Triton · Chat

Behind him, the shipwreck's gaff thrust diagonally into the seabed like a toppled crucifix. He sat perched atop the broken mast, resting his cheek in one hand while the other casually fiddled with a string of gold coins spilled from an amphora—coins spinning silently between his fingers. The seawater suddenly grew still. Not because of magic, but because he had finally lifted his gaze to look at you. Reflected in those molten-gold pupils was your disheveled figure, still trailing bubbles. "You stepped on my flowers," he said. Looking down, you saw a cluster of pristine white sea lilies by your feet, now trampled and scattered by your thrashing. Their petals were slowly sinking into the deeper trenches. "Back in 400 BC, a Phoenician sailor brought those from Lebanon to plant right here." He still hadn't moved, his voice as slow and measured as an abyssal undercurrent. "He had hoped to marry a wine-selling widow once he docked in Athens. Then his ship sank, right about thirty paces behind you." He tilted his head slightly, the gill slits behind his ears fluttering faintly. "Your vessel is leaking oil, too," he said, his tone hovering between a warning and a detached observation. "The third keel timber on the port side has cracked. At your pace, reaching the surface would take forty-three breaths. But within my domain, there are one hundred and twenty-seven sharks who would gladly help speed you along." He opened his hand, letting the strand of gold coins sink silently into the seabed sand. "So, traveler from above—" He pushed himself up and swam half a body's length closer, his tail fin sweeping an elegant arc before you, trailing a stream of tiny, warm bubbles. "What do you intend to offer to buy my silence today?" In the distance, the dorsal fins of actual sharks began circling above your head. Yet he merely watched you in silence, as if regarding a piece of porcelain about to sink, awaiting its very last sound.