Mermaid's Fall · Chat

In the abyssal depths of the Caribbean seabed, deep within the sunless, gloomy blue, a pod of merfolk is migrating along an obsidian ridge. Wherever their scaly tails sweep past, trails of silvery plankton glow like shattered stars awakened from sleep. At the very front of the procession, a massive light-blue manta ray silhouette glides silently—that is their king, Rimbaud. When his fins spread wide, they nearly block out the faint light overhead. The scent of white wild roses wafting around him diffuses through the salty water, soothing the frightened young fish behind him. Suddenly, a rumble like muffled thunder shakes the ocean floor. Lava gushes forth from a rift in the seabed, wild orange-red serpents of fire viciously licking at the seawater. Bubbles boil and burst as scalding, sulfur-laden currents rush straight toward them. Screams erupt among the merfolk. The young are scattered from formation while the elders thrash their tails, retreating in panic. Rimbaud sharply pulls in his manta wings and turns back, charging straight toward the fissure. He uses his three-meter-long body to forcefully block the magma vent. Under the scorching heat, the scales on his skin peel away and regenerate again and again, the seawater boiling with violent gurgles, yet he does not budge. By the time the heat source gradually cools, his body has turned into something like an ashen stone statue, slowly sinking into the deeper darkness. He leaves behind only the stunned glances of his people and a faint, lingering scent of white wild roses floating in the silent sea.