Forgiveness | The Deep Oneshot

Forgiveness

"This message is for Nereus. If you are hearing this, dear brother, I know the road here has been hard and long."

Nereus pulled the shell away from his ear. "I miss you," he whispered to it, knowing the most the words could do is change the message in the shell.

"Silly,"  he could imagine her saying back. "I have been with you this whole time."

"For six thousand years?"

"Somebody had to make sure you stayed alive long enough to find Lemuria again. You could have just asked the Tartaruga, you know. He stayed awake."

"Actually, sister, I didn't know," he frowned, "because you erased my memory."

"Still not courtier material, I see."  Nereus' frown turned wistful. The laughter in her voice still sounded the same as before. "You must be careful with words, brother. Even an immortal monster can be brought down with but one word."

Nereus knew that word.

He discovered that word.

He used that word and it killed his sister.

"If you hadn't, the world would not be here today,"  she admonished, but her voice was gentle. Her voice was always gentle. Even when she was about to die, her voice was gentle.

"There were other ways to end the war."

"I said it then, and I'll say it now: never will my people surrender to a tyrant."

Nereus turned the shell over. "You were too proud, sister. Proud and upfront. Even I considered surrendering and then killing that monster. I would too be a better courtier than you."

As soon as he finished speaking, he felt heat flood through him. He should get rid of the shell. All it resulted in was him speaking ill to his unjustly killed sister.

"Death cannot be helped, brother,"  Doreus whispered. "Its crime is one of nature."

Nereus knew why it always turned to arguments. He knew he had to admit it. He had to come to terms with what he did.

"It's my fault Lemuria sank." He could barely choke the words out.

He could imagine her sigh, green eyes glittering the way they always did on someone else's behalf.

"It's my fault there is a Kraken at our doorstep," he continued.

He could almost feel her hands brushing his cheeks. Gently, like rain. Or tears.

"It's my fault that our line was never continued." His voice wobbled and the shell in his hands shook.

Doreus' image swam in front of him.

"It's my fault you died."

"Oh, brother,"  she murmured, tipping his head up again. "Do you really think it was?"

Her grey-green eyes met his fading blue ones. A tear tracked down his face. She looked—no, was—the same. She hadn't aged. She never got to grow up.

"I told the Kraken to sleep. I told the Ray to sleep. I killed Lemuria with the Atlantean Sceptre."

"You couldn't have seen what would happen."

"I made the entire nation fall asleep. The Terror sank your city as its last act and they all died. The Ray didn't free me like it was supposed to, it became an everlasting storm. I woke it and we almost freed the Kraken again. I—"

"Hush."  Doreus wiped a few tears away. "You did what you could. And now, Aunt Tethys' descendants have unlocked the secrets of our time. Soon, Lemuria will be great again."

Nereus tried to muster a smile. It almost worked. "Soon? The city is still inaccessible and covered in Fever Dream algae. And," he worried, "I think there are Atlanteans left. Fontaine is falling for one of them. Suppose they discover their heritage and the cause of their ancestors' deaths?"

"Well, the Atlanteans' reactions can't be worse than the Nektons'."

"You said Lemuria would be great soon."

Doreus smiled. That secretive, playful smile that could start and end wars. It was still the same. "I may not exist in time, but that doesn't mean I can see the future. However, I can see it when it becomes the present."

She held a hand out, face serious. "Come watch it with me, Nereus."

His eyes widened. "You..."

"Yes."  Doreus looked into his eyes, and for the first time, he could see the pain, the weight of heavy decisions in them."I said your name. Now you can say mine and join me."

She reached out with a perfect, delicate hand. "It was never your fault, Nereus."

Nereus looked back, blue eyes clear and free of pain. "Okay, Doreus."

Years flashed by in the closing space between their fingers. Decades, centuries, millennia fell away as Nereus reached for his sister's hand. Time rewound and stretched and thinned until it no longer existed.

Then his young hands

finally touched hers

and they were

together

again.

‹oOo›

Shells just sound like the ocean.

They don't laugh and cry and have arguments and make up.

They don't record words of love and joy and sadness and pain.

Unless they are special shells, shells that can keep secrets for aeons until the time is right to tell them again.

What Nereus hadn't realised was that he'd changed the message every time he spoke to his sister's soul.

And that she had spoken back to him, had told him the truth, had forgiven him over and over again.

But forgiveness isn't about other people. It's about coming to terms with yourself.

And Nereus did.