Atlan

Chapter 3

″He breathes, Your Highness.″

Aslan inhaled an airless, sharp breath as he shot upright, feeling as if a cruise ship had been dropped on his chest. His corneas met cobalt as his eyelids fluttered open, ears ringing like a bell tower at midnight. He felt certain he faced his reflection, but then the man in the mirror spoke.

″I have waited long for this moment, son,″ he said, his cavernous voice travelling as if through sonar. ″You have returned home at last.″

Aslan blinked. I must be dead, he thought. Jannah looked a lot bluer than Aslan had imagined. Except this wasn′t Paradise and he wasn′t dead. ″I can′t breathe,″ he choked out, but it appeared he didn′t need to. It was as if his lungs had forgotten to inhale and the rest of him had just been like, Yeah, whatever.

Aslan was underwater. He glimpsed not a single shred of light nor the slightest hint of the surface above. Yet, somehow he could see in the eternal darkness. He saw stone columns rise high into the depths of the ocean, coral and shell forming unbelievable structures all around him. Although light had never touched these regions of the ocean, jewels and pearls shimmered in the void like stars in the night. It′s a palace, he realised, as the opulence and grandeur of it all sunk in.

″You′re the King,″ Aslan ventured, inhaling another pointless, sharp breath. ″Is this ... am I dead?″

The King laughed – an echoing, thunderous guffaw that shocked a passing shoal of fish. ″You′re alive at long last, son,″ he replied.

″It′s Aslan.″ As he uttered it, he realised the King had not called him ″son″ in a chiding manner. He spoke it like one might the name of a loved one; thought to be lost, but later found.

″No, it isn′t. You are Atlan, Prince of the Sea,″ the King declared, brandishing his trident, ″and the rightful heir to the throne of Atlantis.″

Aslan hiccupped. ″You′ve got me mixed up with Ariel, man,″ he chuckled, unable to unsee the striking resemblance between the man floating before him and the image of King Triton from The Little Mermaid. Alas, their faces looked nothing alike. In fact, Aslan could have sworn ...

″Humans cannot survive in Atlantis,″ the King said, ″let alone transform into one of us.″

He dipped his trident in a pointing gesture, and as Aslan tracked its spearhead, he beheld a sight that expelled the seafoam in his lungs as he screamed. He mistook his feet for diving fins, but the unmistakable trail of veins tinted blue revealed that his legs no longer ended in toes. ″H–How did this happen?″ he stammered, but a third voice cut across him.

″King Atlas, the surface dwellers′ search for our Prince has ceased,″ she spoke, her voice echoing like the whispers Aslan had heard before his consciousness faded. ″Authorities have pronounced him dead – the coast guard released a statement that he drowned at sea in the aftermath of a freak accident.″

″It wasn′t an accident.″ Aslan felt a pang of grief. ″Krish wouldn′t have let them believe that.″

Aslan faced the siren. He recognised the creature from the Odyssey, certain that she did not belong to the same species as her king. ″You sang to me,″ he said, fists clenched. ″Your kind uses alluring melodies to entrance sailors. You made me give in.″

″Your kind?″ echoed the King. ″You mean our kind, son.″

″Don′t call me that. You′re not ...″ My father, he thought, but Aslan couldn′t bring himself to finish the sentence. His father had died of cancer and his mother during childbirth. Aslan was raised as one of Uncle Amir′s own. He was even taught to refer to Amira as his sister instead of his cousin.

″I am,″ King Atlas said, unable to veil the pain in his voice. ″I apologise for not being there, son. Your mother and I had no choice.″

Aslan shook his head. ″I don′t understand.″

The King sighed, gesturing for Aslan to follow as he turned his back and stretched his frame like a freefalling diver. Although Aslan struggled, he managed to kick off the submerged precipice he had awoken upon and swim alongside the merman. ″Come,″ is all the King said, the siren trailing behind them like an escort.

It surprised Aslan that he was able to keep up. After all, he had gone from not being able to swim to propelling himself forward faster than an Olympic gold medalist. ″You said there was no choice,″ Aslan pressed, in need of answers. ″In what?″

The King faced him, navigating the sunken palace and coral reef as if he knew the ocean′s floorplan like the back of his hand. ″You were born human, Atlan – the first child of a merman and siren.″

Aslan faltered. ″You mean ...″

″Your mother, Queen Atlana, was a siren,″ he said, reminiscent despite his saddened tone. ″Our marriage was frowned upon – forbidden, in fact. Our ancestors had been at war for aeons. It was not until the announcement of our child that the opposing forces began to make amends. You were born gasping for air. At the time, we believed our incompatible bloodlines led to the birth of a human. You were thought to be neither a merman nor a siren, though now it seems that something changed.″

At this, a small smile tugged at his grim features. Aslan fell silent as the King trailed on. ″Your mother passed not long after giving birth, but not before she entranced a sailor to look after her son and care for the child like he would one of his own.″

A lump had formed in Aslan′s throat, as though a lone air bubble were trapped between his Adam′s apple and sternum. ″So,″ he choked out, ″I′m adopted. You gave me up.″

″Your mother wouldn′t have left her son with just anyone. Your adoptive parents are loving and kind, indeed?″

Aslan thought of Uncle Amir, going out to fish before sunrise and coming home past sunset. He thought of Aunt Sadia, the most formidable and caring human being he knew. And Amira, of course – the light of Aslan′s life; even the harshest of tsunamis couldn′t keep him from seeing her again. Before Aslan could speak, the siren called out to her king.

″Your Highness, there was one more whisper I heard from the surface,″ she said. ″It concerns the bearer of this.″

Aslan felt his blood freeze as the siren unclenched her fist, revealing a rope necklace in the scaled palm of her hand. It can′t be, Aslan thought. Krish had seen him go overboard along with the others, unless ...

″A human dove into the ocean after our Prince,″ she explained, and though there was no air left in Aslan to be knocked from his lungs, his heart pounded against his ribcage as he broke into an invisible, cold sweat, ″in an attempt to save him.″

Aslan′s feet locked, hammering heart threatening to burst forth from his chest. King Atlas and his escort halted, looking back to face Aslan as the little colour left in his face drained into the Pacific. ″Is he alright?″ he asked, his voice a mere whisper of hope.

″I′m afraid not, sire,″ the siren confessed. ″He lost consciousness after almost a half hour of searching. He′s in critical condition at the Saint Francis Memorial Hospital.″

″He′s alive,″ Aslan muttered – that′s all that mattered. He looked up at the King, and his following words sounded more like a command than a request for permission. ″I need to see him. I have to make sure he′s alright.″

King Atlas shook his head. ″You can′t return to the surface, Atlan.″

″You said I was born gasping for air,″ Aslan countered, undeterred. ″Yet here I am. I don′t care if it kills me. I need to go be with Krish.″

His father′s expression morphed from fear into despair, but when he spoke, the King of Atlantis forced a smile. ″You don′t need permission to leave, Atlan,″ he said, ″nor permission to return. I understand that a life left behind cannot be forgotten overnight, and that love left unfought for leaves a permanent scar. Go. You were born to fight for love. Your mother would be proud.″

Aslan smiled. ″I′ll return,″ he promised. ″You won′t have to lose me again.″

And I don′t have to lose Krish, he thought to himself, kicking upwards toward the surface. He had to believe it because for better or worse, Aslan Al-Amari had taken Krish′s hand – and he was determined to never let go.