"We need to go see the Mer King," I announced, my voice carrying more determination than I felt. I sat by the fire, watching my cubs tumble over each other in their play area, four golden balls of chaos and love. Ryder had pinned Atlas to the ground, his small paws on his brother’s shoulders, mock-growling with all the ferocity his tiny body could muster. Atlas thrashed beneath him, his mohawk bristling, trying to buck his brother off.
Chase was attempting to scale the stone wall of the enclosure, his claws scrabbling for purchase, his plump body wiggling with determination. And Jasper; my lazy, peaceful Jasper was curled in the middle of everything, fast asleep, somehow completely undisturbed by the wrestling match happening inches from his nose.
"I need to understand what my powers are," I said, my voice carrying more determination than I felt. "To prevent something like this from ever happening again. I don’t think my heart could take another death."
I paused, my throat tightening as the image of Marcus flashed through my mind, his feathers scattered, his blood soaking the grass. "But... I can’t bear to leave our cubs. I’m still so shaken up. I fear something would happen if we are away."
"We will take the cubs as well," Caelion said, his melodic voice calm and certain. He knelt beside me, his sea glass eyes meeting mine with gentle reassurance. "I can make them bubbles of air as we go to my home under the sea. They will be safe."
"But what if the bubble pops?" I cried, panic rising at the thought of my babies drowning, trapped in a fragile sphere while the crushing depths pressed in. My hands trembled at the mere idea. "What if they get scared? What if they can’t breathe?"
Caelion took my hands, his thumbs tracing circles on my palms, his cool skin soothing my fevered warmth. "No, Mer bubbles are not weak. They are stronger than stone, sealed by magic older than your mountains. The cubs will not be able to break out of them on their own, even if they tried. They will be safer than they are on land, surrounded by my kin. Trust me, Krys."
"I agree with Caelion," Ravin said, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his amber eyes serious. "We cannot leave the cubs here. My parents are still mourning Marcus... they aren’t fit to watch the cubs right now. They are broken." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and I saw the grief flash across his face before he mastered it.
"I agree with brother," Leon added, his voice softer than usual, still carrying the weight of his grief. He sat near the fire, his black hair unbound, his green-gold eyes distant. "We keep our family together. Always."
Soryn nodded his agreement, his dark eyes serious, his coils wrapped around himself in a tight knot. "Where you go, we go. Where the cubs go, we follow. That is how it must be."
The next couple of days were a whirlwind of preparation that felt more like chaos organized by madmen. Ravin and Leon visited their parents, explaining our journey, receiving their blessing through tears and trembling hands. Lisa had clutched me to her chest, begging me to be careful, to come back whole, to not let another of her family fall.
We packed furs and dried meats, herbs and medicines, everything we might need for a journey into the unknown depths. The cubs "helped" by unpacking everything we packed, dragging furs across the floor, batting at dried meat strips, and generally creating more work than they saved.
And then we set out.
The sea was three days’ journey by foot, following ancient paths that wound through forest and meadow, past villages and through streams. By midday, the cubs were filthy. Covered in mud, bits of leaves, and what I desperately hoped was only dirt, they looked less like golden lion cubs and more like small, wriggling earthworms.
"We need to bathe them," I announced, eyeing my offspring with a mixture of love and exhaustion. "Before they attract every bug in the territory."
My mates looked at me with varying degrees of apprehension. They had learned. They knew what bath time meant.
We found a shallow stream, clear and cool, with a sandy bottom perfect for wading. The cubs, already filthy from their morning explorations, looked at the water with suspicion and betrayal. I set them in the shallows, and the screaming began immediately.
Ryder let out a wail that could have woken the dead, his golden fur bristling with indignation, his paws slapping at the water with fury. "How dare you!" his body language seems to scream.
Atlas tried to climb out, his claws scrabbling on the slippery stones, his serious face twisted into an expression of utter betrayal, his tiny mohawk drooping with water and indignation.
Chase simply sat down in the water and let out a high-pitched, keening wail that rose and fell like a siren, his small body trembling, his tail tucked between his legs. He looked utterly pathetic, soaked and miserable, as if we were torturing him, as if the water was acid, as if his very existence was being threatened by this terrible, wet substance.
And Jasper; my lazy, peaceful Jasper, went completely limp, his golden body going slack in the water, playing dead with such commitment that I actually checked to make sure he was still breathing. He floated on his back, paws sticking up in the air, eyes squeezed shut, the picture of a cub who had given up on life entirely.
"They act like we’re killing them," Leon observed, trying to hold Ryder still while the cub thrashed like a fish on a line.
"We are," I muttered, scrubbing Atlas’s back while he tried to climb my face. "We are the worst parents in existence. How dare we want our children clean."
"How dare we," Soryn agreed dryly, holding Chase under his arms while the cub screamed silent accusations at the sky.
It took four of us to wash four cubs. Leon held Ryder, I managed Atlas, Soryn restrained Chase, and Ravin; Ravin simply held Jasper, who remained limp and unresponsive, the easiest bath in history. Caelion just watched us clueless as to what to do.
By the time we finished, we were all soaked, exhausted, and covered in more water than the cubs. But they were clean, their golden fur sparkling in the sunlight, their indignation slowly fading as they realized the horror was over.
"They are dramatic," Caelion observed, looking down at Jasper, who had opened one eye to check if the danger had passed.
"Very," I agreed, collapsing onto a rock. "And we get to do this every day for the next three days."
My mates looked at me with expressions of pure horror.
"We could just let them be dirty," Leon suggested hopefully.
"No," I said firmly. "We cannot."
We walked until the sun began to dip toward the horizon, half a day of travel behind us, before we decided to make camp for the night. The cubs, clean and exhausted from their trauma, were actually manageable for perhaps the first time in their lives.
I settled against a broad oak, my back aching, and opened my makeshift top for the cubs. They descended upon me like locusts, squeaking and mewling, fighting for position with a ferocity that belied their size.
"Gentle," I laughed, wincing as Ryder’s paw caught Atlas in the face. "There are only two of them, you greedy beasts. Share and take turns."
I winced as sharp teeth grazed my nipple. "Ouch! Chase, that hurts Mommy. Be gentle or you lose your spot."
Chase paused, his round eyes meeting mine, and I could almost see the calculation in his tiny brain. Lose the food source, or be gentle? The choice was apparently clear. He latched on again, softer this time, his paws kneading my skin with apologetic gentleness, while Atlas waited his turn with impatient squeaks, his mohawk bristling with frustration.
"Smart boy," I murmured, stroking Chase’s golden fur. "Very smart."
They were six weeks old now, no longer the tiny, helpless creatures I had birthed. They were the size of small pugs, round and solid, but with paws already bigger than their faces suggested, thick legs that promised future strength, and tails that lashed with constant, boundless energy. They were getting harder for me to carry; all that wriggling weight, but my mates handled them with ease, tossing them from arm to arm like the precious burdens they were.
That night, Ravin and Leon laid on either side of me, creating a warm wall of protection. The cubs picked and chose their sleeping partners with the impulsiveness of royalty. Jasper, my lazy prince, waddled directly to Soryn, his usual spot and collapsed, his small body curling into the serpent’s coils with a contented sigh.
Soryn looked at Caelion with an expression of pure, unadulterated smugness. See? his eyes seemed to say. My Jasper prefers me.
Caelion merely raised an eyebrow, but I caught the slight downturn of his mouth. The competition for cub affection had apparently begun.
Chase surprised us all by curling against Caelion’s cool side, his plump body fitting perfectly against the merman’s hip. The two of them seemed to be bonding well; Chase’s greedy appetite for milk matched only by his newfound appreciation for Caelion’s lower body temperature.
Atlas claimed my feet, wrapping himself around my ankles like a living fur boot, while Ryder sprawled across Ravin’s massive stomach, his small body rising and falling with each of his father’s breaths.
Caelion took first watch, his sea glass eyes scanning the darkness, his hand resting protectively near Chase’s sleeping form.
The second day brought more walking, more nursing, and another bath time that went exactly as well as the first; which is to say, not at all. This time, Chase tried to bite Leon. Atlas attempted to climb a tree to escape. Ryder screamed until he was hoarse. And Jasper? Jasper went limp and played dead again, floating in the water like a very small, very furry log.
"You would think they had never seen water before," Leon grumbled, examining the teeth marks on his finger.
"They are dramatic," I agreed, wringing water from my hair. "Very dramatic."
That night, Caelion and Soryn laid with me, their cooler bodies providing relief from the summer heat, while Ravin and Leon stood guard. The cubs surrounded us in a protective circle of fluff and fur, but Ryder, my wild child, refused to sleep. He wanted to stay up with his daddies, his small head swiveling between Leon and Ravin, his eyes fighting to stay open even as they drooped.
"Go to sleep, little one," Leon whispered, stroking Ryder’s fur.
Ryder shook his head, his body language screaming "no" even as his eyes betrayed him, growing heavier by the moment. He curled into a ball at Leon’s feet, still fighting, still determined to be part of the guard.
I fell asleep to the sound of their whispered conversation, exhausted beyond measure. When morning came, I found Ryder had migrated during the night, his small body now sprawled across my hip like a starfish, limbs extended in every direction, his face pressed against my side in utter abandon. He had apparently given up on guarding sometime around midnight.
The third day brought the scent of salt on the wind, sharp and clean and promising. We were close. So close.
A boar burst from the underbrush as we made camp, massive and furious, tusks gleaming. Before I could scream, Ravin moved, his clawed hand flashing out with such speed I barely saw it. The boar dropped, its neck broken, its body still twitching as Ravin wiped his hand on his fur.
"Supper," he said simply.
We ate well that night, the rich meat filling our bellies, the fat dripping down our chins. The cubs were still too young for solid food, their teeth not yet ready for tearing flesh, so I chewed the meat to pulp and let them lap the juice from my fingers.
They attacked my hands with gusto, their rough tongues scraping my skin, their eyes rolling back in ecstasy as they tasted their first real flavor. To them, it was the tastiest thing in the world, better than milk, better than sleep, better than anything. Chase actually tried to eat my finger, convinced there must be more meat hidden somewhere in my hand.
By the fourth day, we reached the sea.
I had forgotten. In my grief and fear and desperate need, I had forgotten how beautiful it was. The ocean stretched before us, endless and blue, the horizon line where sky met water blurring into infinity. The waves crashed against the shore in rhythmic percussion, the salt spray kissing my face, the wind tugging at my hair. The sand was warm beneath my feet, the sun bright overhead, and the sound of the sea was like a song I had forgotten I knew.
No matter what world, the sea was always vast. Always serene. Always powerful beyond measure.
Caelion stood beside me, his hand finding mine, his fingers intertwining. He looked at the ocean, his home, his birthright, and then he looked at me, his sea glass eyes luminous with hope and love and something like coming home.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the crash of waves.
I looked at my mates, my four protectors, my loves. I looked at my cubs, tumbling in the sand, already fascinated by the water, chasing waves and squealing when the foam touched their paws. I looked at the endless blue, and the future it promised, and the power I might find there.
I squeezed Caelion’s hand and smiled.
"Ready," I said.