nightsinger

09 - pearl

ACROSS NORTH AMERICA, the Atlantic pod thrives off of chaos alone. Their stand-in leader, Lyan, watches with hesitation as his second in command surveys the others during their feed. Velara's blue hair is cropped short, stopping at her chin in such a way that makes him believe that she sliced it on the rocks. Below them, their pod fights for flesh with vigor, with ruckus. Lyan's had enough. There is only so much he can endure.

"Velara," he says to his second—to his dead mate's sister. "Enough with the violence. The Pacific pod is too well equipped for us to still seek vengeance successfully. Our troops are low in number, and the younglings are vulnerable." He waves a hand, summoning as much bravado as he can and hoping she won't see through it. "We are asking for a war in which we will lose. There is no outcome that could possibly be beneficial."

Velara scoffs, displeased. Her beauty is the only thing about her that's shy: it hides in the corners of her mouth and the slope of her nose, in the golden glint of her tale and the scars peppering up her spine. "Coward," she spits, sneering. He used to flinch, but now he stays unmoved, expression like stone. "Kairi did not die for nothing. You and I are the only family she has left to bring honor back to her name, Lyan. I've been planning this for months! You might have been a rogue and wormed your way into this pod, but keep in mind that these are our customs."

He keeps quiet. Lyan doesn't mention that he loved the soft version of Kairi, who used to bring him back shells from her explorations and who snuck him out of the dens for a quick midnight swim. They were young then, so unripe and stainless. When Kairi's father died from being too close when a human boat exploded, Lyan watched as his mate grew into someone he hadn't recognized. Perhaps this was love, though. He witnessed her abandon unfit younglings to other pods, had seen her steal from the Atlantic pod because her father had been obsessed with tearing them down. Lyan still loved her through it all. Perhaps he was the biggest fool, really.

"Or did you forget?" Velara asks suddenly, bringing him back to reality. His head snaps up and he stares, wide-eyed, as she trembles. "Did you forget what her body looked like when they dumped her back here like chum? Did you not see what I saw? They murdered her, Lyan. They sawed her body in half and cut off her fins."

He tenses his fists at the side. "Of course I saw!" he says, angry now. "I'm her mate—I felt her die. A part of me is dead, too. I won't ever get that back, not even if I spend the rest of my life searching for it." His hands tremble.

"Then why are you fighting?" she snarls. "You saw what that nightsinger did to one of our own. How can that go unpunished?"

"The sea is angry with us, Velara," Lyan says slowly, wearily. "I haven't heard the sea goddess's voice ever since Kairi perished. Our waters are always cold, and food here is scarce. We're being punished." He exhales sharply and sees the bubbles float away. "Can you not tell even that much? How clear must it be to get through your head?"

"The sea has always had her favorites," Velara mutters. Anger permeates off of her like a glow. "She has those she cherishes, and those she detests."

Lyan feels like his head is about to explode. He's so tired of the violence, of the treaties he has to abide by. His position as nightsinger is by default—he's just a placeholder, a scapegoat. He knows that there's no good ending to his leadership. Before he met Kairi on a swim, he was a rogue. He fed on the underbellies of fish and slept in the seaweed when the winters reached the waves. He guarded sea turtles from bigger creatures that lurked in hunger. That life is so far gone that it's almost laughable now, a figment of his imagination. Lyan has grown used to the sadness that coats his fingertips, the blueness of his blood full of empty life that he perhaps doesn't quite want anymore. He's not sure when the taste of living turned so bitter.