Part 1: The Fall of the Clifftop Castle

  The wind howled like a banshee across the clifftop, carrying the stench of smoke and the clang of steel. Princess Elara stood at the window of her father’s solar, her fingers gripping the stone sill until her knuckles whitened. Below, Thaloryn’s castle shuddered under the assault of Lord Veyris’s army. Crimson banners snapped in the gale, their raven sigils stark against the gray sky. Siege engines groaned, hurling flaming pitch that shattered against the outer walls. Her home, her world, was crumbling.

  “Elara!” Her father’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp as a blade. King Aldric strode into the room, his silver-streaked beard matted with sweat, his armor dented from battle. “You must go. Now.”

  She turned, her auburn hair whipping across her face. “I won’t leave you!”

  “You will.” His gray eyes softened for a moment, then hardened again. “Veyris wants our bloodline extinguished. If you stay, Thaloryn dies with us.”

  Before she could protest, two guards burst in, their faces grim beneath dented helms. Behind them shuffled Thalion, the court wizard, his blue robes tattered and his staff glowing faintly. The old man’s breath rasped as he leaned on the carved wood. “It’s ready, my lord,” he said.

  Aldric nodded. “Take her.”

  “No!” Elara lunged for her father, but the guards seized her arms. She kicked and twisted, her silk gown tearing at the hem, but their grip was iron. “Father, please!”

  He clasped her face briefly, his calloused hands trembling. “Live, Elara. For me.” Then he turned to the window, drawing his sword as shouts echoed closer.

  The guards dragged her from the solar, Thalion hobbling behind. The castle’s corridors blurred past—tapestries aflame, servants fleeing, the air thick with dust and screams. They descended a spiraling stair, deeper and deeper, until the sounds of battle faded to a dull roar. At last, they reached a rusted iron door hidden behind a faded banner. Thalion muttered a word, and it creaked open, revealing a chamber carved from the cliff itself.

  A damp chill enveloped her as they shoved her inside. The room was small, its walls slick with moss, lit only by a single torch sputtering in a bracket. At its center ran a narrow channel of black water, flowing from a tunnel in the stone to vanish beneath the far wall. The river smelled of salt and secrets.

  “Thalion, what is this?” Elara’s voice trembled as the guards released her. She rubbed her bruised arms, glaring at the wizard.

  He didn’t answer at first, hobbling to the water’s edge. “A way out,” he muttered, then raised his staff. “The pact holds.”

  Before she could demand more, a ripple broke the river’s surface. A head emerged—sleek, black-haired, with amber eyes that gleamed like lanterns. A mermaid. Her indigo tail flicked, sending droplets scattering, and she rose until her torso cleared the water, a coral spear in one hand. Her gaze locked on Elara, unreadable.

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  “Nerissa,” Thalion said, his tone a mix of relief and command. “It’s time.”

  The mermaid nodded, her voice low and melodic. “The debt is called.”

  Elara stumbled back. “What debt? What are you doing?”

  Thalion turned to her, his deep-set eyes burning with urgency. “Veyris’s men will breach the keep soon. You cannot fight as you are. But as one of them—” He gestured to Nerissa. “—you can survive.”

  Her stomach lurched. “As one of them?”

  “There’s no time to argue!” he snapped. He plucked a dagger from his belt and seized her wrist. She yelped as he sliced a lock of her auburn hair, the strands falling like blood against the stone. From Nerissa, he took a single shimmering scale, iridescent as a peacock’s feather, and pressed it into the hair, binding them with a twist of his fingers.

  The guards shoved a wooden basin to the river’s edge, filling it with seawater that sloshed over the rim. Thalion knelt, muttering words Elara didn’t understand—harsh, guttural syllables that made the air hum. The runes carved into his staff flared azure, and the torchlight dimmed as if the shadows themselves leaned closer.

  “Stand in the water,” he ordered.

  She hesitated, her heart pounding. Above, a distant crash shook the chamber, dust sifting from the ceiling. The guards pushed her forward until her bare feet splashed into the icy river. It soaked her gown, tugging at her legs like a living thing.

  Thalion dipped the bound hair and scale into the basin, then raised his staff. “By the pact of sea and stone, by blood and breath, let the tide remake you!” His voice rose, echoing off the walls, and he splashed the seawater over her.

  Pain seared through her like a lightning strike. Elara screamed, collapsing to her knees as the cold liquid burned against her skin. Her legs spasmed, fusing together with a sickening crack. She clawed at them, but they wouldn’t part—her flesh rippled, scales erupting in a cascade of emerald and sapphire. Her toes stretched into fins, her bones grinding as they reshaped. She gasped, but the air choked her; then gills slit open along her neck, raw and pulsing, forcing water into her lungs. Her vision swam, colors sharpening as her eyes adjusted to a world meant for the deep.

  “Hold on, child,” Thalion rasped, his staff trembling in his grip. The runes on the floor glowed brighter, tracing a circle around her. Her skin shimmered, taking on an iridescent sheen, and her hair floated upward, silvery strands threading through the auburn.

  The agony peaked, a white-hot wave that drowned her senses. She reached for Thalion, her voice a gurgling cry—then darkness swallowed her whole.

  She didn’t see Nerissa dart forward, didn’t feel the mermaid’s arms wrap around her limp form. She didn’t hear the castle groan as Veyris’s forces breached the upper halls, nor the shouts of the guards as they drew their swords to hold the door. She was gone, lost to the transformation, her body sinking into the river’s embrace.

  Thalion staggered, his strength spent. Blood trickled from his nose, staining his beard, but he raised his staff one last time. “Go!” he barked at Nerissa.

  The mermaid dove, pulling Elara into the tunnel’s current. The water surged around them, a dark artery leading to the sea. Behind them, Thalion slammed his staff against the stone, his final spell igniting the air. The chamber buckled—walls cracked, the ceiling collapsed in a roar of rubble, sealing the passage with tons of rock. The guards’ cries cut off abruptly, buried with the wizard in his tomb.

  Above, the clifftop castle burned. Flames licked the sky as Veyris’s banners rose over the keep, his soldiers chanting victory. King Aldric fell beneath a dozen blades, his blood pooling on the stones where he’d last held his daughter. The wind carried his last breath out to sea, a whisper lost in the storm.

  Below, the river bore Elara away, her tail glinting faintly in the murk. Nerissa swam with desperate speed, her spear slashing at debris as the tunnel narrowed. The castle’s fall echoed through the water, a dull thud that faded as they neared the open ocean. Elara’s fate hung in the balance—human no longer, alive but adrift, her kingdom lost to the enemy’s grasp.

  The tide had taken her. What it would return, none could say.