The sea stretched out endlessly, silent and silver beneath the early morning light.
The rescue boat had returned to shore, but the storm it escaped lingered in every survivor's soul. They were brought off in stretchers, covered in blankets, some barely conscious. Medics moved quickly. Authorities barked orders. Reporters shouted questions—but were kept at a distance. No one had answers. Not yet.
The government called it an "isolated maritime disaster."
But those who had seen it—felt it—knew better.
The girl with no name sat quietly in a white hospital bed, staring at the horizon from her window. Machines beeped around her. The warmth of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders never reached her skin. Her bones still carried the chill of the deep.
She hadn't spoken since the rescue.
Not because she couldn't.
Because no one would believe her if she did.
What would she even say?
That a creature with glowing eyes had ripped through the ship like paper? That it had swum with the speed of a torpedo and screamed like something from a nightmare? That it looked human... but wasn't?
She blinked slowly. Her mind wouldn't stop replaying it—the chaos, the blood, the silence that followed. And most of all... the look in the mermaid's eyes. Not rage. Not hunger.
Grief.
---
Far across town, inside a restricted government lab, a cold room buzzed with tension. Papers from the ruined lighthouse were spread across a steel table. Scientists and military officers hovered around, arguing in hushed voices.
The notes were damaged but damning:
"Subject N is becoming unstable."
"Reversion signs appearing after seawater exposure."
"Control methods ineffective."
Drawings were scattered between the notes—sketches of a creature with gills, elongated fingers, shimmering tail… and human eyes.
Beside the sketches:
A list of crew names.
All crossed out.
---
Back at the hospital, someone knocked gently on the girl's door.
She didn't move at first.
The door creaked open. A man stepped in, wearing a navy-blue rescue uniform. His tag read: Kiran.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, voice soft. "But I thought you should see this."
She turned her head slowly.
In his gloved hands, he held a sealed evidence bag.
Inside it—something small, rusted, and broken.
A bracelet.
Her breath caught. Her hands trembled.
She recognized it instantly.
A handmade bracelet. Woven threads. Small beads. A cracked shell piece in the center. The one her brother had worn every day since they were children.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Kiran knelt beside the bed. "A diver found it," he said quietly. "Near a reef. Not far from the wreck site."
"But that ship drifted miles…" she whispered.
"I know. But the reef they found? It's not on any maps. The current there is strange. Almost like it pulls inward."
"Inward?" she asked, frowning.
Kiran nodded slowly. "Like something's under it. A cave, maybe. Or a tunnel system."
He hesitated before continuing. "The diver... said he felt like something was watching him. He didn't go deep. Said the water felt wrong. Cold. Still."
She clutched the bracelet tighter, her fingers whitening.
"There's more," Kiran added. "The sonar picked up a large shape moving beneath the reef. Too fast to be a whale. Too smooth to be a shark."
The room grew colder, though the windows were closed.
"Do you think she's still down there?" she asked, barely audible.
Kiran didn't answer right away. "We don't know. But we're preparing a deep dive team. With submersibles. The kind used in deep-sea mining."
Her heart pounded.
She should be afraid. She should stay far, far away.
But she couldn't.
Because this wasn't just about answers anymore.
This was personal.
---
That night, the hospital hallways echoed with quiet footsteps.
The girl moved like a shadow. She wore a hoodie borrowed from a forgotten locker. Her bare feet padded across the floor as she slipped out an emergency exit.
No alarms sounded.
No one noticed her leave.
At the docks, the ocean waited like a sleeping beast. Calm on the surface. But the girl knew what hid beneath.
She stepped toward the edge of the pier. The air was still. The water lapped gently.
And then—
A sound.
Low. Faint. Like a whisper under the waves.
She stiffened.
It was music.
No… not music.
A song.
The same eerie melody she had heard days ago, just before everything went wrong on the ship. It was a sound that wasn't meant for human ears. Deep and hollow and sad.
Her hands trembled.
She closed her eyes.
And suddenly, she felt it.
Not fear.
Connection.
Somewhere out there… she was still listening.
---
Far beneath the surface, in the black tunnels of the uncharted reef, water shimmered like liquid glass.
Inside a chamber of jagged rock and coral, a body lay still.
Pale skin. Long tangled hair. Fins stretched like wings across her back.
Eyes suddenly opened—glowing, sharp, aware.
She twitched.
She was weak, but not broken.
And she remembered the girl.
The one who didn't scream.
The one who didn't run.
The one who saw her.
The creature tilted her head. Then slowly, she smiled.
Not with kindness.
With purpose.
She had let them go.
But not forever.
---
To be continued .....