A shadow, vast and immense, falls over the merman village. The cheerful bustle of the coral avenues freezes. From homes of sculpted stone and woven kelp, mermen, mermaids, and other aquatic beings drift out, their faces tilting upward in a unison of dread. Small fish dart for the safety of narrow crevices. Anemones retract their colorful tentacles into tight, defensive fists. An octopus flushes a panicked pattern of camouflage and vanishes against the rock.
The larger predators like the sharks, the orcas, the great billowing mantas do not flee; instead, they freeze like sculptures. They tremble, a primal vibration of fear passing through the water.
Some brave village guards surge forward, armed with harpoons, coral-tipped spears, and simple farming tools. Their hands shake, their knuckles white on their makeshift weapons as the shadow of the Leviathan blots out the faint sun from the surface.
Then, one of the guards shouts, his voice cracking with a mixture of terror and awe. "Look! On its head! It's Prince Poseidon!"
All eyes, from the smallest shrimp to the eldest village elder, follow his pointing finger. There, astride the crown of the primordial beast, sits Poseidon. His face is a mask of calm authority, his back straight, his gaze fixed ahead. He offers a single, slow wave to the crowd below.
The silence shatters.
"YAAAAHH!!"
"GLORY TO THE PRINCE!!"
"ALL HAIL THE PRINCE!!"
The cheers are a physical wave of relief and adoration. The fear melts into ecstatic celebration. A slight, almost imperceptible smile touches Poseidon's lips. He leans forward, placing a hand on the Leviathan's scale. The great beast surges forward, its powerful body cutting through the water as it speeds toward the royal palace.
At the palace gates, the reaction is one of trained militarism. "EVERYONE, HOLD YOUR POSITIONS!" the Captain of the Guard bellows.
Archers notch massive harpoons into their launchers, targeting solutions locking onto the charging leviathan.
"FIRE!"
A rain of polished harpoons shoots upward, a cloud of glinting metal aimed at the Leviathan's back.
"STOP!"
Poseidon's voice is woven from the very authority of the ocean. The water itself solidifies. Every harpoon freezes in mid-flight, halted as if embedded in crystal. Pressure washes over the guards, and without a conscious thought, every one of them kneels, their heads bowed.
Poseidon dismounts from the Leviathan and strides toward the castle entrance. His face is still expressionless, his chin slightly lifted, his eyes narrowed with the confidence of one who looks upon his domain. The guards, now understanding, straighten their backs into formal bows as the grand doors to the throne hall are pulled open for him.
Creak.
The throne hall is revealed in all its majestic grandeur. On the towering throne of pearl and abalone sits Oceanus, the current Sea King. Beside him, on a lesser but equally ornate seat, sits Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea. Nereus strokes his long beard, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "The boy has become a man," he murmurs, too low for most to hear.
Poseidon walks to the center of the hall and offers a respectful light bow to the two elders.
"Well done, Poseidon," Oceanus's voice rings, clear and powerful. "You have not only subdued the Leviathan and the ancient terror it represented, but you have attained the throne of a God-King. You should be proud of this grand feat."
"Thank you, Master," Poseidon replies, bowing again.
Oceanus rises, his presence filling the hall. "Then let it be known! Today, I announce—"
"Wait, Master!" Poseidon's voice cuts through the proclamation, sharper than intended. He takes a breath, unclenching a fist he hadn't realized he'd made. "Until I defeat my father," he says, his voice low but carrying to every corner, "I will not take a throne. How can I rule the seas when the Titan who devoured me still draws breath? My journey is not yet complete. And... there is still much I must learn from you."
Oceanus studies him for a long moment, then gives a slow, approving nod. "As you wish. This throne is reserved for you. You will take it when you are ready."
Nereus then stands. "Poseidon," he begins, his voice warm. "You have proven you are worthy of this throne... and," he pauses for effect, "you are worthy of my daughter."
A hope Poseidon has carried for centuries flares in his chest, so bright he fears it is visible. 'Finally.'
Nereus's smile turns into a wide, teasing grin. "But, even after all this, you still may not take her as your queen."
Poseidon's face freezes. His eyes widen, his mouth falling slightly agape. After a moment of stunned silence, he finds his voice. "WHAT? YOU BLOODY OLD MAN—"
"You have to win Amphitrite's heart," Nereus interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Without her own consent, freely given, I will not grant her hand to anyone."
The fight drains out of Poseidon. He understands. He nods, bows once more, and leaves the throne hall, a new, more terrifying challenge now before him.
---
Poseidon stands before Amphitrite's door, a bouquet of glowing sea blossoms in his hand. He adjusts his chiton, clears his throat, and runs a hand through his hair.
Knock. Knock.
"Come in." The voice from within is sweet and melodious, sending a shiver down his spine. His heart skips just by listening to it.
He enters. Amphitrite sits with her back to him, focused on a canvas, the elegant line of her smooth white neck holding his gaze. A heat creeps up his own neck. He grips the bouquet stems so tightly he fears they will snap. 'Hold! Take a deep breath, Poseidon. You have endured Leviathan's energy blast. You can endure this.'
"Lady Amphitrite," he begins, his voice thankfully steady.
She turns. The sight of her face. The intelligent, curious eyes that now widen in surprise make his rehearsed speech vanish. The paintbrush clatters from her hand.
"I... brought you these," he says, thrusting the bouquet forward. 'Idiot. You sound like a merchant delivering goods.' He clears his throat, standing straighter. "I have subdued the Leviathan. I am a God-King." 'Why did I lead with my resume?'
Amphitrite accepts the flowers, a blank mask falling over her features. "Congratulations." Her tone is polite, distant.
He nods, a cold knot forming in his stomach. As he turns to leave, he curses himself. 'The main thing! You forgot the main thing!' He spins back.
"Was there something else?" she asks, one perfect brow arched.
"Yes." Poseidon meets her gaze, the same focus he uses in battle now directed at her. "I wish for you to be my wife."
The bouquet falls to the floor. A whirlwind of emotions—shock, confusion, perhaps a flicker of something else—crosses her face before she flushes a deep crimson and flees from the room.
Poseidon stands stunned for a second before rushing into the corridor after her. "Amphitrite, wait!"
"Stop."
Poseidon halts. Leaning against the wall is Nereus, his shoulders shaking with silent amusement. Tears of laughter gleam at the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, very smooth," Nereus manages, his voice choked with glee. He mimics Poseidon's stammer, " 'I-I have become… god-king!' Hahahah!! A masterful line. Truly, the ballads will sing of it for ages. Hahahahaha!!" He slams a hand on his thigh, laughing openly now.
Poseidon grumbles, "Old man..."
"If you keep presenting yourself like a conquering general reading a tactical report, you will never win my girl's heart," Nereus says, his laughter subsiding into a warm chuckle.
Poseidon's shoulders slump. "Then what should I do?"
Nereus looks away, feigning indifference. "Ah, how could this OLD MAN know about such things?"
Poseidon grits his teeth. 'He's still holding a grudge.' He takes a breath and bows deeply. "Please, great and wise Sage of the Sea. Please, show me the path."
Nereus sighs, the last of his amusement fading into a sage's warmth. He places his hands on Poseidon's shoulders and stands him straight. "To win a woman's heart, boy, you don't have to show her your trophies. You show her your attention. Make her feel seen, not conquered. Speak to her interests, not your achievements. And for the seas' sake, be a little subtle!" He produces a small, leather-bound book from his robes. "She adores this mortal tale. Perhaps you can learn something from a prince who actually knows how to court his lady."
Poseidon takes the book. The title is embossed on the cover: The Brave Prince and the Mermaid.
He bows again, clutching the book like a lifeline. "Thank you, Sage. I will not forget this favor." And with a new, determined light in his eyes, he sets off, ready to fight a battle for which no amount of godly power can prepare him.
Behind him, Nereus chuckles.
"Bold in war, but helpless in love."
---
Poseidon, conqueror of the Leviathan, sits scowling at a book titled The Brave Prince and the Mermaid. He jabs a finger at a page. "He brings her a single, perfect flower? One? I could bring her the entire Garden of the corals!" he grumbles to a patient starfish. "And a lute? The sound would be utterly waterlogged!"
His first campaign is a garden. For a week, the God-King who commands tidal waves is locked in a silent war with horticulture. He wrestles with a strand of glowing spiral coral that refuses to stay coiled. "Stay put, you blasted weed!" he whispers fiercely, holding it in place.
When a clownfish darts out and nibbles his finger, he fixes it with a glare that has made armies tremble. The fish, sensing the divine aura of frustration, flees in a panicked silver streak.
"There," he mutters, finally satisfied. He leans back to admire his work, only to accidentally elbow a carefully stacked tower of luminous pebbles, sending them clattering in every direction. "Ah! Not again!"
When Amphitrite first drifts into the transformed courtyard, her gasp is all the victory he needs. She swims through the softly pulsing lights, a true, unguarded smile on her face. Poseidon, hidden behind a rock, pumps a fist in triumph, accidentally creating a small current that knocks over a carefully stacked tower of luminous pebbles.
---
"Next objective: conversation."
He begins to orchestrate "accidental" encounters. The first is a tactical disaster. Eager to appear casual, he swims around a corner with far too much force, creating a vortex that sends Amphitrite's scroll of sketches fluttering in every direction.
"Oh! No!" she yelps, chasing a drawing of a sea turtle.
"My...apologies," he booms, his voice echoing through the hallway. "I was... passing. With great... momentum." He helps her gather the scrolls, his face a mask of embarrassment.
He remain their. He learns to ask about her art. Listening to her describe the "melancholy grace" of a sunken galleon, he nods with intense concentration.
"A fine vessel," he says, trying to match her tone. "Very... sinkable. A testament to my— I mean, to the ocean's... power." He winces. Amphitrite simply looks at him, a faint, curious smile playing on her lips. "Indeed," she says, her eyes twinkling.
He tries to compliment her. "Your hair today... it has the fury of a typhoon."
She raises an eyebrow. "And that is... desirable?"
"Immensely!" he states, then realizes how that sounds. "I mean... it is... powerful. Like you."
Amphitrite leaves that place with a sour face.
From that day, Poseidon decides to stick to safer topics, like the weather, which he directly controls, making it a confusing subject for everyone.
---
The true test of his newfound patience comes when he learns of Amphitrite's fondness for the "Starlight Jellies," delicate, pulsating creatures that gather in the silent canyons to perform their slow, mesmerizing dances. Their display is a secret wonder, easily disrupted.
Poseidon, ever the grand strategist, decides to enhance the experience.
"The currents in that canyon are so... passive," he declares to his bewildered lieutenant. "The dance lacks narrative thrust! We shall give it a proper venue."
His plan is not to watch, but to organise. He spends a day gently shepherding thousands of additional jellies from neighboring regions, creating a denser, more spectacular gathering. Then, believing the natural water flow to be uninspiring, he uses his power to craft a complex, swirling current that will, in his mind, 'elevate the performance into a true aquatic ballet.'
He then, with uncharacteristic shyness, guides Amphitrite to the canyon. "I thought you might appreciate a... refined viewing," he says, gesturing grandly.
The scene that greets them is chaos.
The "refined" current is far too strong. The Starlight Jellies, instead of dancing gracefully, are being whipped into a frantic, dizzying vortex. They collide with each other, their gentle pulses flashing in panicked distress. A few have been spun so vigorously they shoot out of the whirlpool like confused, glowing cannonballs. One smacks squarely into the guard captain's helmet, leaving a sizzling mark.
It is less a ballet and more of a riot.
Amphitrite's eyes widen. Poseidon stands frozen, the triumphant smile melting from his face as he realizes his improvements have created a jellyfish nightmare.
"By the tides..." he mutters, and with a frantic wave of his hand, dispels the current. The jellies, disoriented and offended, slowly drift apart, their lights flickering with what seems like profound irritation.
He braces for her disappointment, for her to see him as the same brute who solves everything with overwhelming force.
Instead, a sound escapes her—a small, choked giggle that blossoms into full, melodic laughter. She points at a cluster of jellies that are still spinning in place, stuck in a dazed loop.
"Oh, Poseidon," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "You tried to give them a symphony and conducted a stampede."
Relief floods through him, warm and bright. "The composition was... more aggressive than intended," he admits, a genuine, sheepish grin spreading across his face for the first time.
She shakes her head, her laughter subsiding into a warm, affectionate smile. "It's the thought that counts. A rather loud, whirlpool-shaped thought, but a thought nonetheless."
He returns to the palace, his spirit lighter. The Jellyfish Fiasco, as it becomes known in his mind, is not a failure. It is the moment he learns that his attempts don't have to be perfect to be appreciated. Sometimes, the effort itself, in all its clumsy glory, is the real gift.
---
When Poseidon discovers her empty chambers, a cold dread seizes him. The old impulse to command the seas to find her rises up, a familiar and brutal heat. But he remembers her words, not of laughter, but of truth: "Strength without compassion is just tyranny."
He seeks Nereus. "She is gone."
The old sage nods."She did not flee you, boy. She fled the crown. You cannot hunt a shadow. You must light a lamp for it to return to."
And so,he sends Delphinus, the dolphin, not to demand, but to listen. When Delphinus returns, he speaks not of anger, but of her fear of losing her voice.
This is the final, crucial battle, and for this, there is no room for clumsiness or humor. Poseidon travels to her sanctuary alone, his divine presence subdued to a quiet hum. He finds her among the ancient monoliths, her form looking both defiant and fragile.
All his practiced speeches, his attempts at princely charm, fall away. What remains is the raw, unvarnished truth.
"Amphitrite," he begins, his voice quiet but clear in the still water. "I have spent eons learning to be a force of nature. I commanded respect through fear. I saw the sea as something to be mastered." He pauses, his gaze unwavering. "You were the first to show me it was something to be loved. You see its beauty where I only saw its strength. I do not want a queen to decorate my throne. I need a partner to share it. Your voice would not be silenced beside mine; it would give mine meaning."
He opens his hand. In his palm lies a single, luminous pearl, its light soft and steady.
"This is my vow," he says, every word a bedrock promise. "If you take it, you return as my equal, my wife, and my co-ruler in every sense. Your counsel will be my law as much as my own. If you refuse it, I will leave this place and never trouble you again. The throne can wait for an eternity. My heart will not."
The choice hangs in the water, absolute and sincere. There is no clumsiness here, no awkwardness, only the profound gravity of a god offering his entire world to the one who taught him how to see it.
Amphitrite looks from the pearl to his eyes, seeing the conqueror gone, replaced by a king. She sees the truth of his offer not of power, but of partnership.
Slowly, with a grace that stills the very water around them, she reaches out. Her fingers close around the pearl, and its warm light seems to flow into her.
"I will rule with you," she says, her voice firm and clear.