Rain hammered the slave pens.
The guards hated storms.
Thalor loved them.
He sat motionless in the corner of his cage, knees drawn to his chest, listening to thunder roll across the sea. The sound was distant but familiar. Comforting.
For eight years, the ocean had been the only thing that never lied to him.
The merchants lied.
The guards lied.
The nobles lied.
The ocean existed.
Beyond the walls.
Beyond the chains.
Beyond his reach.
A whip cracked somewhere in the darkness.
A scream followed.
Nobody reacted.
Not the guards.
Not the slaves.
Pain was as common as rain.
Thalor closed his eyes.
He wasn't sixteen years old.
Not really.
Most sixteen-year-olds had families.
Homes.
Friends.
Memories worth keeping.
Thalor had chains.
His earliest memories were fading.
His mother's face had become blurry years ago.
His father's voice was gone.
Sometimes he worried that if he escaped, there would be nothing left waiting for him.
No home.
No family.
Nothing.
Just freedom.
The thought should have terrified him.
Instead, it kept him alive.
A guard walked past the cage.
Thalor didn't look up.
Years of beatings had taught him that drawing attention was dangerous.
The guard rattled the bars.
Satisfied, he continued onward.
The sound of his boots faded.
Only then did Thalor move.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His hand slipped beneath a loose stone.
Cold metal greeted his fingers.
A lockpick.
Crude.
Bent.
Worth more than gold.
Three years.
Three years gathering scraps of discarded metal.
Three years learning how locks worked.
Three years pretending to be too stupid to matter.
The first escape attempt had been a disaster.
He'd been eight.
Terrified.
Desperate.
The hounds caught him before sunrise.
The beating afterward had nearly killed him.
The second attempt happened four years later.
He'd made it farther.
Much farther.
For almost a day, he'd tasted freedom.
Then bounty hunters found him hiding near a river.
The scars across his back still burned whenever it rained.
Tonight was different.
Tonight wasn't an attempt.
Tonight was an escape.
The distinction mattered.
A flash of lightning illuminated the compound.
Thalor's gaze shifted toward the nearest watchtower.
One guard.
Not two.
Exactly as expected.
Storms made people lazy.
Thunder shook the earth.
The guard ducked beneath the tower roof.
Thalor smiled.
A tiny smile.
The kind that existed for less than a second.
The kind nobody ever saw.
The storm was helping him.
Midnight approached.
The compound grew quieter.
Several guards retreated indoors.
Others gathered beneath awnings to avoid the rain.
The routine never changed.
That was their mistake.
Thalor waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Patience was another lesson slavery had taught him.
Finally—
Now.
The lockpick slid into place.
His hands moved automatically.
Twist.
Push.
Adjust.
Click.
The sound was almost inaudible.
Yet to Thalor, it sounded louder than thunder.
The cage door swung open.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Eight years.
Eight years later, the door was finally open.
He stepped through.
Nobody noticed.
The rain concealed everything.
Thalor crossed the muddy yard.
Each step felt unreal.
A guard laughed somewhere nearby.
Another complained about the weather.
Neither looked his way.
Good.
The wall loomed ahead.
Ten feet high.
Wood reinforced with iron.
Impossible for most slaves.
Not for him.
He'd spent years studying it.
His fingers found familiar gaps between the boards.
He climbed.
Lightning flashed.
For a terrifying moment, he was exposed.
A lone figure scaling the outer wall.
Nobody looked up.
The storm swallowed him whole.
He reached the top.
Then dropped to the other side.
The impact rattled his bones.
Pain shot through his legs.
He ignored it.
Pain meant he was alive.
Alive meant he could keep running.
Shouts erupted behind him.
Someone had finally discovered the empty cage.
Too late.
Far too late.
Thalor sprinted through the darkness.
The harbor lay ahead.
Most escaped slaves fled inland.
Through forests.
Across roads.
Toward distant towns.
That was exactly why they failed.
Hunters expected it.
Thalor had spent years watching ships arrive and depart.
Years staring at the sea.
Years of feeling something stir inside him whenever he smelled saltwater.
He was part merfolk.
His captors called him a half-breed.
An abomination.
A monster.
He didn't know what he was.
But he knew one thing.
The ocean felt more like home than any land ever had.
Dogs barked behind him.
Torches appeared.
Voices shouted.
"THERE!"
The harbor came into view.
Massive waves crashed against the docks.
The storm had transformed the sea into a black abyss.
Perfect.
No sane person would enter those waters.
Thalor wasn't feeling particularly sane.
He reached the edge of the pier.
A guard stepped into his path.
Sword drawn.
The man grinned.
"Thought you could escape?"
Thalor didn't answer.
The guard lunged.
Thalor sidestepped.
Years of labor had hardened his body.
The guard stumbled past him.
For a single heartbeat, the path was clear.
Freedom stood beyond the edge of the dock.
The ocean roared below.
Without hesitation—
Thalor jumped.
The world vanished.
Freezing water swallowed him whole.
The impact drove the air from his lungs.
Currents seized his body.
Pulled.
Dragged.
Claimed.
Above him, lantern lights blurred.
The shouting became distant.
Muted.
Meaningless.
The chains around his wrists dragged him deeper.
For the first time in eight years, nobody was holding them.
Thunder echoed faintly through the water.
Thalor looked upward.
The surface seemed impossibly far away.
He should have been afraid.
He should have been panicking.
Instead—
He laughed.
Bubbles escaped his lips.
A broken, exhausted laugh.
But a genuine one.
"I'm free."
The current carried him into the darkness.
Deeper.
And deeper still.
Far below the raging storm.
Far below the reach of men.
Ancient runes flickered to life.
One after another.
Like stars awakening beneath the sea.
Something had noticed him.
And after ninety-eight thousand years of waiting...
Something was finally coming home.