The weeks went by in a blur of daily routine, Dylan came back to VIRA Complex with every scavenging mission with an impressive catch of fish—various types, always in quantity. The group's interest remained, whispers were shared as they wondered at his newfound "fishing skills," but nobody dared ask him directly. Not even David, who occasionally gave him a keen, suspicious glance, would dare ask. They didn't care to know how he did it, just that they were well-fed.
In the meantime, Dylan's connection with Yve strengthened with each visit to the dock. Their discussions came easily now, a far cry from the tension and apprehension of their initial meeting. Yve told him stories of her life—the lovely, peaceful existence under the sea—and Dylan was drawn into it, though he could hardly conceive it. As a thank you, he described the group, the fights they had to survive, and the little, momentary moments of humanity to which they held on. Words came more readily to him around her, although he still fumbled and growled when attempting to find the right thing to say.
It was during one of the still days of May that Dylan knelt at the dock, teaching her the skill of skipping rocks. He was holding a flat, smooth stone in his hand, his concentration keen as he tilted it precisely. With a jerk of his wrist, the rock skimmed across the surface of the water, rebounding three times before submerging. "Like that," he grunted, offering her a stone. "Flick it, not too hard, not too soft neither."
Yve tried with determination, though her first few attempts ended with the stone plopping unceremoniously into the water. Dylan smirked, leaning back on his hands as he watched her. "You'll get it," he said, his tone uncharacteristically light.
Dylan knelt beside the fire pit, wrists glistening with seawater and tuna blood as he pulled the knife along the spine in a single smooth drag. Yve sat a few feet away, lashing her tail languidly in the shallows, sending rings of water dancing out to sea.
He looked up lazily—and stopped. "I've been meanin' to ask," Dylan said, jerking his head toward her wrist as he cleaned the fish, "what's that tattoo mean? The one close to your pulse."
Yve blinked, her tail slowing down. "What's a tattoo?"
He stared up at her, knife still clutched, eyebrow raised. "It's like… I dunno, ink. On your skin. People have symbols and names carved in with needles.
She examined him for a moment, then after his pointed finger to her wrist. Recognition dawned on her face. "Oh. I don't know what a tattoo is—but this isn't one. This is a birthmark."
Dylan dried his palms with a rag, brow creased. "A mark? What sort of mark?"
Yve smiled weakly, eyes drifting back to the water. "The sort you're born with when the stars decide you're only half a soul."
Dylan arched an eyebrow, wiping his palms against the rag once more, glancing between the fish and the dark blue stain on her wrist. "I don't understand," he grumbled.
Yve leaned back on her palms, letting the sea cradle the underside of her tail. "It means I'm a soul twin," she said, her voice low but steady. "There's someone out there—someone born the same day, same month, same year. Same moment, even. Doesn't matter if they're a world away, or under a different sky."
Dylan frowned. "And this… happens a lot?"
She shook her head. "Almost never. We're known as Thess'karien. It's a star fracture, inscribed in the stars. Born under the Gemini constellation, always. It marks us."
He looked along the lines of the mark, seeing how it curved around her skin as if it had developed there organically. "So you and this. Twin—you're what? Linked?
Yve touched her chest lightly. "One heart. Two bodies. What I sense, she senses. Sometimes in ways that don't translate—dreams, intuition, reverberations. Her name is Yassy. She remains at home in Reefville.
Dylan sat back, expression unreadable. "So you're not just sisters." Yve smiled faintly. "No. We're each other's beginning."
Dylan picked a fish scale off his thumb, still staring at the Thess'karien mark on Yve's wrist. "So… how does it happen?" he asked, voice low. "The mark. This whole soul twin thing. The stars just… decide?"
Yve nodded slightly. "It's not random. The stars only fracture a soul when something ancient permits it. No one really knows why. Some say it happens when one soul's too heavy for one life."
Dylan leaned back on his hands, chewing on that. "So you're born with this mark? Right out the shell?"
She smiled. "Not a shell. But yes. Same with Yassy. From the time we were born, the Thess'karien mark flowered along our pulse—like the stars signed us before we even opened our eyes."
"And you said… you feel her?" he inquired. "Like, even now?"
"Not always. It comes in flashes." She spoke more softly. "Immense joy, intense fear. When we were kids, we laughed at the same instant on opposite reefs."
Dylan chuckled dryly. "That's… creepy. Can it be broken?"
"No," she replied. "It's not a spell. It's not sewn in by human hands. It's etched by the universe. You can't unburn a star.
He was quiet for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly. "If you're ever together again—like, face to face—what happens?"
Yve's fingers brushed the mark absently. "We don't know. When soul twins join arms and the marks align… something cosmic stirs. Somewhere out there, something shifts. Could be nothing. Could be the beginning of something no one's ready for."
Dylan looked out toward the horizon as if he could see it—whatever this "something" was. "You ever frightened of it?" he asked.
She didn't respond immediately. Then, "No. It's a blessing from the heavens. Who am I to dare object?"
He let that sink in. Then placed a chunk of tuna on a flat rock to chill. "What else does it do?" he inquired, still staring at her wrist. "That mark. Thess'karien. What else does it bring with it?"
Yve tilted her head, watching the sea curl around her tail. "It's not just feeling each other," she said. "Sometimes our lives echo. I'll choose something and later find out she did too. Without ever speaking. Like… our paths keep mirroring without asking for permission."
Dylan nodded slowly. "Like fate folding in on itself."
"Exactly," Yve replied. "At times we live two separate lives that sound like the same song. Same hurt. Same kind of love. Same missteps." He rolled. "Can you tune in to her thoughts? Communicate with her beyond words?"
She clicked her head in a negative. "No. We can't read minds. Just… instances. Overloads. If something is overwhelming enough, it finds a way through." He narrowed his eyes toward the distance. "What if you're asleep? Or unconscious?"
"Then it waits," she replied. "Or seeps in through dreams. Occasionally, I wake with feelings that do not belong to me. Or visions. Barely five seconds. No context. Just enough to twist my chest up."
Dylan rolled the fish using the knife tip. It hissed and browned on the edges. "And what if one of you dies?"
Yve didn't reply immediately. The silence wrapped itself around her like a tide receding. "When one Thess'karien half dies," she said at last, "the other doesn't merely grieve. They become it. Like the soul reverses and begins to eat itself away." She raised her wrist once more, staring at the mark as though it could tell her something. "The mark doesn't disappear, but it dulls. Becomes brittle, like a forgotten map of stars.". And the survivor. If you stare long enough into their eyes, you'll find a silhouette there. The outline of the missing soul.
Dylan gazed upwards. "You mean. A real shape?"
"Not a face," she replied. "More like. Essence," she gestured. "Wings. Coral. Smoke. Whatever the other was. Like their echo is stuck behind the iris." He exhaled, slow and considerate. "That's heavy.
"Not supposed to be easy," Yve said softly. Dylan slid the knife back into its sheath. "You ever fear that might happen? That she could…". Yve cut him off. "Yes. Always." She gazed out toward the horizon.
Dylan gave her a slice of tuna, still warm. The fire murmured low, its orange light casting shadows over Dylan's jaw as he chewed in silence on a slice of tuna.
"I want to see your world," Yve said softly.
Dylan paused in the middle of chewing. He put down the fish, wiping his fingers casually on his jeans without ever looking up. "Y've got an entire ocean you call home," he said with a grumble. "Why the hell would you want to see mine?"
She shrugged her shoulder and watched as the smoke curled into the air. "Because it's yours. And because I've only ever known your stories through what you bear—your scars, your silences. I want to see what forged them."
Dylan stroked a hand across his face, jaw clenched. "Yve… that world's not for wonderin' hearts and curious eyes."
She straightened. "I'm not as fragile as you think."
"It ain't about fragility," he barked, then tossed in a softer tone. "It's about reality. What's out there—that's a graveyard. And the ones still walkin' it? Worse than the dead."
Yve cocked her head. "You mean the zombies?" He nodded, but his voice fell lower. "Them, yeah. But not just them. It's the people too. The ones who've been too long without food, without warmth, without hope. Hunger alters 'em. Makes 'em cruel. Turns 'em into things that kill not for survival—but for the damn pleasure of it.
Yve didn't blink. "And you survived it." He gazed at her then—really looked, as if he were considering the risk of her ever seeing that side of him. "Barely," he said. "And I ain't getting' you mixed up in it."
She leaned in, voice soft but unyielding. "You don't need to get me involved, Dylan. I'd swim toward it myself. I'm more resilient than you give me credit for."
He shook his head, anger flashing before it went dull with fear. "Yve, you don't realize—this mark you bear, this gift you are—people would look and not wonder what it signifies. They'd cut it from your wrist just to turn around and sell it to whoever will pay the most. You're safe down here. You have people. Family."
Yve's voice was even, a ripple under calm waters. "You're my people too, Dylan Pierce."
He didn't respond. Simply sat there, gaping at the smoldering coals, as if perhaps if he just stared long enough, they'd inform him of what the right thing was. Dylan swallowed the remainder of the tuna, scrubbing his fingers against his pant leg before placing his forearms on his knees.
"Seriously," she told him, observing him. "I want to see it. The world outside the beach. Your world." Yve spoke softly, her voice a gentle song. Dylan rubbed the back of his neck, sighed. "Yve… I can't."
"You mean you won't," she snapped. "No," he replied, focusing up at her. "I mean I can't bring you into that. I barely manage to keep myself alive out there most days. I got lucky makin' it this far."
"I can take care of myself," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I'm not breakable."
He waved toward her. "You've got a tail." Yve blinked. "…And?"
He leaned back slightly, flustered. "And out there, you can't swim through rubble or sweet-talk a horde. Those don't care what you are. The people are worse. You're quick in water—I'll give you that. But on land?" He left the silence to speak.
Yve's tail swished once behind her, splashing water in his direction. "Who says I have to charm anyone?" Dylan wiped his shirt where the water hit, grinning against his will. "That's not a challenge, mermaid."
"Then quit acting like you have to save me." Yve says, voice serious.
He glanced away, jaw clenching. "I'm not tryin' to save you."
"Then let me walk beside you," she said.
Yve followed the soft curves on the warped wood of the dock. "The third sunrise of the Bright Sky Cycle," she murmured, as if to herself. "That's when I was born. When the sea is covered in silver coral and the stars above the reef lean towards the horizon. Those are my borndays."
Dylan raised his head from the fire. "Bright Sky?
She nodded. "What you refer to as June, I believe. But we don't assign a name to the time such as yourselves. We sense it. The currents change. The songs change pitch. It's how we know the world remembers.
He said nothing. Yve flipped her wrist up, allowing the Thess'karien mark to reflect the soft orange glow. "That's when I'll know. If I'm given legs… it'll be then. If nothing occurs, I'll consider it a sign. I won't ask you to bring me to shore again."
Dylan remained rigid, eyes constricting at the fire. "Yve—"
I'm 230 years old, Dylan," she declared, cutting and steady. "I've been through worse." He blinked, flabbergasted. "Wait. Two hundred thirty? That's like. Twenty-three in our years. But you said Sirens get their legs at twenty or two hundred mortal years.
"They do," Yve spoke quietly. "But I bear a Thess'karien mark. My soul does not match the tides like the others. Yassy—my sister—acquired her legs on our hundred ninetieth bornday." She gazed at the sea, voice cracked under the serenity. "Meanwhile, I'm still waiting. Every year, same date, I hope the shift happens. Just waiting for my body to catch up with my soul."
Dylan rubbed a hand down his face, jaw clenched like it hurt to say the next part. "Alright. Fine. I'll… I'll take you. I'll guide you. But—" he looked at her, dead serious now "—you gotta promise me one thing."
Yve crossed her arms over her knees, raising a brow at him. "What is it?"
Dylan fixed his gaze on the flames, fingers wandering over a splinter in the edge of the dock. "If anything goes wrong—if anything—I'm takin' you back to the ocean. No arguing."
She looked at him for a moment, the tightening of his jaw. Then nodded once. "Deal."
There was a pause of silence, then Dylan leaned back with a wearied chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "So… your birthday's next week, huh?"
Yve smiled faintly. "Bright Sky, remember?"
He threw another sidelong look at her. "Right. Bright Sky Cycle."
He shook his head, a half-laugh mumbled under his breath. "Well… I hope you don't get legs."
Yve's head swivelled towards him. "What?"
He snorted. "I'm just sayin'. You get legs, you're walkin' up on land. Might never come back."
She gave him a narrow-eyed look, teasing and hard. "You're the worst."
"Yeah, but I'm the worst who's gonna make sure you don't get killed by a guy with a can opener and a god complex." Dylan teased.
She splashed Dylan with water from her tail, Dylan cursed, laughing as he pulled back. "See? You don't need legs to be dangerous."