide moved in and out like it always had. Small waves reached the reef, touched it briefly, then gave way as larger ones rolled in and dragged the water back with them. A gentle warmth drifted through the air, soft on the skin, with the faint scent of salt riding the breeze.
Above it all, gulls wheeled with easy grace, their calls sharp and cheerful as they dipped low, wings wide and gleaming, before slicing down to skim the surface. Seconds later, they rose again just as quickly, carrying wriggling flashes of silver triumphantly in their beaks.
Below the surface, the light broke apart.
It scattered into shafts and shimmered as it dropped, brushing through the top layer of water where colour still danced bright and bold. Sunlight touched the sand here in drifting patterns, dappling the seabed with shapes that moved like clouds. Seashells littered the floor, scallops in soft purples and rose-pinks, spirals of peach and ivory, fan-shaped clams cracked open like forgotten treasure chests. Some shells gleamed like polished marble. Others were soft with algae and time.
Corals bloomed from the rocks in wild patterns, some knotted and branching, others wide and undulating, all bursting with colour so rich it almost felt impossible. Crimson and tangerine jostled against sapphire blue, while yellows glowed warm and clean as candlelight. Small, translucent shrimp picked their way across the coral tops, their legs moving in precise flicks, barely visible unless caught at just the right angle.
Tiny seahorses clung to strands of swaying seagrass, their bodies curled in tight question marks, tails wrapped carefully around the blades. They blinked slowly, drifting with the rhythm of the current. Starfish lay spread across the rocks in bright bursts, orange, violet, even a few in pale mint green that looked painted by hand. Clusters of anemones danced like they were listening to music only they could hear, each one pulsing in its own tempo, soft and strange and beautiful.
Shoals of fish moved through the water in glimmering ribbons. They turned in unison, flashes of silver, teal, coral-pink, striped and spotted in every variation, driven by instinct.
One moment, they clouded the reef in a rush of colour; the next, they vanished behind a rockfall or dissolved into the haze of deeper water.
There was a certain calm here, but it never lasted.
Currents swept in without warning. A sudden roll of water would push through, sending the smaller creatures tumbling. Sand lifted in soft spirals. Coral fronds bent, then sprang back. One fish darted. Then five. Then twenty and just as quickly, it passed. Stillness returned, like a pause.
The deeper the water ran, the less the light could follow.
The colours faded. Shapes lost their sharpness. The reef's bright palette gave way to stranger forms: coral that reached out like twisted ivory, delicate structures that looked like they should break apart but had lasted longer than anything above. Stone drops marked the end of the garden. From there, the seafloor fell away into shadowed cliffs, deep gullies, and ledges where the sand grew coarse, and shells turned brittle.
It grew quieter here. The sea's sound was still there, just softer, muffled and far off, like it had sunk into the deep.
A slit in the rock broke the cliff wall ahead, narrow and tall enough to catch the eye even in the dim. It curved inward like an open mouth but no fish passed through it. No coral grew near it. The water around the gap didn't flow quite the same. The current slowed near the opening, pulling slightly to one side, like the rock was shaping the movement.
Suddenly, a shape stirred in the deeper blue, slow at first, too distant to define until it slid into a shaft of light that pierced the water like thread through silk. The beam caught on a glint of silver, no larger than a fish-scale at first, then growing with every pull of motion. The current shifted around him, adjusting to his strong movements.
He emerged from the shadows, not swimming but gliding, each motion smooth, assured and entirely controlled. His form came into full view: powerful, sculpted, unmistakably commanding. From the waist up, his torso was bare, a monument to motion, all long lines of muscle carved in deep, defined ridges across his chest and abdomen. Strength lived just beneath the skin, revealed in every effortless shift. Shoulders broad and steady led to arms shaped by use, every inch honed by purpose. His skin, pale with a warm undertone, caught the filtered light and held it, like sun on river stone.
The tail that carried him flowed behind with raw, intentional power, thick with muscle from hip to fin, every movement filled with coiled strength. Its scales, deep onyx edged with silver shimmer, caught the light in quick flashes, shifting with the water and the angle of the sun. It moved in long, smooth arcs, following the rhythm of the water.
His hair was dark and luxuriant, thick as night water, drifting in heavy waves around his face and shoulders. It floated like silk in the current, curling at the ends, sweeping across his brow in loose strands. Now and then, a strand would catch the light, gleaming like black pearl, a soft contrast to his overall strength. It framed his face the way a painter might frame a portrait meant to draw the eye and hold it.
As he moved into clearer light, his face took shape, striking and unforgettable, like a statue dreamed into life. Every feature held definition: a strong brow that lent intensity even in stillness, high-sculpted cheekbones, a jawline that tapered with brutal elegance. His lips were full and perfectly shaped, lush with the kind of sensuality that made them impossible not to notice. They hinted at secrets and smirks, at tenderness and wickedness in equal measure depending on who was watching.
His eyes, dark and clear as polished walnut, rested upon all they observed with a composure that neither wavered nor sought distraction. There was a gravity in them, a sense not only of attention but of recollection, as though they held within their gaze the imprint of things long seen and quietly considered. No flicker of impatience disturbed their steadiness; rather, they appeared to take in the world with a quiet vigilance, registering each detail with a mind accustomed to observation and untroubled by haste.
The motion of his form through the water was marked by a harmony so natural it scarcely called attention to itself. From the lift of his shoulder to the subtle shift along his spine, every movement followed with the next in such measured sequence that one could almost mistake it for stillness, were it not for the silent progress he made.
His strength didn't draw attention to itself, it was just there, in every movement. Not decorative, not forced. He was built for this, and there was a quiet kind of majesty in how little effort it seemed to take.
Ben.
He passed beneath the reef arch without pause, a towering ribcage of long-bleached bone, the last remains of a creature swallowed by time. His left hand reached out, fingers brushing the bone's edge. The gesture was slow, instinctive, almost reverent. His hands were large, with long, tapered fingers and calloused knuckles, touched by old scars that sat faintly beneath the skin like memories he no longer spoke aloud. He didn't grip the bone. He felt it. Ran his thumb along its curve like a musician checking the tuning of a familiar string.
The pass gave way to open space, and the grotto revealed itself.
It was not a cave in the hard sense. There were no walls that enclosed it fully. Instead, coral had risen over generations to shape a cradle of stone and colour, winding spires, netted ridges, and small hollows where light pooled in strange patterns. Lichen clung in pale threads to the upper walls. Sea moss blanketed the floor like velvet and there, scattered across every surface, resting in natural alcoves or tangled in seaweed, were the objects Ben had collected over time.
Human things.
A hand mirror dulled by salt, its handle carved from a dark wood that no longer showed its grain. A pair of rusted scissors half-buried in pearl-crusted netting. A spoon and a silver bell. Coins, long out of use. A locket, still closed. Bits of ribbon. Broken combs. An old watch with no hands. A marionette face, just the mask, the strings long since rotted away.
These weren't treasures, at least not in the way the surface world used the word. To most, they'd look like trash, lost belongings with no value, long past their use. But to him, they were something else entirely. He wasn't part of the world they came from. These objects were foreign, strange as the people who made them, and that made them matter. He had chosen each one for the questions it raised, the fragments of stories it carried, as they echoed secrets of the world above, and in that mystery, they became priceless.
He moved in a slow circle once, just above the floor, before drifting toward a ledge carved from the coral wall. His body moved in a slow, seamless arc, hair drifting like dark kelp in his wake, tail tracing a quiet path through the water. He descended without haste, pausing before a scatter of half-buried objects. His gaze settled on one, tall, silver, and strange in its elegance. Three arms reached outward from a central stem, each curling slightly at the tip, as if made to cradle something, though whatever purpose they once served had long since faded. It stood on a broad, rounded base, heavy enough to stay put even after storms, its weight a kind of quiet defiance.
The metal, dulled to a soft grey sheen, bore the marks of age in scratches and greenish bloom, yet the curves were deliberate, a symmetry that felt ceremonial, almost reverent. It might have been part of something sacred, or simply something cherished. He couldn't tell. He never could.
He reached with both hands, lifting it carefully, as though it might break when handled with to much force. He did not study it to understand, only to feel. His fingers moved slowly along each arm, trailing across ridges where ornament once was, pausing where time had eaten away at edges and joints. A ring of detail encircled the stem, repeating patterns worn soft, like the rim of an old coin passed between generations.
His brow furrowed gently as he turned the object in his hands, eyes narrowing with a kind of absent care. His fingers moved with unhurried purpose, brushing along each of the three outward-reaching arms, pausing where the ends opened into small, hollowed cups. Whatever the thing had once been, its meaning eluded him, yet still he held it as though it might, with patience, give itself away.
He might have remained thus, suspended in quiet study, had not a sudden flicker caught at the corner of his vision. It stirred just at the edge of his right eye, bright, brief enough to draw his gaze from the relic he held. Slowly, as if reluctant to part from it, he turned his head.
A streak of gold burst into view, quick and fluid, coiling like ribbon loosed mid-dance.
Kylo flashed into view with the haphazard grace of a stone skimming water, all speed, no subtlety. The Moorish Idol spun once, needlessly theatrical, and came to rest beside Ben, fins flicking in quick, uneven rhythm. One of his breast fins hung slightly askew, like a broken petal, twitching with familiar irritation. A jagged pale scar crossed his small, flat face, an echo of something far larger than himself, cutting through the gleam of his golden stripes.
"You're brooding again," he squeaked brightly, circling Ben's head once and tilting as if to peer into his thoughts. "What's it this time, that caught your attention, huh?"
As so often, Ben remained silent, but his expression spoke with more clarity than words ever could. Instead of answering, he simply dropped his gaze once more to the object cradled in his hands.
Kylo flared his crooked fin in a quick, sideways flick part shrug, part rebuke. "Don't pretend you're thinking," he grumbled, darting up until his nose hovered just shy of Ben's. "You're sulking. Different thing."
Still, Ben said nothing. Just a flicker of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he turned toward a shelf mottled with salt and sand. It held an unusual scatter of various things: a comb tangled with thread long faded, a locket sealed shut beneath a coat of rust, and a delicate coil of metal draped like a sleeping vine, thin links looping over themselves, catching the light where the water stirred.
Pulsing with restless energy, Kylo trailed close behind, darting around Ben's head in loose, erratic loops, sometimes spinning on his own axis for no reason at all, only to hover once more, far too close, as if drawn in by invisible tether. He lingered there, a flicker of motion and gleam, until Ben finally lifted a hand, slow and absent, and touched the little fish's face.
His fingertip followed the line of the pale scar with the ease of long familiarity, and the smile that rose behind it deepened, unhurried and full of quiet amusement. He shook his head slowly, not in reproach, but with the kind of mock exasperation reserved for old companions and their well-worn tricks. The little fish's quirks were nothing new to him, and never had they caused the slightest real bother.
With a wide, triumphant grin, Kylo flicked backward and spun in a swift arc around him, stirring the water into loose spirals that tugged at Ben's hair and set the nearby relics swaying. For a moment, everything blurred, the world turned soft and shifting, full of motion and light.
Ben waved a hand, palm outward just enough so that the water responded with a smooth push, sending Kylo tumbling backward in a swirl of bubbles.
"Oi!" Kylo squeaked, struggling against the current, tail swishing hard as he righted himself, only to drift back, slower this time, clearly not finished. "Fine. Be mysterious. I'll just start again."
And he did, curling once more around his friend like a thought that refused to be shaken, intent on coaxing a reaction but Ben gave only the faintest flicker of a smile before turning away, gliding toward the far wall of the grotto, where he had carved shallow alcoves into the coral with patient care.
He reached into one, moving gently so as not to disturb the pale, blooming polyps, and drew out a small, peculiar object. It was delicate in shape, dulled by time and sea-wear, but still intact, two figures entwined in a frozen embrace. A man and a woman, pressed close, their bodies caught mid-turn, the sweep of their limbs hinting at movement long since stilled. Their forms were shaped in soft, looping metal, and beneath them, a winding key protruded from the base, almost like a tail.
Ben set it down before him on a flat stone ledge and began to turn the key, slowly, his brow faintly furrowed with focus. The mechanism resisted, stiff from years of silence, but yielded just enough and then, it began to move. Without sound, the couple turned, a slow, graceful rotation as if still hearing music no longer there. He watched them closely, mesmerized by their slow, continuous motion, as though something long forgotten might surface if he only looked long enough.
Curious, Kylo drifted closer, peering at the strange scene. His fins twitched. He looked from the turning figures to Ben, then rolled his eyes with theatrical slowness.
"Not that again," he murmured dryly, circling once and hovering upside down. "Two tiny strangers in love. Is it that what brought on this melancholy? You wanna dance and fall in love, all this kissy kissy stuff? Honestly?"
He pushed out his little fish lips and mimicked kissing motions as best he could, throwing in a flirtatious flutter of his eyes as he swam around Ben until Ben brushed him away like an annoying fly.
"Stop it. You know that's not it." he hissed, and Kylo giggled.
"Yes it is, you want to fall in loooove."
Again, Ben swatted him away, then turned his gaze back to the spinning dancers.
"I'm just curious, that's all."
Kylo twisted through the water in tight, playful coils, his giggles like air bubbles slipping from coral. He darted back and forth, a ribbon of gold in constant motion, teasing as ever. But the moment Ben spoke, his voice low, quiet, weighted like stones on the seafloor, Kylo slowed mid-turn and glanced back.
Ben hovered in place, his long frame poised just before the stone shelf, tail swaying gently beneath him to keep balance in the hushed stillness of the water. His shoulders had eased forward, his posture loose and unguarded, though his gaze remained fixed on the delicate figures before him. One hand rested against the ledge for steadiness, while the other moved with quiet purpose across the base of the entwined dancers. His thumb traced the metal slowly, absorbed, mesmerized by the texture and shape. His expression had softened, turned inward, and a faint crease appeared between his brows, a small, silent shift in the calm that so often settled over his face.
"It's just another relic," Kylo muttered, though without conviction. He hovered, uncertain, then drifted closer, cautiously now, the playfulness gone from his motion. His small, scar-marked face folded into a look of worry, fins shifting uneasily. "More questions... more things we don't understand."
He paused a moment, glancing again at Ben's expression, then added, quieter: "You want to go up, don't you? Back to that idiot bird. Ben, you know how risky that is. I don't trust him. I don't like him."
A breath of sound escaped Ben, not quite a laugh, but close. It startled the stillness. He turned slowly with a subtle roll of his powerful shoulders. Then, without even looking, Ben reached out and snagged Kylo's wriggling tailfin between his thumb and forefinger, like it was the easiest thing in the world. The little fish squirmed like a slippery secret trying to escape.
"You only hate him because you think he'll eat you," he murmured softly, a faint grin curling one corner of his mouth, the rare kind that pulled slightly lopsided, never too wide. "Come on."
He laughed, low and genuine, before spinning upside down in one smooth motion, the motion of a body well-acquainted with water. His hair flared out like dark seaweed as he swooped downward, retrieved the satchel he had dropped earlier, then pushed forward in a blur of strength and motion, Kylo still wriggling helplessly in his grip.
They shot from the grotto in a swirl of bubbles and light, Ben's tail slicing the water in rapid strokes. His gaze lifted, fixed on the shimmer where the sunlight broke across the surface. The water pressed against him like a weight, but he carved through it with ease, each beat of his tail driving him faster, until, with a burst of force, he breached.
Head first, then shoulders, then waist, his body rose from the sea. The sunlight hit him full in the face. Eyes shut tight, he lingered for a breath above the surface, droplets falling in a silver arc from his hair and arms, then sank back with a clean splash that scattered the light into prisms. He held himself above the surface, torso and head rising clear of the water as his tail moved in slow, steady sweeps below to keep him balanced. Then he opened his eyes.
Kylo flapped furiously in the cage of Ben's fingers just below the waterline, his body writhing in protest. With a laugh, Ben finally let go.
The little fish darted away, turning a fast circle before facing him, face scrunched in theatrical outrage. He slapped a flick of water toward Ben's waist, huffing all the while.
"Not funny at all, Ben," he grumbled, voice thick with indignation. "You know I hate it up here. Your mother's right, we should stay down where it's safe. Anything could be waiting for us up here. Not just seagulls, anything."
Ben just waved a hand, the smile still playing on his lips. "Get a grip, Kylo. Don't be such a scaredy-fin."
Without waiting, he turned and began swimming toward a low stone outcrop not far off, a sunlit perch where several gulls gathered, preening, calling, or pecking greedily at their prey. Their feathers gleamed in the light; their movements sharp, territorial.
Kylo hesitated, jittery with protest, but his curiosity won out. He followed, fins twitching with every dart of movement in the air above. His eyes scanned the sky, the water, and the rocks, alert, suspicious, as he stayed close to Ben's side.
Ben reached the base of the stone outcrop and pressed his arms against the moss-slick rocks, anchoring himself comfortably. Water beaded down his shoulders as he lifted his head above the surface, his tail gently swaying below to keep him steady. The sunlight struck his face, and he squinted slightly, raising a hand to shield his eyes.
"Morning, Beebs," he called out, tone cheerful.
At the sound of his voice, a flurry of wings erupted. Half a dozen gulls shot skyward in a sudden burst, squawking in alarm before veering off, their calls sharp as they circled overhead, eyeing the waves for their next meal. Only one bird remained, bold, scruffy, and unmistakably cocky.
The seagull gave a casual hop closer, his chest puffed out like a proud showman. He tilted his head with flair, flashing Ben a lopsided grin before wiggling his eyebrows at the water's surface, more specifically, at Kylo.
Spotting the gesture, Kylo let out a squeak and ducked lower, fins pressed close to his sides as he nestled beside Ben's ribs, trying to vanish behind his friend's larger form.
Ben smirked, casting a glance downward at the sulking idol-fish, then turned back to to the gull, amusement still in his eyes.
The gull cleared his throat dramatically. "To what do I owe the honour of a royal visit?" he chirped, sweeping into a deep, exaggerated bow that nearly tipped him off the rock.
Rolling his eyes, Ben shook his head. "Beebs..."
"I live to serve, Your Highness," the bird added, straightening with mock dignity.
"Enough." Ben chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "I found some things at the wreck this morning. Thought maybe you could help me figure out what they are."
"Ohhh, you brought treasures?" the bird's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Well, why didn't you say so? Out with them, let me see!"
Ben pulled his satchel around from where it hung at his side and began to retrieve the items. First, a narrow, silvery object with slender prongs fanned in a neat row, the end flattened into a smooth handle. Then, a smaller, curved piece, dark wood and tarnished brass, shaped with care and hollow through the centre, ending in a carved lip and a small circular bowl.
Leaning in, the gull's beak nearly touched the objects as he examined them with great ceremony, pacing around them on the stone.
"This one," he announced, pointing at the pronged item, "is clearly a human grooming tool. For the hair. They drag it through their hair to tame their wild manes. Seen it with my own eyes. They do that everywhere, because up here they struggle with the wind and so they carry these with them wherever they go to get their styles in order. Trust me."
Eyeing the object in front of Beebs's feet, Ben raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"And this," the bird continued, tapping the bowl of the second object, "this is an instrument. A tiny music-maker. Humans place their lips here", he nudged the mouthpiece with his beak, "and hum into it. Beautiful sound. Mournful sometimes but still very soulful. Usually played under moonlight, I think they use it to find a mate."
This time Ben looked down at the items in his hand, clearly dubious. His brow furrowed as he turned each piece slowly, considering while Kylo poked his head up again, unimpressed. "That's ridiculous."
Ben, however, merely sighed. "I don't know what else they'd be for," he murmured.
"Exactly," the gull confirmed, puffing out his feathers triumphantly. "You're lucky I'm a scholar of the surface world."
But before Ben could reply, Kylo let out a sharp gasp. "Oh no. Oh no no no no. Ben!"
Startled, Ben blinked, looking at his little friend. "What?"
"The musical! The coral stage performance, the one you're in, it's today! And it's now!"
For a brief moment, he frowned in thought, but realizing Kylo was right, his eyes widening in shock. "No."
"Yes!"
He scrambled, stuffing the comb-like tool and the music-making pipe back into the satchel with barely a glance. "Beebs, thanks, you're a lifesaver. I'll come back soon!"
"You'd better!" the bird called after him, hopping back a step.
Before Kylo could react, Ben's hand shot out and caught him by the tail again. "Not again...!" Kylo wailed, fins flailing.
With a powerful beat of his tail, Ben launched himself out of the water in a sharp backflip, sending a glittering spray skyward. His torso cut through the air, hair flung back and sunlight flashing off his shoulders. For a moment, he hung suspended, then dove headfirst, vanishing beneath the surface with a resounding splash.
The wave of water smacked into the seagull, soaking him thoroughly and sending him flapping in a flustered flurry of feathers.
"Rude!" he squawked after them.
Below the surface, Ben was already streaking downward like a dart, Kylo grumbling and squirming in his grip.
"Ben! Let go of me! I can swim by myself! No need for you dragging me into this!"
But Ben only laughed, his tail carving powerfully through the deep as the two vanished into the blue.