He came to me

Across the sea.

With drops of water in his hair

And all the world in his hands, bare.

He stood as one who knew no enemy

And someone who would never be more than me.

His sword aloft in one hand,

A man born of sky and land.

Even with the bite of an autumn chill in the air, the shallows of Vandya are heavenly. Water laps at us from below, covering the bases of our tails and the tips of our fingers as we stretch like lazy sea lions. The sun warms both our bodies and minds. Even Finn's gentle humming adds to the reverie.

It's a shame he has such terrible taste in music.

"Don't you know another song?" I whisper, not willing to open my eyes and break the spell I feel like I'm under.

In response to my clipped question, Finn sings even louder and continues into the deep timbre of the third verse.

Oddly enough, as much as I hate this song, I know all the lyrics. It's a traditional song and by far my least favorite of all the fairytales our parents used to tell us. "Between Two Souls," they call it. Disgusting and unforgivable, as far as I'm concerned. But as Finn goes on to romanticize the story of two heartbroken, forever-separated soulmates, I'm drawn in again. It's just because he has a melodic voice, I tell myself.

But I know that's a blatant lie.

Finn does sing beautifully; all merfolk do.

Every time he sings this song, though, I'm reminded of my favorite part—a beacon in an otherwise depressing tale of love.

He was to his kingdom tied,

And I dare not lie.

The ocean was my only home.

Her life in me brightly shone.

So, we said our goodbyes on the summer isles,

And lost ourselves in skin, love, and broken smiles.

We cried together in the sand,

And I lost my man of sky and land.

I don't care how much the girl "loved" the man from land. She chose her ocean, and for that, I give her my utmost respect.

How could anyone give this up?

The salt gives the surrounding breeze a bitter flavor, and as clouds roll overhead, I inhale deeply. It's a perfect smell, one of my childhood and family, of everything I've known and loved in my life.

Suddenly, Finn stops singing and rolls onto his side. I open a single eye to look at him

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" he asks, blond hair falling over his forehead. The water droplets are a thousand glittering diamonds among the strands, shimmering as they catch the sunlight. His cheeks are slightly pink from the warmth of the sun.

"How amazing this is," I answer in a whisper as my eyes close again.

We aren't the only merfolk who've chosen to sun today. The shallows of this secluded isle are crowded with young men and women brave enough to steal an ounce of heat and dehydration. Our bodies rock in the sea's waves like we're all trapped in a gentle cradle.

"I'm glad the sun's out today. It's getting so late in the year," Finn says.Then, he plops back down beside me.

A few fish dart away, not in fear but astonishment at his sudden movement, and water sprays across my nearly bare chest. Finn and I both stripped off our tops as soon as we breached the surface, choosing instead to let the secret reaches of my skin get some sun. I'm decent—but just barely.

"Might as well enjoy every ounce of sun we get then," I mumble.

Finn hums in a happy response, slipping easily back into his song. This time, it's a minute whisper for just us two, and I lean into it. The sound of his voice is easy to enjoy, even if I don't like the forlorn love song.

Time seems to pass slowly as day crawls by. The other merfolk leave one by one until it's just Finn and I basking.

"We should probably head back soon," Finn announces, and I nod halfheartedly. Leaving is the last thing I want to do. But Papa will be waiting for me to report on the status of the fish farms, where Finn and I spent most of the morning checking the quality of the livestock.

I open my eyes and blink away the blindness that comes with having the sun beat down on you for hours at a time. Then, I push up out of the water and ease my tail out of the sand. I've been sitting in one place for so long that I was completely buried from the hip down by the grains. Finn brushes his own tail off, flapping it above the water for a second to get the excess off. Water showers over the both of us, and we erupt into a fit of giggles.

"You're like one of those things in the folktales," I say, wiping saltwater off my face.

"The furry things men keep?"

I nod. "You know, I've always wanted to see one of those. What are they called?"

"Dogs," Finn says with a cautious look—the one I get every time I mention wanting to "see" something from the realm of humans.

"I said 'see one,' not touch one. Calm down, flounder."

His face turns into a downright scowl. "Don't call me that!"

"Well, don't act like a little scaredy fish, and I won't have to." After a breath, I add, "They're little fluffy animals. How harmful can they be?"

Finn continues glaring as we edge towards the deeper waters. "They have mouths full of teeth."

"So do I," I point out.

"But you don't bite people!"

"Don't I?"

Finn makes a sound of exasperation. "Cut it out, Ari."

I slide my shirt over my head, and grabbing my bag from where I'd sat it on a rock, I chuckle and slip into the water. It distorts my voice as I respond, "I'm only teasing, Finn. Sorry."

He nods, but the hurt lingers on his face for another moment. Then it's gone, replaced by another frantic emotion. I freeze.

We've been friends since the two of us shared a crib as little minnows; I know all of Finn's expressions and quirks.

This is wide eyes and dilated pupils. Flaring nostrils and stiff shoulders. Splayed hands and a straightened back.

This is his scared face.

"What's wrong, Finn?" I ask, looking at the open ocean around us.

His response is a whispered hiss. "Don't you feel it?"

We stare at each other, and I try to focus on feeling whatever it is that frightened him. I zero in on the way the water moves. Normally, it's a gentle rocking, an easy pattern that our bodies and tails know how to combat in order to keep us upright. At first, I don't feel any difference.

Then, I do.

It's subtle—a single pulse of water beating out of rhythm against us, a disturbance in the sea's song.

This unaligned heartbeat has its own tempo, and there's only one explanation.

The rowing of oars.

Big ones.

It's a ship.

Finn grabs my arm. "Home. Now!"

I shake my head. We're close to the border between our land and the humans,' so it could be an accidental breach. I'm not willing to take any chances, though. One can never be too careful when it comes to our distant relatives.

Ignoring Finn's angry protests, I swim further away from the shallows, following the deep thrumming. The sky overhead grows dark almost instantly. A sudden storm isn't unusual out here, but they don't form that fast. Is the Divine reacting to the humans?

A slight hint of magic vibrating in the water tells me my answer.

The Divine.