The return

After a long day at the market, Noah trudged back home, his basket empty, but his mind full of questions.

The book the old woman had given him weighed heavily in his hands. Who was she? Why did she disappear?

More importantly—why did she give him this book?

As soon as he stepped inside his small house, a sharp sting shot through his legs.

Noah hissed, setting the book on the table before pulling off his pants. The cuts on his inner thighs were still bleeding.

His breath trembled as he grabbed his first aid kit again, carefully pressing a clean cloth against the wounds. The memory of cold scales rubbing between his legs sent an involuntary shiver through him.

He shook his head. No. Don’t think about it.

Once he was bandaged, Noah turned his attention back to the book. He hesitated before flipping it open, the pages yellowed and old, as if it had been written centuries ago.

His eyes skimmed the first chapter.

“The Day of the Sirens.”

The words sent an eerie chill down his spine.

He kept reading.

> And when the sirens rose from the abyss, the skies darkened, and the waters turned to blood. The people of the land trembled as the creatures of the deep destroyed everything in their path. Towns sank beneath the waves, screams were swallowed by the tides, and those who heard the song of the sirens fell into madness.

Noah swallowed hard.

The passage continued.

> But when all seemed lost, the people fell to their knees. They wept. They begged. They pleaded for mercy.

The ink on the page seemed darker here, almost like it had been written in something other than ink.

> And then—he rose.

He raised his fist before he spoke:

Noah’s fingers tightened around the edges of the book as he read the next line.

> "I am the righteous hand of God."

"I am the devil you so forgot."

"I told you one day I’d be back."

"I guaranteed it."

A sharp gust of wind rattled his window.

Noah’s heartbeat quickened.

Something wasn’t right.

The words in the book felt like more than just a legend.

They felt like a warning.

And deep down, Noah had a terrifying feeling that his encounter with the merman was only the beginning.

Noah slammed the book shut. His heart pounded in his chest.

“This is insane,” he whispered. “Are mermen… demons?”

The thought made his stomach churn. The way that creature had touched him, held him, bit him—it wasn’t human. But was it evil?

Noah shook his head. He needed proof.

He rushed to his kitchen, grabbing a pouch of salt. If myths were real, salt was supposed to ward off evil, right?

With a deep breath, he stuffed the pouch in his pocket and grabbed his fishing rod.

He had to know the truth.

The sea was calm that night, the moon casting a silver glow on the water. Noah sat in his small boat, gripping his fishing rod tightly.

He cast his line, but he wasn’t here for fish.

He was waiting.

Minutes passed. Then an hour.

The waves lapped gently against the boat. Nothing.

Maybe… maybe he was wrong. Maybe it really had just been his imagination.

Just as he was about to pull his line back in, a ripple disturbed the water.

Noah froze.

A dark shape moved beneath the surface.

It was here.

A moment later, something broke through the water.

Blue eyes. Black hair slicked back. Glowing skin illuminated by the moonlight.

The merman.

He wasn’t smiling this time.

He stared at Noah, unblinking. Watching. Waiting.

Noah’s breath hitched.

What do I do? What does it want?

Slowly, the merman raised a hand.

Holding a fish.

Noah’s eyes widened.

Was it… offering him food?

His grip on the salt pouch tightened.

Was this a trick? Or… was it trying to help?

The night air was silent. The only sound was the gentle rocking of the boat.

Then—the merman moved.

With a single, fluid motion, it grabbed the side of Noah’s boat and pulled itself closer.

Water dripped from its lips as it stared at him.

Noah’s pulse quickened. He should run. He should throw the salt.

But he didn’t move.

Because, for some reason…

The merman didn’t feel like a monster.

Not this time.

To be continued

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