120 - Walls and Monsters

  Krahs paced back and forth in one of the rooms of the new school. Since many rooms remained empty, he had decided to use one for meetings — or simply to cool his head alone for a while.

  The news he had just received was troubling. The traitor had precisely revealed the location of an approaching army. Krahs knew they had their village's location — after all, the white mermaid had been here a few times.

  But the biggest problem was the suffering so close to home. Even though the king didn’t want to harm Nexha yet, Krahs knew that wouldn’t last. What haunted him most was that this army didn’t kill their victims — they tortured them. That was worse than death.

  And if his children found out, they wouldn’t hesitate to fight to save those beings. A simple trap that could steal from the king exactly what he desired most: the recently acquired safety behind the walls.

  He growled low, teeth clenched in frustration. His fists closed so tightly that his claws dug into his palms. They had made tremendous progress since Nexha began the reforms, and now, a single mistake could cost everything he cherished — this new life.

  —Betrayal wasn’t enough — Krahs muttered in a deep voice — he might throw the village into chaos.

  The anger growing in his chest came from worry — from guilt. He should have eliminated this problem long ago, since Nexha's first dream of the king.

  For a brief moment, he let himself fall to the ground, body heavy as stone. His shoulders dropped, and the jaw that had been clenched with rage now trembled slightly.

  The distant sound of children playing outside made his chest ache — those in his memories were not Lilay or Nexha.

  His eyes, once those of a confident leader, now wandered as if searching for shelter amidst fear.

  He thought of Lilay, of Jasper, and of Nexha... so young and still defenseless.

  What if he failed them? He didn’t want to make the same mistake again. The price he once paid for failure had been the blood of children.

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  For a moment, he allowed himself to feel fear — the kind he never let slip, not even in battle. A small tear, like a pearl, slid down his cheek.

  He was so weak before an unknown enemy that he allowed himself, unintentionally, to feel fear. He took the small pearl-like tear in his hand, crushed it, and let the water carry away the fragments.

  He looked at the Kingslayer in his hands. The weapon, forged in rage and hatred, seemed to awaken, sensing his emotions, whispering to him to go to battle.

  Krahs looked away, briefly lost in thought as he gazed at the newly built village outside the room. He really needed to decide. Quickly.

  —We can’t just hide with no strength… I need to ask Nexha. But you, trident… it looks like you’ll get a brother in this fight.

  He turned his gaze back to the trident in his hands. Its heat felt displeased, but still, he held it calmly.

  —If things keep going like this, we’ll be at war soon.

  He left the room, heading to the surface for a conversation. It was easy to find Nexha — he was teaching cooking class like he had been in recent days, when Krahs unexpectedly interrupted.

  —Nexha, come here. I need to talk to you.

  —Hm, okay...

  Nexha followed Krahs, who led him to the wall. The vastness of the clear sky could be seen above it. It was a calm, beautiful morning at sea when Krahs hesitated for a moment, looking at Nexha and sighing.

  —Nexha, there's something I need to ask of you.

  Nexha knew he was the only one in the world capable of doing certain things, but he was confused and curious — it was the first time Krahs had asked for something with such seriousness. He could see Krahs’s hands tightening around the Kingslayer as he lowered the weapon closer to Nexha. He hesitated slightly, then spoke.

  —Nexha, we need more... weapons.

  —Alright, Dad. I can make them.

  Krahs let out a deeper sigh. He looked Nexha in the eyes, seeming sad. He placed the trident atop the wall, then picked up Nexha and lifted him so they could both sit on the edge.

  Then he held Nexha’s hands, seeing the calluses earned through his son's effort. A small corner smile appeared on Krahs's face. Every one of those marks told a story.

  The old shark pulled a small jar of ointment from a woven bamboo pouch tied to an algae belt — one of the new items becoming more common in village trades.

  —My son, you work harder than anyone for this place. I know you know what I’ve done... forgive me. But sometimes a leader has to do things they don’t want to.

  The guilty look on Krahs’s face as he applied ointment to Nexha’s callused hands showed the same gentleness as always. Nexha felt his father hadn’t changed in the tenderness he used with him.

  —I’m sorry for asking even more of you, my little one.

  Nexha couldn’t resist — he hugged Krahs even with ointment-slicked hands. He slipped a bit, then tried again, squeezing tightly, but slipped again.

  Krahs couldn’t hold back — he laughed and hugged his son tightly, feeling lighter.

  —You’re the best thing that’s happened in my life in a long time, Nexha — or better, in all our lives here.