The Mermen of Lower Kurken
By the following morning the storm had finally broken completely.
The coastline stretched bright and glittering beneath the southern sun, waves rolling endlessly against pale sand while seabirds wheeled overhead crying into the salt-heavy air. Everything smelled clean now—ocean water, drying cedar, seaweed, wet stone warming beneath sunlight.
Unfortunately, their clothes still smelled like damp misery.
Sylvan tugged irritably at the sleeve of his half-wet coat while walking down toward the shoreline. “I feel like a drowned scholar.”
Beside him Tristan snorted. “You look adorable.”
Sylvan rolled his eyes despite the smile tugging at his mouth.
The beach itself proved beautiful but deeply unhelpful. Most of the driftwood littering the shore had been soaked through from the night’s storm, and several attempts at starting a fire ended in hissing smoke and Tristan swearing creatively at pieces of wood.
Eventually, through sheer stubbornness and brute persistence, the mercenary managed it.
A small fire finally crackled alive between several black rocks near the tide line.
“There,” Tristan announced proudly, crouched shirtless beside it. “Man versus nature. Man wins again.”
“You brute-forced dry combustion.”
“And yet.” Tristan spread his arms dramatically. “Fire.”
Sylvan laughed outright. Gods, Tristan could make Sylvan happy even when annoyingly damp in humid air. The realization came easier now.
Tristan immediately stripped his clothes off without another thought once the flames stabilized. Boots first. Then damp trousers. Then the harness. Sylvan tried not to stare as broad freckled shoulders rolled free of leather straps.
Failed entirely.
The mercenary stood naked beside the surf stretching lazily toward the sky, huge body golden beneath the late morning sun. Last night’s passion still lingered visibly across him—faint marks along thick shoulders, scratches down his back from Sylvan’s nails, darkened bite marks near his collarbone.
And somehow that only made him look even more masculine. Satisfied and claimed. Tristan laid his clothes across nearby stones to dry, then immediately charged toward the ocean fully naked with absolutely zero self-consciousness.
Strong thighs pumped through the wet sand while sunlight gleamed across hard muscle and freckled skin. He dove headfirst into the waves with a loud splash before surfacing several yards out laughing like a boy set loose from chores.
Sylvan stood there smiling helplessly. That was what he loved most sometimes. Not the sex. Not even the resonance. It was this. Tristan’s carelessness with joy. The way he threw himself into life with his entire body. Just instinct and warmth and laughter.
Still smiling to himself, Sylvan stripped down as well—though with considerably more modesty. He left himself in only damp dark smallclothes while spreading his dampened clothes near the fire beside Tristan’s.
The sunlight warmed pleasantly against his still-sensitive skin. Then he crouched near the fire and unfolded his compact alchemy pot with practiced motions. The polished copper clicked softly into shape between his hands.
Soon herbs, powders, and tiny rune-etched vials surrounded him in organized little clusters while he began preparing warming tinctures. Blue sigils shimmered faintly over his fingertips as he worked.
Out in the water Tristan floated on his back for a while, letting the waves rock him lazily beneath the southern sun. The sea here felt entirely different from the colder northern coastlines he knew. Clear enough he could see fish darting beneath him through turquoise water.
Then he turned his head toward shore. And immediately forgot whatever philosophical thought he’d been having.
Sylvan knelt beside the fire bent over the alchemy pot, nearly naked beneath the bright coastline sun. Damp blond hair fell into his face while glowing runes spiraled slowly around his hands and wrists. His small underpants clung tightly from seawater and humidity both, outlining every beautiful curve of his ass and thighs as he leaned forward over the pot.
The sight felt bizarrely erotic in its innocence. Not deliberate seduction. Just Sylvan existing in his focused state and absorbed in his work. His pretty little ass pressed taut beneath dark fabric while sunlight caught the smooth pale skin of his back and shoulders.
Tristan groaned softly to himself from the ocean.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
Because his cock was already thickening again beneath the water. Seriously? One look?
Apparently that was all it took now. I’m doomed, Tristan thought with complete sincerity. On shore Sylvan glanced up briefly at the sound of splashing.
Their eyes met. Tristan immediately saw the exact moment Sylvan noticed him staring.
A blush climbed his cheeks instantly. Then a small knowing smile followed. The little menace.
Sylvan turned back toward his alchemy with exaggerated innocence afterward, though the subtle sway of his hips while reaching for another vial felt suspiciously intentional now.
Tristan groaned louder this time and sank deeper into the ocean water.
“Absolutely doomed.” Tristan had just begun convincing himself he could survive the next hour without getting distracted by Sylvan’s ass again when movement farther up the shoreline caught his eye.
At first he thought they were fishermen. Then the figures stepped fully into the sunlight.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Blue and aqua-skinned men moving gracefully down the beach with long spears resting easily in their hands.
Tristan straightened immediately in the water. Mermen! Actual fucking mermen!
He’d heard stories all his life, of course. Every sailor tavern north of the southern kingdoms had at least three drunken idiots claiming they’d kissed one, fought one, or been cursed by one. His grandfather used to describe them as half monstrous things with bulbous eyes and giant fish tails dragging across rocks.
Clearly the old man had been talking absolute nonsense.
Because the five approaching men looked... surprisingly human.
Well, human adjacent.Their skin varied in color from deep sea-blue to pale greenish aqua with subtle iridescence catching beneath sunlight. Thin webbing connected some of their fingers and swept elegantly between parts of their forearms. Small gill slits pulsed faintly along the sides of their necks.
But otherwise?
Gods.
They were handsome. Very handsome. Strong lean bodies built like swimmers and spear hunters. Wide shoulders tapering into narrow waists. Long dark wet hair braided with shells and polished coral. Their clothing consisted mostly of woven nets, belts of rope and shells, draped fabrics, and pieces of sea-polished armor that left plenty of muscular skin exposed.
One of them especially towered over the others.
Massive chest. Powerful thighs. A spear nearly as tall as Tristan himself resting casually over one shoulder.
Right, Tristan thought suddenly. Probably should put trousers on before greeting an entirely new species.
He started swimming ashore immediately. Water streamed off his broad body as he strode from the surf, cock thankfully softened enough now to avoid complete humiliation. Still, he moved quickly toward the fire where his trousers dried across nearby stones.
“Sylvan,” he called out.
The alchemist glanced up from his simmering potion just in time to watch Tristan jog toward him dripping seawater everywhere.
“What?”
“We’re about to have visitors.”
Sylvan blinked.
Then followed Tristan’s gaze up the shoreline.
“Oh!”
The mermen approached calmly now, clearly curious rather than aggressive. Their spears remained lowered. Observant eyes swept over the beach taking in the fire, the alchemy equipment, the drying clothes.
And, unfortunately, the nearly naked travelers. Tristan yanked his trousers up quickly, tying them while still damp. The fabric clung immediately to powerful thighs and narrow hips.
Nearby, Sylvan began efficiently packing away his alchemy tools and freshly filled warming vials into padded compartments.
Though not before noticing the approaching strangers properly himself.
Gods. They really were beautiful. Not in the rugged northern way Tristan was beautiful.
Different. Sharper. Almost elegant.
Their features carried subtle aquatic qualities—slightly pointed ears, unusually bright eyes, skin shimmering faintly where sunlight struck damp shoulders. Each one differed in build and coloring too. One pale turquoise and lean. Another darker blue and thickly muscled. One with silver markings along his ribs almost resembling scales.
And all of them carried themselves with calm dangerous confidence.
Well, Sylvan thought academically. I suddenly understand several southern maritime poems considerably better.
The tallest among them stepped forward first once they reached conversational distance. Up close he was enormous.
At least Tristan’s height, perhaps broader through the chest. His skin resembled dark teal sea-glass beneath sunlight while strands of black hair braided with tiny shark teeth hung damp over one shoulder. Thin translucent fins traced subtly along the backs of his forearms.
His expression remained stoic. Curious, but not unfriendly. The merman extended one large webbed hand toward them in greeting.
Sylvan accepted it smoothly before Tristan could accidentally blurt out something catastrophically stupid. The merman’s grip was cool and strong. After a brief pause, the stranger answered in accented but clear common tongue.
“Tarek of the Shoal Tide. Lower Kurken.”
His voice sounded deep and strangely smooth, like waves pulling over stone.
Beside Sylvan, Tristan suddenly became very aware that only yesterday he’d been getting railed by a storm emotionally and physically under cedar trees.
And now he stood on a southern beach half dressed trying very hard not to stare at extremely handsome fish-men. Life had become very strange very quickly.
“Sylvan Mark,” Sylvan said gently with a polite incline of his head, still clasping the merman’s cool webbed hand. “And this is Tristan Janis.”
Tristan gave a small nod beside him. Tarek’s pale sea-colored eyes shifted between them slowly. Observant. Perhaps too observant.
Sylvan suddenly had the strange sensation of being studied far beyond appearances alone. The merman released his hand eventually. “You travel toward Kurken.” It was not phrased like a question.
Sylvan nodded. “I do. I’m journeying to the Alchemist Guild there.” His posture straightened automatically when discussing work. “I’m pursuing my next certification stamp toward full licensure.”
At that, something knowing flickered across Tarek’s otherwise stoic expression.
“Ah.”
One of the other mermen behind him murmured quietly in their own language, low and melodic like flowing currents beneath stone. Tarek nodded once before looking back toward Sylvan.
“Then your journey concludes sooner than expected.”
Sylvan blinked. Tarek placed one large webbed hand lightly against his own chest.
“I am the current head of Kurken’s Alchemist Guild.”
Silence.
Then Tristan barked out a startled laugh.
“Well that’s convenient.”
Sylvan looked genuinely stunned for perhaps the first time all morning.
“You are?”
Tarek inclined his head calmly.
“I felt your resonance approaching the coast yesterday evening.” His gaze drifted between the two men again slowly. “Strong. Interwoven. Unusual.”
At that, the four mermen standing behind him exchanged subtle glances of their own.
One smirked faintly. Another looked openly curious now. Tristan suddenly became very aware of last night all over again.
Gods.
Could sea people just sense things like that? Sylvan himself flushed slightly beneath the attention. Tarek’s expression softened almost imperceptibly.
“So I came personally to greet you.” He gestured briefly toward the others beside him. “Men of Kurken. Men of the sea.”
The mermen behind him nodded calmly in acknowledgment. Up close the differences between them became even clearer.
One broad and heavily muscled with dark cobalt skin and a jagged scar crossing one shoulder. Another leaner and silver-blue with delicate fin ridges tracing along his jawline. One carried necklaces made from polished shark vertebrae while another wore woven sea silk wrapped around his waist.
All handsome. All intimidating in completely different ways. And all seemingly comfortable standing nearly naked on a public beach.
Southern culture really is different, Tristan thought faintly.
Tarek turned slightly toward the sea afterward.
“You will join us back to Kurken.”
Again, not quite a question.
Sylvan smiled politely. “We’d be honored.”
“There is a ferry nearby that crosses to the island.” Tarek’s tone remained calm, measured. “Ordinarily I would simply swim.”
One corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly then.
“But today I shall travel by the human method.”
A low ripple of amusement moved through the other mermen behind him. One chuckled openly. Another muttered something in their language that made the broad cobalt-skinned one snort.
Then, without another word, the group began moving back toward the ocean. Not toward the ferry. Straight into the surf.
Tristan watched with fascination as they waded deeper and deeper until waves crashed against broad shoulders and blue skin— Then disappeared entirely beneath the water. Gone. Like seals slipping beneath the sea.
“...Well,” Tristan muttered after a beat. “That’s unsettlingly graceful.”
Sylvan laughed softly while slinging his satchel over one shoulder.
“You’re jealous.”
“I absolutely am.”
Tarek remained behind with them alone. “The ferry waits this way.”
The crossing itself proved brief. A wide wooden vessel painted turquoise and white carried traders, fishermen, baskets of shellfish, and several sleepy goats between mainland and island routes. Most passengers barely reacted to Tarek boarding beside them, which suggested mermen visiting Kurken openly was entirely normal here.
Still, Tristan noticed more than one human glance lingering appreciatively over the guildmaster’s physique.
Honestly fair. Tarek stood near the ferry rail with effortless balance while sea wind tugged black damp hair across broad shoulders. Sylvan caught Tristan staring once. Tristan immediately pretended deep interest in a rope knot.
By the time the ferry reached Kurken Island the afternoon sun had shifted warm and golden overhead. The village itself spread across gentle coastal hills surrounding a sheltered harbor filled with colorful fishing boats and floating sea gardens. White stone buildings mixed with polished driftwood architecture and structures partially submerged along the shoreline clearly built for both human and aquatic residents alike.
It wasn’t a small village by any stretch, but quieter than Greybriar had been. More intimate perhaps. Everything smelled of salt, grilled fish, sea herbs, and alchemical oils drifting from workshops near the harbor. Mermen moved openly through the streets alongside humans, beastfolk, and travelers from southern kingdoms. Some walked fully upright while others rested partially submerged along canals woven throughout the village.
Tristan stared openly at nearly everything.
“Gods,” he muttered. “This place is incredible.”
Tarek looked faintly pleased by the reaction.= As they walked uphill through the harbor streets, the guildmaster glanced toward Sylvan first.
“You will remain several days at minimum,” he explained. “Your next certification task will come directly from me.”
Sylvan’s eyes brightened immediately. Excitement practically radiated from him.
Then Tarek’s attention shifted toward Tristan. Slowly and deliberately. His sea-colored gaze traveled openly down Tristan’s broad chest, thick arms, narrow hips, and powerful thighs still visible beneath drying trousers. He was appraising and interested in him no doubt.
Tristan straightened instinctively under the attention.
“There are opportunities here for mercenaries as well,” Tarek said smoothly.
One elegant brow lifted afterward.
“At the Hunter’s Guild.”
Then, after a beat:
“That is... if you can hold your breath for very long.”
The implication hung there.
Tristan blinked once.
Then grinned slowly.
“Oh, I’m listening now.”
The Kurken Alchemist Guild overlooked the harbor from a rise near the center of town, its architecture unlike anything Sylvan had seen before.
Part of the structure sat fully on land—white coral-stone walls threaded with polished driftwood beams and enormous shell inlays that shimmered iridescently beneath the afternoon light. But farther behind the main building, sections of the guild extended directly out over the ocean itself atop thick stilts disappearing into deep water below.
Glass tubes filled with glowing seawater ran through portions of the walls.
Alchemical circulation systems. Sylvan immediately wanted to inspect all of them. Tarek led them inside. The interior smelled wonderfully strange. Sea salt, ink, herbs, oil lamps. Something mineral and aquatic beneath it all.
Guild members moved busily through the halls carrying scrolls, glowing tide pearls, dried sea plants, and crates of reagents. Humans and mermen worked side-by-side comfortably. One blue-skinned woman with translucent fin ridges along her forearms nodded respectfully toward Tarek while balancing an armful of rune-etched coral tablets.
“Guildmaster.”
Tarek acknowledged her with a small incline of his head while continuing onward.
Several others greeted him similarly.
Respectfully.
Comfortably. He was clearly well liked despite his reserved demeanor. Tristan walked beside Sylvan trying not to stare at literally everything.
A pair of mermen argued amiably near one workbench over the proper preservation method for some kind of glowing squid organ. Another alchemist floated waist-deep inside a saltwater basin while carefully mixing reagents above the surface.
“This place is insane,” Tristan whispered.
Sylvan looked equally overwhelmed, though for entirely different reasons.
“It’s magnificent.”
Tarek guided them upstairs eventually toward a smaller office overlooking both harbor and sea. Unlike Greybriar’s packed cluttered guild rooms, this space felt sparse and practical.
One desk.
Several shelves of books sealed in waterproof casings.
Maps pinned across the walls showing ocean currents and trade routes beneath the sea.
And large windows overlooking endless blue water.
Tarek entered first.
“I rarely use this office,” he explained while shutting the door behind them. “Most guild matters are managed below.”
Sylvan blinked.
“Below?”
Tarek sat casually on the edge of his chair, long legs spread comfortably while one arm rested across his thigh. Even seated, he carried himself with effortless physical confidence. His dark teal skin caught the late sunlight pouring through the windows while damp black hair hung loose over broad shoulders.
“The undersea Kurken office,” he clarified.
Sylvan stared openly now.
He had heard rumors, of course. Stories whispered in northern guild circles about submerged alchemical facilities operated jointly with the mer kingdoms. But hearing it spoken so casually made it suddenly real.
“There is truly an entire guild beneath the ocean?”
Tarek nodded once.
“Three levels below the reef shelf.”
Tristan whistled softly.
“Right. Of course there are underwater offices now.”
Tarek’s attention returned toward Sylvan afterward.
“Your certification task will begin there.”
Sylvan straightened automatically. Immediately attentive. Tarek folded his arms across his broad chest and continued.
“You will descend beneath the sea and formally present yourself to the lord governing the lower city.” His pale eyes sharpened slightly. “Then you will accept the task he assigns you.”
Silence followed.
Sylvan froze for half a heartbeat.
Then Tristan physically watched the alchemist’s brain begin spiraling into overdrive.
“Oh.”
Not fear.
Calculation.
Immediate rapid calculation.
Sylvan’s eyes drifted slightly unfocused while possibilities began colliding together in real time.
Underwater respiration. Pressure resistance. Thermal regulation. Light generation. Mobility and communication. Potential alchemical reinforcement of blood oxygenation—
Tristan knew that look by now. Sylvan was already solving it. Tarek noticed too. A subtle pleased expression touched the corners of his mouth as he leaned back farther in the chair, broad arms folding comfortably across his chest.
Good.
This was clearly the reaction he’d hoped for.
“Your mind moves quickly,” the guildmaster observed calmly.
Sylvan blinked himself back into the room.
“It’s... difficult.” His voice carried excitement beneath the nerves now. “But not impossible.”
“No,” Tarek agreed. “Not impossible.”
The merman watched him thoughtfully for another moment before continuing.
“Mer alchemy differs less from human methods than most surface scholars assume.” He gestured vaguely toward the windows overlooking the sea. “The ocean contains countless catalysts unavailable on land. Pressure minerals. Thermal vents. Leviathan compounds. Living corals capable of mana retention.”
Sylvan looked fascinated now. Entirely hooked. Tarek’s expression warmed faintly at the sight.
“Besides,” he added smoothly, “my people themselves are products of ancient alchemy.”
That made Tristan sit upright immediately.
“Wait.”
Tarek’s sea-colored gaze shifted toward him.
“You’re saying mermen were created?”
“Altered,” Tarek corrected calmly. “Long ago. Before recorded surface history.”
Sylvan looked equally startled now. Tristan frowned thoughtfully.
“So somebody... made merfolk?”
Tarek inclined his head slightly.
“One version of the old histories claims adaptation. Another claims survival. Another claims ambition.” One broad shoulder rolled in an elegant half-shrug. “Ancient alchemists rarely respected limits.”
That statement landed heavily in the room. Because both Sylvan and Tristan immediately understood the implications. Alchemy did not merely create medicine or catalysts.
At its furthest reaches—
It rewrote life itself.
Tarek studied their reactions quietly. Then his gaze lingered briefly on the two of them together again. On the resonance still subtly humming between them beneath skin and breath and proximity.
Interesting pair, he thought privately.
Very interesting.
Tristan leaned back slightly in his chair, still studying Tarek with renewed fascination.
“If merfolk were originally human,” he said slowly, “then that explains the anatomy.”
Tarek tilted his head faintly.
“The anatomy?”
Tristan gestured vaguely toward him with one large hand.
“You look...” He paused, realizing halfway through that there was probably no polite version of what he was about to say. “Very mammalian for an undersea species.”
For one dangerous second silence hung in the office. Then Tarek smiled.Not offended, but pleased rather. A low amused sound escaped him as he settled farther back in the chair, long powerful legs spreading casually beneath layered sea-silk wraps.
“An intelligent observation,” he admitted.
The compliment made Tristan straighten slightly with unconscious pride.
Tarek continued smoothly, “We mirror humans in nearly every major regard. Internal structure. Musculature. Reproductive anatomy.” His webbed fingers drummed lazily once against the chair arm. “Though our bodies are denser to withstand deep pressure gradients. Stronger connective tissues. Enhanced oxygen retention. And, of course—”
His fingers brushed lightly along the subtle gill slits at his neck.
“The gills.”
Sylvan listened intently now, completely absorbed. Tarek’s pale sea-colored eyes drifted back toward Tristan.
“This is also why we continue using spoken language despite much communication beneath the sea being nonverbal.” His expression softened faintly. “The voice remained important to us.”
Tristan nodded slowly. It made sense. Honestly more sense than giant half-fish monsters somehow learning grammar underwater. His gaze drifted briefly down Tarek’s body again while the merman spoke.
And gods—
The similarities really were undeniable. Broad masculine chest. Deep blue nipples visible beneath partially open sea-silk wraps. Strong stomach. Heavy thighs.
And beneath the draped fabric around his hips—
A very obvious bulge. Definitely male. Definitely substantial. Tristan’s eyes flicked upward immediately afterward.
Too late. Tarek had noticed. The merman’s smile deepened almost imperceptibly. Not mocking, but aware of Tristan’s gaze.
Sylvan absolutely caught it too. Little bastard looked one second away from laughing. Tristan cleared his throat aggressively and pretended sudden interest in one of the wall maps.
Meanwhile Tarek shifted his attention fully toward Sylvan now.
“You practice Fleshcraft.”
Not a question. Sylvan nodded calmly.
“I do.”
At that, genuine curiosity finally broke visibly across Tarek’s composed features. He leaned forward slightly in his chair, forearms resting across spread thighs now.
“There are very few Fleshcrafters beneath the sea,” he admitted. “The discipline has not meaningfully reached the lower kingdoms yet.”
Sylvan blinked in surprise.
“Really?”
Tarek inclined his head once.
“Vital Alchemy dominates most mer traditions.” He touched one hand lightly against his own chest again. “It is my own school.”
Sylvan’s interest sharpened immediately.
Vital Alchemy. One of the oldest disciplines. Manipulation of life force itself. Healing. Enhancement. Longevity. Biological adaptation. Suddenly Tarek’s dense musculature and unnaturally calm physical presence made considerably more sense.
The merman regarded Sylvan thoughtfully afterward.
“But Fleshcraft...” A faint hunger entered his voice then. Intellectual hunger more than anything. “That interests me greatly.”
Sylvan smiled. Of course it did. Fleshcraft and Vital Alchemy shared philosophical roots in many ways, both focused on the body as mutable sacred architecture rather than fixed biology.
Tarek leaned forward farther.
“There are many applications beneath the sea your discipline could potentially unlock.” His pale eyes sharpened with clear excitement now. “Resonance enhancement. Adaptive tissue shaping. Shared breathwork. Pressure acclimation—”
Tristan nearly choked. Because he knew that tone. That was not merely academic curiosity anymore. That was a man already imagining experiments. Sylvan knew it too. And if the tiny pleased smile curving at the corner of his mouth meant what Tristan feared it meant—
Oh gods.
The two alchemists were about to become unbearable together. Tarek’s gaze drifted once more between the human pair slowly. Lingering and curious.
And there it was again, that subtle awareness of their resonance. The intimacy practically humming off them now to anyone perceptive enough.
“I would be very interested,” Tarek said smoothly, “in learning more about your methods.”
Tristan cleared his throat loudly this time, ears warming faintly pink. Because he knew exactly how Sylvan’s resonance methods tended to work.
Sylvan glanced toward him knowingly. Then back toward Tarek with entirely too much composure.
“Perhaps,” Sylvan said pleasantly, “something could be arranged.”
Tristan looked at the ceiling briefly. Tarek looked genuinely pleased by the possibility.
Engaged in that dangerous scholarly way Sylvan recognized immediately in other passionate alchemists. The merman’s pale sea-colored eyes sharpened with visible anticipation while his fingers tapped thoughtfully once against the arm of his chair.
“Excellent,” he said smoothly. “Then perhaps I shall visit the two of you later tonight.”
Tristan nearly inhaled his own tongue. Sylvan, meanwhile, remained infuriatingly calm.
The little traitor.
Tarek rose gracefully from the chair afterward, all dense fluid muscle and quiet confidence. Even the way he stood carried subtle reminders that he belonged to another environment entirely—balanced differently somehow, shoulders loose, movements smooth as currents.
“For now,” he continued, looking toward Sylvan, “you should make use of the guild library. There are archives there regarding pressure adaptation, breathing compounds, sea flora catalysts, and lower-city etiquette.”
Sylvan looked seconds away from vibrating through the floorboards from excitement. Gods, he was cute when intellectually stimulated.
“Speak with the other alchemists as well,” Tarek added. “Kurken’s guild exists for shared learning above all else. Knowledge hoarded stagnates.”
Sylvan nodded immediately. “I’d be honored to learn from them.”
Tarek’s gaze softened faintly at the sincerity. Then his attention shifted toward Tristan. And there it was again. That look. Not aggressive or predatory exactly, but hungry and appraising somehow. Like Tarek found Tristan physically and personally interesting in equal measure.
To Tristan’s own surprise, the attention did not entirely bother him.
If anything—
It made heat creep faintly up the back of his neck. Trying to regain composure, Tristan cleared his throat and pushed himself upright from the chair.
“Well,” he said gruffly, “I’ll handle our luggage and get us a room at the Hunter’s Guild.”
Practical tasks that were good and grounding. He continued counting them off on his fingers.
“Need supplies. Food. Probably oil for the harness. And my sword needs sharpening.”
That at least felt normal. Then Sylvan glanced up from adjusting his satchel.
“You might have trouble using a great sword underwater.”
Tristan blinked.
“What?”
Sylvan blinked back.
“You’re coming below too.”
Silence.
Tristan stared at him. Then at Tarek. Then back at Sylvan.
“Underwater?” he repeated incredulously. “You were planning to drag me to the bottom of the fucking ocean without mentioning that detail sooner?”
Sylvan had the decency to look mildly sheepish.
“A little, yes.”
Tarek’s low laugh filled the office unexpectedly. Gods. Even his laugh sounded smooth.
“If weapons become necessary,” the guildmaster said calmly, “they can be provided below. Most surface-forged blades perform poorly under deep current resistance.”
That... actually made sense. Annoyingly.
Tristan rubbed a hand across his jaw while trying to mentally process the fact he was apparently about to become an underwater mercenary now.
“What do people even fight down there?”
Tarek’s expression turned mysteriously unreadable.
“A great many things.”
That answer somehow raised further concerns. Sylvan was already halfway mentally absent again imagining formulas and breathing solutions.
Absolutely hopeless.
Tarek watched him fondly for a brief moment before turning back toward Tristan once more.
“For now,” the merman said, stepping closer, “I will accompany you.”
Tristan straightened slightly.
“To the Hunter’s Guild?”
“And elsewhere.” A faint smile touched Tarek’s mouth. “I would like to know you better.”
There it was again. That heat in the guildmaster’s gaze. Tristan’s ears warmed slightly despite himself. Before he could formulate a response, Tarek’s large webbed hand settled gently around his tricep.
The contact surprised him; cool skin and strong grip. Firm enough to reveal impressive strength beneath elegant composure. Tristan became abruptly aware of several things simultaneously:
Tarek was very close, very attractive, and very obviously aware of Tristan physically. The merman’s thumb brushed lightly once against the curve of Tristan’s arm almost absentmindedly before guiding him toward the office door.
Sylvan watched the interaction with deeply suspicious amusement.
“Oh,” the alchemist said innocently. “Have fun.”
Tristan pointed at him immediately.
“Don’t start.”
Sylvan’s smile only widened.
Tarek opened the office door smoothly.
“Come,” he said to Tristan, voice low and calm as deep water. “Kurken should be seen properly before it is descended beneath.”
Then he guided the large human mercenary out into the salt-scented guild halls while Sylvan disappeared eagerly toward the library archives already imagining impossible underwater alchemy.
—- —- —- —-
Kurken changed character as evening settled across the island.
The harbor glowed gold beneath hanging lanterns made from polished tide-glass and luminous shells. Music drifted from waterfront taverns where humans and merfolk gathered together over drinks and grilled sea meat. Warm salt wind carried the smell of spices, fish oil, seawater, and blooming night flowers woven through the canals.
Tarek guided Tristan easily through it all. Simply walking beside him while explaining the island with the quiet patience of someone deeply rooted there.
“Our hunting seasons are shared,” Tarek explained as they crossed one of the curved bridgewalks over a seawater canal. “Humans fish the upper currents. Merfolk manage deeper migration routes.”
Tristan listened attentively. Tarek’s voice really was something, smooth and deep. Almost hypnotic beneath the evening surf and harbor noise.
“Long ago,” the merman continued, “our peoples were isolated from each other for centuries at a time. Storm eras. Political collapse. Fear.” One broad shoulder rolled lightly beneath draped sea silk. “Alchemy restored those bridges.”
Tristan glanced sideways at him. Tarek looked beautiful in the fading light. There was honestly no other word for it.
Dark teal skin catching gold lantern glow. Black hair shifting softly in the ocean breeze. Broad chest partially visible beneath layered wraps. Dense musculature obvious in every movement despite the fluid grace of his posture. Undeniably built and handsome in a way Tristan found increasingly distracting.
Which raised a deeply inconvenient question.
Am I into men like this? The thought arrived bluntly enough to nearly make him stumble.
Well, obviously he was into some men. He had slept with Sylvan. Wanted Sylvan constantly now if he was being honest with himself. Maybe even loved Sylvan too, apparently, though that realization still sat inside his chest like some huge warm terrifying animal he hadn’t fully examined yet.
But beyond Sylvan?
Tristan frowned faintly to himself.
His past experiences with men had always felt... casual.
Late-night fumbling with fellow mercenaries after difficult contracts. Shared body heat beneath tents. Mutual relief after battle adrenaline and too much ale. Nothing he’d deeply thought about afterward.
Just physicality.
But recently—
Gods.
Recently he’d started noticing men. Really noticing them. The shape of bodies. Voices. Strength. Masculinity. The way broad shoulders moved. The way hands looked. The way certain men watched him back.
And honestly, Fij had absolutely not helped matters.
Tristan’s brain betrayed him immediately with the memory of the massive islander pinning Sylvan between them in that bathhouse, tanned skin stretched over thick muscle, deep voice rumbling while resonance exploded around all three of them.
Fuck. Fij had been something else entirely. Tristan realized with alarming clarity that if the man had asked to fuck him that night, he probably would have said yes. And enthusiastically.
Gods above why am I thinking about that right now?
As though summoned by the thought itself, Tristan’s eyes darted downward briefly. Straight toward the visible bulge beneath Tarek’s sea-silk wraps; large and Heavy. Noticeable even beneath layered fabric. Tristan immediately snapped his gaze away again.
Too late. Tarek had absolutely caught him looking. The merman’s mouth curved faintly at one corner. Heat climbed instantly up Tristan’s neck.
This resonance has to be making me hornier than usual. There was simply no other explanation.
Tarek continued speaking calmly as though nothing had happened. Though perhaps he walked slightly closer now.
“The lower city beneath Kurken differs greatly from surface settlements,” he explained. “Pressure changes thought patterns over time. Communication becomes more emotional. More instinctive.”
That sounded concerning.
“How deep are we talking exactly?”
“Deep enough that unprepared humans panic.”
Wonderful. Tristan rubbed the back of his neck.
“And Sylvan’s really expected to just... alchemy his way through that?”
Tarek’s pale sea-colored eyes softened.
“He will.” He replied with calm absolute certainty. The confidence in Sylvan surprised Tristan less now than it once would have.
Because honestly he knew that Sylvan would find a way. That brilliant little menace could probably argue with reality itself until physics gave up.
Tarek glanced toward Tristan afterward.
“And you will accompany him.”
Again not a question. Tristan snorted softly. “Yeah. Apparently I’m getting dragged to the bottom of the ocean now.”
“You say that like reluctance exists.”
Tristan opened his mouth, paused, then laughed. Because annoyingly, Tarek was right.
Despite the danger and insanity of it, despite barely being a great swimmer as it was, he wanted to go to see it. Wanted to stay beside Sylvan through whatever impossible thing came next. Tarek watched the realization cross Tristan’s face with subtle interest.
He is devoted to the alchemist in some way, the merman thought privately. Interesting indeed.
They continued through the harbor district side by side while lanternlight reflected across seawater canals around them. And despite Tristan blaming resonance for it repeatedly, his eyes still kept drifting back occasionally toward Tarek’s broad shoulders, powerful chest—
And the shape beneath those damned sea-silk wraps.
—- —- —- —-
Tarek accompanied Tristan through nearly half the island before the sun finally began slipping low over the ocean.
They stopped first at a series of market stalls built directly into the harbor terraces where fishermen sold dried reef meats, tidefruit, shell spices, and waterproofed travel goods. Tarek helped him navigate the stranger southern wares with calm amusement whenever Tristan accidentally picked up something clearly inedible.
“That is bait.”
“It looked like jerky.”
“It bites.”
“Right. Good to know.”
Tarek’s laugh came easier now around him. By the time they reached the Hunter’s Guild the two men had already settled into surprisingly easy company together.
The guild itself stood near the eastern edge of Kurken overlooking crashing black reefs below. Tristan secured them a modest room with two beds, dropped their packs beside one wall, and arranged Sylvan’s carefully wrapped alchemy supplies safely away from any damp sea breeze.
Tarek waited patiently nearby while Tristan sharpened the edge of his great sword briefly beside the guild’s forge station.
The merman watched openly.
Not just the blade.
Tristan.
The flex of broad shoulders beneath worn travel clothes.The easy physical confidence. The strength in his forearms while dragging whetstone across steel. It had been a long time since Tarek found himself this interested in a surface man.
Especially one glowing with resonance. Eventually the guild and harbor noise faded behind them as Tarek guided Tristan farther east along a coral stone path winding above the sea cliffs.
The wind there felt wonderful and warm, heavy with salt and flowering coastal vines. Waves crashed far below against glowing reef formations while the first evening lanterns lit across distant Kurken.
Tristan breathed deeply.
“This place almost doesn’t feel real.”
Tarek glanced sideways toward him.
“You settle into unfamiliar places quickly.”
“Mercenary habit.” Tristan shrugged. “You learn to either adapt or suffer.”
“Mm.”
They walked in companionable silence for a while after that. Honestly Tristan found himself enjoying Tarek’s company far more than expected.
The merman balanced calm intelligence with dry humor in ways that reminded him faintly of Sylvan, though where Sylvan’s mind raced brightly like wildfire, Tarek moved with deeper patience. Slow currents instead of sparks.
Eventually Tarek spoke again.
“The resonance between you and Sylvan.”
Tristan barked a short sheepish laugh immediately.
“Yeah. Apparently it’s pretty damn powerful.”
“You feel it clearly?”
“I’m not even an alchemist and I can feel it.” Tristan rubbed the back of his neck. “Honestly I still barely understand half of it myself.”
Tarek listened attentively. Tristan continued more quietly after a moment.
“We found each other again after years apart and...” He smiled helplessly to himself. “It just developed stronger over the weeks.”
The memory softened him visibly. Traveling, laughing and fighting beside each other. Kissing beneath storms.
Tarek noticed the expression immediately. Deeply bonded already, he thought. The merman nodded slowly with visible approval.
“Rare,” he murmured. “But not unheard of.”
Then, after a thoughtful pause, Tarek placed one webbed hand lightly against his own lower abdomen. Near the visible bulge beneath his sea-silk wraps.
“I attempted Fleshcraft experimentation myself once,” he admitted calmly.
Tristan blinked.
“You did?”
“A limited attempt.” One broad shoulder rolled. “Alone.”
That explained plenty. Tristan grinned immediately.
“You’d know if it worked.”
Tarek’s pale eyes narrowed slightly with interest.
“How so?”
“The resonance.” Tristan gestured vaguely between them. “You don’t miss it once it starts.”
He stopped himself before saying too much. Because the next thought had almost been:
Especially during orgasm.
Heat crept faintly up his neck instead. Tarek noticed anyway. Of course he did. The merman’s gaze lingered on Tristan for one long quiet moment before he stepped slightly closer along the coral path.
Close enough now that Tristan could smell him clearly beneath the sea wind, saltwater and warm skin. Something mineral and deep like ocean caves.
Damn. Tarek was attractive. Dangerously attractive.
The merman leaned in slightly then. Handsome face illuminated gold by the setting sun. Strong jaw and dark lashes damp from sea mist. Mouth parting like he intended to say something important—
Then stopping himself.
The silence stretched between them.
Tristan looked at him steadily. Neither man spoke.
Neither stepped away either.
Below them waves crashed endlessly against the reefs while sunset painted the ocean gold and crimson around Kurken Island.
And somewhere deep inside Tristan, resonance hummed softly in answer.
