The mist curled around Wendy’s boots, sluggish and heavy, as though reluctant to touch her. It sat no more than an inch deep on the sandbar, a thin, endless sea of pale, rolling fog, hiding whatever lay beneath.

  Wendy swallowed, resisting the urge to step back.

  There was no water in the Soul Deep.

  No waves, no tides.

  Only this—this unnatural ocean of mist that shifted and swirled without wind. She could hear nothing beneath it. No lap of waves, no distant splash of fish breaking the surface. Only silence. A silence that listened.

  Her skin prickled.

  The mist had tried to take her once before. To seep into her, fill her lungs, crawl beneath her skin. And now it was here again, licking at the edges of her boots, slow and patient.

  She forced herself to stand still.

  Pan, however, moved forward without hesitation.

  He stepped past her, walking straight into the thickening mist. It clung to his legs as if reaching for him, swirling hungrily up to his knees, then his thighs, then his waist. He rolled his shoulders in lazy satisfaction, like he was stepping into a warm bath.

  Wendy's stomach turned.

  The mist lapped at his skin like tongues.

  Pan sighed, tilting his head back as if drinking in the sensation.

  Then, without a word, he raised his left arm and dragged his knife along the length of it.

  Wendy flinched.

  The blade cut from elbow to wrist, slow and deliberate.

  The skin split.

  Blood welled, dark and slick, before dripping down in slow, fat droplets.

  Into the mist.

  The moment it touched the surface, the mist reacted.

  It pulled the blood in, swallowed it whole.

  Pan exhaled, long and slow, his golden-green eyes fluttering half shut. His mouth curled, not in pain, but in pleasure.

  Wendy's breath hitched.

  Something deep beneath the mist stirred.

  Hands from the Deep

  At first, the only sign was movement—a ripple, a disturbance in the pale, rolling fog.

  Then, suddenly—

  Hands.

  Dozens of them.

  They burst from the mist, reaching—not for the sandbar, but for Pan.

  Clawing. Pulling. Crawling up his body.

  Small, skeletal fingers, webbed and too long, latched onto his wrists, his shoulders, the fabric of his clothes.

  Thin, child-sized bodies surfaced next.

  Wendy’s breath hitched.

  They were small—too small.

  No larger than toddlers, but their faces were sharp, their skin pale and stretched too thin, almost translucent. The bones beneath were dark, almost black, like something drowned too long ago to remember the warmth of flesh.

  And their eyes—

  Too large.

  Too dark.

  Hollow pits where something else had once lived.

  One of them opened its mouth.

  It had no teeth.

  Only gums, raw and gleaming, as it pressed its face against Pan’s arm.

  Then—

  It licked.

  The Taste of Blood

  A wet, slithering sound filled the air as more tongues met skin.

  They latched on, lapping at the fresh wound, fingers gripping, small bodies pressing against him.

  Pan did not pull away.

  He simply lowered his arm, offering it freely, his smirk widening as they fed.

  A knot of nausea twisted in Wendy’s gut.

  She should look away.

  But she could not.

  She was watching something sacred.

  Or something wrong.

  The merfolk were not hurting him, but they were taking something.

  And Pan was giving it.

  He sighed again, eyes half-lidded, golden-green gleaming in the dim light.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Wendy could not tell if he was feeding them—

  Or if they were feeding him.

  The Eldest Rises

  The mist shuddered.

  The small merfolk scattered, vanishing beneath the fog.

  A silence fell.

  Something else was coming.

  Something larger.

  Wendy’s pulse pounded.

  She felt it before she saw it.

  The water did not ripple.

  It did not splash.

  It simply parted.

  Something vast was moving beneath them.

  Something that had been waiting.

  A dark shape—long, smooth, circling beneath the mist.

  Wendy could not breathe.

  Then—

  It rose.

  Mist clung to its form, reluctant to let go.

  At first, it looked like a shark.

  Smooth-skinned, sleek, too long and too still.

  Then it stood.

  Arms unfolded.

  Fingers flexed.

  Rows of jagged teeth gleamed in the dim light.

  Not a shark.

  Not anymore.

  Wendy stumbled back.

  The thing tilted its massive head, gills flaring.

  It watched Pan.

  Then—

  Its mouth opened.

  A second head pushed through the jaws.

  Slick. Pale. Human-like.

  The shark-form peeled away, draping over its shoulders like a wet cloak.

  And the thing smiled.

  The Bargain

  Pan laughed.

  "You are getting uglier every time I see you, old friend."

  The thing hummed.

  "And you are still bleeding for my attention, little thief."

  Wendy shivered.

  There was familiarity in their words—but not kindness.

  The mer-elder turned its milky gaze toward her.

  "You bring strange things to my waters."

  Pan waved a hand, dismissive. "Not important. You have something I need."

  The elder smiled. "Do I?"

  "The Jolly Roger."

  The mist tightened.

  A hum of movement beneath the surface.

  A price was being considered.

  And Wendy knew, even before it spoke, what the merfolk would want.

  Her.

  “The girl,” the elder said, voice soft. “She will do.”

  The Story Price

  Pan laughed again.

  "Oh no, she is not mine to give."

  The mist lashed outward. The merfolk hissed.

  The air pressed down, thick with unseen tension.

  Pan did not flinch.

  His voice sharpened.

  "Try that again."

  The elder's gills fluttered.

  Then—

  A slow, knowing smile.

  "Another price, then."

  Pan grinned.

  "A story."

  The mist reacted.

  The elder merfolk did not, but the others did.

  One by one, merfolk rose from the mist.

  They shifted, twisted, shaping into more human forms.

  They gathered.

  They listened.

  The Guide Appears

  Pan began.

  His voice was rich, thick with meaning. The mist shivered.

  Wendy did not know the story.

  She only knew it was doing something.

  Shaping the space.

  Warping the world.

  And when it ended—

  The elder nodded.

  "The Jolly Roger sails toward the Rift."

  And then—

  One merfolk stepped forward.

  At first, Wendy saw a seal.

  Sleek, dark-eyed.

  Then—

  The seal peeled itself apart.

  The pelt folded back, hanging loosely like an oversized coat.

  A girl stood within it.

  Small. Pale. Eyes pure black.

  "I will take you," she said.

  The Aftermath

  The merfolk dissolved into the mist, vanishing one by one.

  The elder’s smile lingered.

  “Be careful, thief,” it murmured.

  “You always take too much.”

  Then it was gone.

  Pan only stretched, satisfied.

  "Shall we?"

  Wendy did not move.

  She was still thinking about the elder’s words.

  Still wondering what Pan had already taken.

  And what he would take next.