Chapter Text
「𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒」
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ⦂
ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴜꜱᴇᴅ
「 @𝒷𝓁𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔_𝓂𝑜𝑜𝓃 」
ʀᴇᴇɴᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ
ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ, ꜱᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴜɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ'ꜱ ꜱᴄʀᴀᴛᴄʜɪᴇꜱᴛ ᴘɪʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜ. ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ? ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ? ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ... ᴏᴅᴅ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ—
...
You blinked.
You had no idea where you'd been before. Your mind was a blank hallway with all the doors locked.
Then—like sunlight on water—a vision flared.
A boy, about two years older, shouting your name with wild, desperate eyes. His mouth moved again, reaching for you, and then—poof. Gone. Like a dream pulled underwater.
You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes.
Daylight stabbed at you, bright and merciless.
Where in Hades' name were you?
The beach was empty. No surfers, no umbrella-wielding tourists, no overcooked dads yelling about sunscreen. Just... silence and the hush of waves. You dusted off your shirt, stretched sore limbs, and started walking inland. Beaches usually meant civilization, right? Maybe even a smoothie shop. Gods, a smoothie sounded good.
Instead, after a few minutes of wandering, you stumbled into a village that looked like it had fallen out of a storybook—wooden houses, dirt paths, chickens strutting around like they owned the place.
Definitely not a city.
Definitely no Uber.
And definitely no idea how to get back to...
Back to...
You rubbed your temples. Nope. That thought wasn't opening its door either.
As you walked, villagers peeked out from behind stalls and doorways. Some stared. Some whispered. A few even stepped away from you, which was pretty rude considering you were twelve and not exactly terrifying. Unless they were allergic to children?
You ignored them and wandered up to a tall woman selling jewelry. She was stunning: rich brown skin, a cloud of curly brown hair, and bright pink eyes that sparkled like rose quartz. Her pink dress fluttered in the breeze, making her look like some benevolent, sparkly deity of accessories.
"Hi!" you chirped, giving a friendly wave.
She stared at you—first in confusion, then in utter horror.
Before you could ask what her problem was, she screamed.
"Child, who did this?! Are you okay!?"
"Huh?" you blinked.
Then you followed her gaze downward.
Your shirt was drenched in dried blood. Not a little. Not like you scraped your knee. Nope. More like a crime scene fashion statement. And right in the center of your chest—
A hole.
Big. Dark. Ugly.
How had you not noticed that?
The woman shouted for someone, and suddenly you were swept into a stranger's house, shoved onto a chair while she panicked at a man who looked like he'd stepped straight out of an anime.
He was tall—like really tall—with curly white hair, deep green eyes, and skin tanned by the sun. Muscles on muscles. You had met walls with less structure.
He crouched down to your level—well, as close as someone 6'4 could get to someone 5'1.
"I'm going to check you, okay, kid?"
You blinked at him, bewildered. "I'm fine."
He frowned the kind of frown adults use before lecturing. "Your shirt is covered in blood. There's a hole. Kid, you aren't fine."
You looked at him. Then at the woman.
You could take them. Easy. They were nice, but you were... you.
Instead, you sighed. "It's my blood. I'm fine. I just need a shower and clean clothes. Maybe a snack."
The man did not look convinced.
"Where are your parents?" the woman asked, softer this time.
You shrugged. "No clue where my mom is. Probably at work. And my dad, well, who knows where the go—he is these days?"
They exchanged another one of those Looks Adults Give Each Other™.
"So how did you end up here?" the man asked.
You frowned right back. "Where is here, exactly?"
"This is Algodón Island," the woman said gently.
You squinted. "Algodón... like cotton?"
A beat.
"Is this island made of cotton candy?" you asked hopefully. "Because if it is, it definitely doesn't taste like cotton candy, and yes, I checked."
The adults stared at you. Then each other. Then burst into confused laughter.
"What?" the woman asked between giggles.
"Well," you muttered, "algodón means cotton, right? So, cotton candy island. It made sense in my head. I just—look, I'm starving, okay? And this place does not look edible."
They laughed even harder.
The man finally introduced himself as Romy, which admittedly sounded less like "responsible doctor" and more like "guy who fronts a boyband," but he did claim he was the island's doctor. That explained the whole dramatic fussing, the poking, the prodding, the "kid, you're bleeding out!" panic.
You were too tired to swat him away, so you let him examine you. His confusion only grew the longer he looked. His brows furrowed. His jaw clenched. His eyes darted from your clean, uninjured skin to the gaping hole in your shirt like he was flipping through a medical textbook that had betrayed him.
"I don't understand," he muttered. "There's nothing wrong with you. No wound, no bruise, no scar. You should be—well—you should not be fine."
You just shrugged.
Romy poked and prodded gently, checking your pulse, your breathing, and your chest, and his expression went from concerned to bewildered to "I absolutely need a stronger drink."
Because there was nothing wrong with you.
Not a bruise. Not a cut. Not even a faint little baby scar. Meanwhile, your shirt still had a very real, very dramatic hole, soaked in dried blood.
Impossible? Absolutely.
But you already knew that impossible was just a suggestion for you.
"What's your name, kid?" he finally asked.
You told him.
"It suits you," he said.
You still weren't sure what that meant, but you let it go as he turned to Xana, the ethereal jewelry woman, and asked her to take you to the shower.
Xana guided you to a small house nearby. The shower... honestly surprised you. You expected a bucket. Maybe a hose. Instead there were metal knobs, hot and cold water, and even a glass door. Very not rustic. The bathroom was small and had a bathtub too—simple but cozy.
You stepped under the water, and gods, it felt like heaven sliding across your skin. Warm, then cool, then warm again. Your muscles loosened. The ache in your bones faded. The water welcomed you like an old friend.
You leaned into it, letting the stream wash over your shoulders.
You had to get back to—
A sharp pain stabbed your skull.
You flinched.
Okay. That was new.
What was happening to your brain?
Amnesia? No. You remembered your name, your age, your birthday. You remembered your dad was the god of the sea. But everything else—the parts that mattered—felt like needles whenever you reached for them.
Someone was probably looking for you, right?
Probably.
Hopefully.
So... should you stay?
Let them find you?
Or leave before you missed them?
Ugh.
You sank deeper under the water, letting it wrap around you like a shield. You could breathe underwater—perk of divine genetics—and the longer you stayed submerged, the more your body hummed back to full strength.
You weren't tired anymore. But you still closed your eyes, letting yourself float, thinking about...
About what should you do?
A knock snapped you back to reality.
You rose to the surface immediately, instincts sharp. You might be a kid, but you were not stupid—you weren't letting your guard down around strangers. In the water, you were untouchable.
"Here are some clothes," Xana's voice said through the door. "When you're ready, we'll eat. You said you were hungry, right? Romy's making arroz con menestra."
Your stomach answered for you. Loudly.
"Okay! Thank you!" you called.
Xana walked away, and you finally stepped out of the shower. You dried off without a towel—just a thought, and boom, dry. Another perk.
The clothes waiting for you were pretty: a soft white-and-blue dress with delicate stitching, sandals that looked handmade.
You slipped into them, tugging the dress over your head. It fit surprisingly well. You did, however, need a new bra. Xana... was not your size. Her chest was basically two small planets held up by straps.
You sighed, fluffing your damp hair in the mirror.
New place.
New people.
Missing memories.
At least you were clean.
════ ⋆★⋆ ༺♡༻ ⋆★⋆ ════
You’d been on the island for about a month now.
Which was honestly wild, considering you had originally planned to be here for... oh, about zero seconds.
The people were nice—super nice, in that wholesome, “we bake bread together and gossip about the weather” kind of way. They fed you, hugged you, fixed your hair, doted on you like a tiny hurricane they’d collectively adopted.
But gods, you wanted to go home.
Wherever home was.
You’d tried remembering. Really tried. And every time, the same flashes danced behind your eyelids:
A girl—
Pretty.
Dark skin.
Curly blonde hair.
Stormy grey eyes that could slice through your soul and then warm you like sunlight.
Always annoyed. Always smiling underneath.
Your chest hurt when you thought of her.
Your head hurt even more.
You asked Xana once if there were any cities nearby, any place bigger than this sweet little ocean-dusted village.
“No, mi niña,” she’d said, shaking her head. “Closest city is four days away. By boat.”
Four.
Days.
By boat.
You had stared at her, horrified.
Why the fuck were you on an island then?
You were certain—bone-deep sure—that you’d been somewhere noisy, metallic, crowded. A junkyard maybe. A battlefield. Something dirty and dangerous and very not pink-dress-and-jewelry-cart-vibes.
But every time you reached for the memory, your skull throbbed like someone was inside your brain with a hammer shouting, “NOPE.”
Still, life here wasn’t bad.
Xana had taken you in—apparently she and Romy were siblings, though they looked nothing alike. Xana warm and vibrant, Romy tall and terrifyingly unfunny. He tried to make jokes, he really did, and you appreciated the effort, but the man could not land a punchline to save his life.
You sat on the beach now, toes buried in cool water. The sea curled around your ankles, familiar in a way nothing else here was. You felt calmer here, like you used to sit like this with someone… someone who laughed at your jokes, who listened, who teased you.
You rubbed your thumbs together.
You’d told Romy once about the flashes, about the ache of remembering. And he’d gone on a whole speech about trauma, cognitive blocks, and blah blah blah medical words. You tried listening. You really did. But the man was so boring you almost fell asleep mid–brain injury.
You stared at the water.
“It goes against my nature to believe you’re bad,” you whispered to no one. “But why’d you have to lie to me like that?”
You weren’t expecting an answer.
But your mind supplied a shape anyway—
A tall figure.
Sandy-blonde curly hair.
Blue eyes.
A scar carved down his cheek.
You didn’t know him. You shouldn’t know him.
But your heart twisted like it did.
“Thankful I never gave you all of me,” you murmured bitterly. “Now I get to walk away with everything. If I linger in your memory, eradicate me.”
You didn’t know where the words came from.
Anger. Sadness. Grief. Love. Fear.
It all tangled together like seaweed choking driftwood.
You heard someone shout your name.
You turned. Xana was waving at you, her golden two-piece shimmering like she was made of sunshine.
“Come on! We have visitors!”
You frowned. Visitors weren’t unusual—fishermen, travelers, random sea nomads—but nobody ever asked for you. You usually stayed out of sight to avoid questions like “Why are you here?” and “Where are your parents?” and “Do you have any baby cousins who look like you because you’re adorable?”
Still, you stood and followed her back toward the village.
It was beautiful, honestly. Wooden houses, colorful fabric strung between posts, laughter drifting through the air like a song carried by the wind. People waved at you as you passed—someone pinched your cheek, another pressed a mango into your hands, and someone else tried to braid your hair while you were walking.
“You’re such a pretty little thing,” they always said. “It’d be a sin not to take care of you.”
You waved back, balancing the heavy baskets of jewels you were helping Xana carry. She collected them from coral caverns deep underwater—she swam like a mermaid and had lungs of steel. You had offered to help once. She’d refused, saying you were “just a child.”
So naturally, you snuck out the next day, waited until no one was watching, and commanded the water to deliver jewels straight to your hands.
Xana had nearly fainted when she found the pile.
“How did you—?”
“Secret,” you’d said with a smug little grin.
No way you were telling her you were a daughter of Poseidon. These people were sweet, but they’d absolutely assume you needed an exorcism.
And honestly?
You weren’t totally sure they would be wrong.
You weren’t even inside the house yet when you smacked right into Xana’s back.
She had gone stiff—statue-stiff—and when you peeked around her, you understood why.
A man stood in front of her.
And he was ugly.
Not normal-ugly. Not “he has a weird haircut” ugly.
No.
This was the kind of ugly those anime shows use for the creepy, obsessive guy paired with the gorgeous main girl you scream at through the screen.
He had sallow skin, patchy hair, a greasy sheen that caught the sunlight way too well, and a smile that looked like it had never once been introduced to toothpaste. His clothes were mismatched, wrinkled, and smelled like he’d rolled in a wet rug and then set it on fire for perfume.
“Xana,” the man grinned. His teeth were... fighting for their lives. “Have you thought about my proposal?”
Xana recoiled like he’d slapped her.
“Rae,” she said, and it came out like a curse. Like she wanted to wash her mouth out afterward.
You wrinkled your nose. Rae?
Great. So now your nickname sounds like that man. You made a mental note to never, EVER let anyone call you that again. You’d rather go by “Sea Goblin.”
Xana tried to speak, but the disgust twisted her voice. “I’m... far too unworthy to be your—your...lover.”
Lover sounded like something she wanted to set on fire.
Rae laughed, and gods, even his laugh was ugly. Like a donkey and a dying seal had a baby.
“Oh, Xana, my dear, you could never be unworthy of me.”
You gagged. Actually gagged.
You tugged on Xana’s skirt. “Can we go now?” you said loudly, hoping he’d choke on the sound of your voice.
Xana exhaled in pure relief. “Yeah. Let’s go—”
Rae finally looked at you, squinting like the sun offended him.
Then he smiled.
You almost threw up again.
“Such a pretty little thing,” he said. “Didn’t know you had a daughter, Xana.”
You glared at him with enough fire to boil the sea.
He laughed again, delighted.
“Such a temper.”
Xana straightened. “She is not my daughter,” she snapped. “She’s the daughter of my friend—the Marine Officer. You remember? She was sent here to learn more about the island.”
Marine Officer?
You blinked.
You had no idea what she was talking about. But if that was her cover story? Fine. You trusted her more than any greasy troll-man.
Rae clicked his tongue. “Well, guess it can’t be helped.”
He leaned in, quick as a snake, and kissed Xana’s cheek before she could dodge.
You saw her flinch.
He whispered something—you didn’t catch it—and then he swaggered off, leaving an oily trail of bad vibes.
Xana stayed frozen.
Her hand curled into a fist so tight her nails sliced skin. Blood dripped between her fingers. Her eyes burned with rage—sharp, cold, furious.
You had never seen her like this.
“Xana?” you whispered.
She didn’t look at you at first. She kept glaring at the path Rae had walked, breathing like she was trying not to set the forest on fire.
Finally, she sighed and knelt to your level. “I’m fine. Some people are just...” She didn’t finish. Maybe the words were too angry to say out loud.
“Do you want me to deal with him?” you asked.
Her eyes flicked to yours—soft, startled, amused, touched. Like she was trying to figure out what exactly a twelve-year-old could do to a grown man and also vaguely terrified to find out.
She laughed then, gentle and tired. “No, it’s okay, baby. I can handle Rae. I’ve dealt with worse.”
You weren’t convinced.
But she cupped your cheek anyway. “Come on. You’re going to like these visitors.”
You followed her, glancing back once.
You didn’t know who Rae was.
But you were a child of the sea.
If he tried anything again, the sea wouldn’t hesitate to drag him under.
You walked beside Xana, clutching the basket of jewels to your chest, still thinking about Rae and his stupid face and his stupid laugh and his stupid everything.
The sand gave way to packed earth as you followed the familiar path toward her house. The village buzzed around you—kids shouting, chickens screaming for no reason, someone playing a radio too loud in Spanish—but your mind was stuck on the image of Xana’s bleeding hand and that forced smile.
“Who is he?” you asked finally, kicking a rock harder than necessary. “Rae. Why does he talk to you like that? Like he owns you or something.”
Xana’s jaw clenched for half a second. Then she let out a breath, the way you do before ripping off a bandage.
“He’s... a rich man,” she said carefully. “He comes to the island every couple of months. Brings supplies, sells things, buys things. Helps with trades.”
“That doesn’t sound like enough reason for him to be gross,” you muttered.
She huffed a quiet laugh. “No, it’s not.”
You watched her out of the corner of your eye. The wind tugged at her curls, and the golden bands around her wrists glinted in the sun. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover titled Island Queens Who Could Definitely Kill You.
“So he’s just some random rich guy?” you pressed.
“Not random,” she said. “He has… influence. Money. Connections. He lends boats. Helps sell our products in the cities. People here depend on him sometimes.”
You made a face. “So he thinks that means he can flirt with you like that.”
“He doesn’t think.” Xana scoffed. “He just… acts. And people let him. But it doesn’t matter, okay? He’s not important.”
You didn’t agree. Anyone who made Xana bleed from clenching her fists too hard was important. At least in the “potentially soon-to-be-drowned” category.
You opened your mouth to say as much, but Xana was already giving you a small, practiced smile—the one that meant conversation over.
“It’s fine, mi corazón,” she said, nudging your shoulder with hers. “You let me worry about Rae. You worry about eating enough and not sneaking out to talk to the ocean when you think I’m asleep.”
You froze. “I don’t—”
“Ay, please,” she said, amused. “You think I can’t hear you? You yell at the sea like it owes you money.”
You flushed. “It does owe me money. Or at least a ride home.”
She just laughed, and somehow the tension in the air loosened. You walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence—the kind of silence that felt like a blanket instead of a wall.
Xana’s house appeared at the end of the path, whitewashed wood with a faded blue door, seashells hanging from the doorway like a curtain of tiny moons. You loved this house. It smelled like salt and flowers and fried plantains.
But today, there was something… different.
Voices drifted from inside. One you recognized—Romy’s deep, steady rumble. Another that sounded like an older version of him. And another that drifted warm and melodic through the open window like sunlight turned into a voice.
“Okay,” you said slowly. “Who are the visitors? Please tell me it’s not Rae’s uglier cousin or something.”
Xana snorted. “Trust me, no one is uglier than Rae.” She set her own basket down and brushed your hair back from your face, smoothing a stray curl behind your ear. “You look beautiful. Don’t make that face. You do.”
“I always look beautiful,” you said automatically, because some truths were universal.
“Yes, but today it matters more,” she teased.
Your stomach fluttered. “Why? What did you do?”
“Nothing bad,” she said, raising her hands in surrender. “My parents wanted to meet you. That’s all.”
You blinked. Once. Twice. “Your...parents?”
She nodded, suddenly looking a tiny bit nervous, which was weird. Xana never looked nervous. “They’re merchants. They’re in and out, traveling to different islands. I told them about you and they insisted.” She smiled, soft and proud. “They said it would be a crime if they didn’t see the girl who stole my heart.”
Your throat tightened. You didn’t have parents who traveled to meet you. You had a mortal mother who was... somewhere. And a godly father who had more oceans than children to worry about.
“Are they... nice?” you asked.
Xana’s expression gentled into something almost reverent. “They’re the best people I know.”
You swallowed. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go then before I run away and live in a cave.”
“Please don’t live in a cave,” she said, laughing as she gestured toward the door. “Go on. Open it.”
You hesitated, hand hovering over the handle. For half a heartbeat, the world blurred—you almost saw another door, a different place, a memory of barging into a cabin back at—
Pain stabbed behind your eyes. You sucked in a sharp breath and shoved the vision away.
You opened the door.
Inside, Romy stood with his arms crossed, trying to look serious and failing because someone had just said something that made him blush. He stood next to an older couple sitting at Xana’s little table—the one covered in a floral tablecloth and too many seashells.
Two women.
One looked like Romy if someone had hit copy-paste and then aged the file. She had his curl pattern, his strong jawline, his green eyes, though hers were softer, crinkled at the edges from years of laughing in the sun. A streak of bright silver cut through her dark hair, twisted up in a bun. She wore simple clothes—loose pants, a sleeveless shirt, wrists stacked with woven bracelets.
The other woman…
You stared.
If Demeter had decided to retire to the tropics, you were pretty sure she’d look exactly like this. Warm brown skin, soft eyes the color of rich soil after rain, hair braided and threaded with little flowers and shells like she’d walked through a garden and it refused to let her go. She wore a long green skirt and a cream blouse, both travel-worn but clean, and there was a quiet strength about her that made you think of roots digging deep.
Romy noticed you first. “Ah,” he said, straightening. “There she is.”
Both women turned to look at you.
You froze, suddenly hyper-aware of your dress, your messy curls, the faint scent of salt still clinging to your skin. You felt like you were standing under a spotlight with no script.
Xana stepped in behind you, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
“Here she is,” she said, pride bubbling in her voice. “Our little shipwreck.”
The Romy-lookalike woman smiled so wide you thought her face might split. She stood, moving with a kind of practical grace, and came toward you with arms out like she’d known you your whole life.
“You must be her,” she said. “The girl my children keep talking about. I’m Claudia.”
You hadn’t known Romy could smile softly like that, but here he was, doing it.
Claudia stopped in front of you, not quite touching you yet. She looked you over, not in a judging way—more like she was taking inventory of blessings.
“You’re even more beautiful than they said,” she murmured. “And smaller. And more alive, thank the gods.”
“Hi,” you said, because your brain had apparently decided that was the only word it was capable of.
The other woman approached more slowly, eyes kind but sharp, studying you with a gentleness that felt… old. Like waves that had been rolling in and out for centuries.
“And I,” she said, her voice soft and rich, “am Normani. I’m their mother, too.”
Your brows shot up. “You have two moms?”
Claudia chuckled. “Is that so strange?”
You thought of cabins and gods and rules and ancient myths. Of Zeus hurling lightning bolts at anything that looked even slightly fun.
“Strange?” you said. “No. Cool. Very cool. I approve. Zeus probably doesn’t, but he sucks, so that’s fine.”
Normani laughed, and the sound was like warm bread being pulled from an oven.
Xana covered her face. “Please ignore everything that comes out of her mouth,” she said. “She has no filter.”
“That’s my favorite kind of child,” Claudia said proudly.
You shifted from foot to foot. “So this is like… a formal introduction? A family meeting? Did I miss a memo?”
Romy shrugged. “They’re merchants,” he said. “They travel a lot. When Mamá heard about you, she wanted to meet you. When Mami heard about you, she packed extra food.”
Normani produced a small basket from the table like magic. It smelled like bread and herbs and something sweet.
“We wanted to see the girl who fell from nowhere into our children’s lives,” she said. “And make sure you were being treated well.”
You blinked. “They’re… amazing,” you blurted. “Like, annoyingly nice. It’s suspicious.”
Claudia laughed again. “Good. I’d hate to find out otherwise.”
You looked from them to Xana, to Romy, to the tiny house filled with sunlight and seashells and the smell of food. Something heavy twisted in your chest—something like longing for a life that had never been yours.
You didn’t know who you were supposed to be looking for.
You didn’t know where home was.
But right now, in this moment, you were standing in front of two women who had crossed the sea just to meet you.
And that… that did something to you.
“So,” Claudia said, clapping her hands together. “Will you let us sit and talk with you, little mermaid? Or do we have to wrestle you first?”
You straightened, squaring your shoulders, a tiny smile tugging at your mouth. “I mean, I’m always up for a fight,” you said. “But I guess we can talk first.”
Normani’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I like her,” she murmured.
Xana squeezed your shoulder. “Told you,” she said softly. “They’d want to meet you.”
You pretended your eyes weren’t stinging.
Normani and Claudia swept you into their orbit like two warm planets suddenly deciding you were their new moon. You barely had time to breathe before Claudia cupped your cheeks with both hands.
“Oh stars,” she gasped, turning your face left, then right, then up toward the light like she was inspecting a gemstone. “You are the cutest little thing, aren’t you?”
Normani clasped her hands dramatically. “I knew it. I knew it the moment Xana said ‘she’s small and bright and chaotic.’ I said, ‘that is a cute child.’ And look at you.” She gestured at you like unveiling a masterpiece. “Correct, as always.”
Xana groaned. “Please don’t inflate her ego—she already thinks she’s a goddess.”
“I am the daughter of one,” you offered helpfully.
Claudia laughed so hard she snorted. “Ay, she’s funny too. Xana, where did you find her? I thought you said you didn’t want children until you were old.”
“She’s not my child,” Xana insisted for the twentieth time. “She’s—she’s just staying with me.”
Normani raised an eyebrow. “Mhm. And how many children have you taken in before her?”
“…None,” Xana admitted.
Claudia looped an arm around Normani. “So she is your first child.”
“She’s not—!” Xana sputtered.
But the older women looked at you with that same soft, knowing expression—the one adults give toddlers, kittens, and baby dolphins stuck in a tidepool.
You weren’t sure whether to roll your eyes or melt.
Maybe both.
You wondered—quietly, tucked deep in your chest—is this what having parents feels like?
Not the technical parents you had.
Not Poseidon, who was more myth than dad, more storm than father. Not your mother Lyra, who was...fine. Fine in the way someone is fine when they have already built a new life without you, a mortal husband and a mortal son, with space for you only on holidays or when it was convenient.
You weren’t angry about it.
Mostly.
Sort of.
But this—Normani and Claudia circling you with warm eyes and immediate affection—this was… new. And confusing. And nice.
Very, very nice.
Normani placed a hand on your shoulder. “Do you like coffee, little one?”
You recoiled so fast she barked out a laugh. “No.”
“No?!” Claudia clutched her chest. “But Xana loved coffee when she was your age. Couldn’t survive a morning without it. We had to water it down so she wouldn’t bounce off the walls and threaten the goats.”
Xana covered her face. “Please stop.”
“Romy,” Claudia called over her shoulder, “did you like coffee as a child?”
“No,” Romy said flatly. “I liked milk. And silence.”
“That tracks,” you muttered.
Romy shot you a wounded look. Claudia cackled.
Normani leaned closer to you, conspiratorial. “If not coffee, then what do you like? Tea? Juice? Cocoa?”
You hesitated, then confessed with the solemnity of someone admitting to a crime.
“…I like sweets.”
“Sweets?” Claudia repeated, delighted.
You nodded. “Like… all sweets. Candy. Pastries. Sugary things. Honey. Sugar in powdered form. Frosting is my favorite food. If it comes in pink, even better.”
Normani gasped dramatically. “A girl after my own heart!”
Claudia clapped her hands. “We will make dulce de leche later. And tres leches. And alfajores.”
Romy groaned. “Mamí, don’t encourage her—”
“Silence, Romy,” Claudia said sweetly. “The child needs sugar.”
Xana nudged you gently, her smile soft and proud. “I told you they’d like you.”
You felt your cheeks warm.
Not with embarrassment, but with something softer—something warm as sunlight and deep as the tide.
You wondered again—quietly, secretly, fiercely—if this is what it felt like to have loving parents.
Parents who wanted you.
Parents who looked at you and saw joy, not inconvenience.
Potential, not burden.
Normani brushed a curl from your face. “You’re welcome here,” she said simply, sincerely. “For however long you need.”
Claudia nodded. “And if you ever get tired of my children—which is understandable—you may live with us instead.”
Romy sputtered. “Ma—!”
Claudia cackled at his misery.
You tried not to smile too big, but it was impossible.
You felt... something.
Safe. Wanted. Warm.
Like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t as alone in the world as you thought.
“Where do you live?” you asked Claudia.
Claudia brightened. “Since we’re merchants, we live on the sea!”
Your smile froze.
The sea.
Of all things.
Your birthright.
Your father’s living room.
Your kingdom.
And also the very thing you were—let’s be honest—terrified to touch beyond your ankles.
You could command it.
Control it.
Breathe beneath it, but diving into open water felt like stepping off a cliff blindfolded.
So you made a face—not subtle, not polite, just pure “ew, danger” energy.
Claudia blinked at you, clearly misreading it in the most Claudia way possible.
“Oh! Would you like to come with us?” she asked brightly, as if inviting you to a picnic instead of onto the literal endless ocean.
Your soul left your body.
You stared at her, eyes wide, and shook your head vigorously. “No thank you.”
Normani raised an eyebrow. “So quickly? Why not, little tideflower?”
You kicked at imaginary sand on the floor. “Um. I just… I like being here. With Xana. And Romy.”
Xana, who was refilling cups at the counter, froze just long enough to hide the small, soft smile that bloomed across her face. Romy pretended not to react but very much reacted—his ears went pink.
Claudia and Normani shared a look. One of those warm, knowing, mom-look exchanges that said oh, she’s attached.
Normani leaned closer, her voice a gentle hum. “The sea frightens you, doesn’t it?”
You swallowed—hard.
“I’m not scared,” you said automatically.
Normani gave you a look that very politely called you a liar.
You sighed. “Okay, maybe a little. Or a lot. It’s... big.”
Claudia nodded thoughtfully. “The sea can be both mother and monster. It’s normal to fear it.”
Normal?
That was the first time anyone ever called your fear normal. Most people would expect a child of Poseidon to dive happily into the nearest whirlpool and make friends with sharks.
Normani lifted your chin gently with two fingers. “But you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t wish to. You stay where you feel safe. And if that is here with our children...” she shrugged, smiling, “...then we are glad for it.”
Your chest tightened in a weird, squishy way. Like your heart had melted into a puddle and was trying to reform itself into something new.
Xana walked back over and draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently against her side. “See? I told you, Romy, they’d try to adopt her.”
Claudia gasped. “Oh! Can we?”
“NO,” Romy barked from across the room.
Normani laughed. “We’re joking, cariño. Mostly.”
Claudia clasped her hands again. “But if you ever tire of my children—”
“Ma, for the love of everything,” Romy groaned.
“—you always have a place with us,” she finished smugly.
You couldn’t help it. You laughed. Really laughed.
It bubbled up in your chest like sunlight hitting water—warm and bright and impossibly light.
You felt...wanted.
Here. In this tiny house. With these strange, loving people.
And even if you didn’t know where home truly was...this wasn’t a bad place to be lost in.