Right. She was a mermaid.
Of course she wanted to “continue.”
September 1. Cycle 10. Player world. Midnight.
Under the dim bedroom light, Ethan pulled the mermaid off his lap and set her on the bed.
The Dirge Priestess wanted to keep the game going.
That didn’t mean Ethan was willing to play the sucker.
She stared at him, startled and flustered. She’d followed the lessons and instincts her people passed down… and still failed.
Worse—she was the only mermaid who had ever failed this badly.
The kind of failure that would be sung about for centuries.
Ethan didn’t care about her pride.
He cared about the divinity fragment and the System task chained to it.
“Let’s trade,” he said. “I’ll send you back to the Endless Sea. You hand over the half-fragment.”
The mermaid looked up through long lashes, silent for a few beats. Then she asked, voice small:
“Will you… like me?”
Ethan didn’t hesitate.
“No.”
He had no intention of becoming another cautionary tale—like Skye’s ancestors, like the boy James, like the Sunship crew who’d died with mermaid eyes in their minds.
The priestess flinched as if he’d slapped her. Hurt flashed cleanly across her face.
She went quiet, thinking hard. This was uncharted territory for her kind.
Mermaids weren’t used to being rejected.
She didn’t know what to do next.
She finally lifted her head and met Ethan’s eyes without speaking.
The answer was clear.
She wasn’t satisfied. She wouldn’t give up the fragment.
Ethan exhaled through his nose, irritation rising.
He couldn’t afford to stall here.
He needed another angle.
His gaze dipped—past her pale throat, past her slender arms—to the red coral cards resting on the bed.
There.
The moment she noticed his attention shift, the priestess’s expression changed sharply.
She lunged.
Ethan moved first.
Her hands closed on a soft pillow instead.
“Think it over,” Ethan said.
He held all five coral cards in his hand. The one that had once carried her etched silhouette was blank now that she’d awakened.
“You—” She bit her lip, clutching the pillow like it could somehow protect her dignity. Her eyes were damp with frustration.
He’d taken her home.
Threatened her.
And told her to “think.”
It was pure coercion.
She couldn’t take the cards back. He was a Transcendent.
And—
He had zero interest in her.
A wild thought flickered through her mind, desperate and ridiculous.
Would it help if she turned into a boy?
What even was a boy supposed to look like?
He wouldn’t even show her.
Today was officially the worst day of her long, embarrassing life.
But—
She still had options.
Ethan left the bedroom.
The priestess lay flat on the bed, arms wrapped around the pillow, staring at the ceiling as she plotted.
…
Ethan switched on the study light and tried to store the coral cards in his System backpack.
This time, the cards slid in without resistance.
Interesting.
They’d refused to be stored before.
Now that the Dirge Priestess—and the divinity fragment she guarded—were no longer sleeping inside them, the cards must have lost whatever sacred weight had anchored them outside the System.
Ethan closed the backpack interface and sat at the desk.
Seeing her scramble for the cards had confirmed what he’d suspected: the Heart Coral mattered to her.
Good.
Cycle 10 had just begun. He had time to pressure her properly.
He pulled out pen and paper, intending to sort through everything that had happened last Cycle—especially the Soul Devourer who’d stolen the cocoon after allying with the Governor.
But before he could write more than a line, the global chat’s unread count spiked.
Cycle resets always made people noisy.
This was different.
Something had happened.
Ethan opened the chat.
[CHAT]
Player: “Is Official Player 0097 here? I need help. It’s urgent!”
Player: “Not here, bestie.”
Player: “Officials are offline. Please self-rescue. ᕦ(･ㅂ･)ᕤ”
Player: “It’s the middle of the night. Don’t you people sleep?”
Player: “After a wild adventure? Not a chance.”
Player: “Ooo—midnight adventure?”
Player: “No! Stop messing around, I’m serious!
Player 0097 isn’t here, so does anyone have an official contact number? Please. I’m begging.”
Player: “What’s going on?”
Player: “What kind of mess are you in?”
The urgent player kept asking for an official phone number, refusing to explain.
A few trolls posted fake numbers. Others called them out and dumped the real contacts into the channel.
[CHAT]
Player: “Posting fake numbers is evil.”
Player: “Abyss camp behavior.”
Player: “Probably. My last Cycle finally felt stable and I almost forgot the Abyss existed. Guess we still have to stay sharp.”
Player: “Stable? Then you’re not a sailor.”
Player: “Something’s happening at sea?”
Player: “Nothing crazy. Just a lot of pirates who kill but don’t loot.”
Player: “???”
By dawn, the channel was still a messy argument and Ethan still didn’t have a clear story.
He only caught fragments: the sea had gotten ugly. Ships were being slaughtered. No survivors.
Ethan considered running a divination—then the smell of food drifted into the study.
He stepped out.
The Dirge Priestess had hidden her tail and taken human form. A full breakfast spread covered the table, as if she’d been working for hours.
She carried a pot of soup to the table.
She was wearing one of Ethan’s shirts.
It hung loose and long on her small frame; she’d rolled up the sleeves.
Ethan distinctly remembered owning pants.
“I made breakfast,” she said brightly, as if nothing had happened. “Come eat!”
Ethan sat, wary, and took the chopsticks she offered.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Xueyu,” she said, smiling. “It snowed on the sea the day I was born, so the clan leader named me Xueyu.”
“Mm.” Ethan scanned the food.
They were all dishes his mother had made in his first life.
He tasted one.
The flavor was—
“Does it taste like our mom’s cooking?” Xueyu asked, eyes sparkling with anticipation.
Ethan stared at her.
“That’s my mom,” he said flatly. “Not your mom.”
“It can be our mom,” Xueyu said sweetly.
Ethan let out a short laugh that wasn’t entirely amused.
He tried another line of questioning.
“You’re a priestess. Why aren’t you a Transcendent?”
Xueyu hesitated, then grew a little shy.
“Because… becoming a Transcendent is a hassle for mermaids,” she admitted. “It’s… not really suited for priestess work.”
Ethan nodded. That made sense.
He cut back to the point.
“So,” he said, “have you decided?”
Xueyu blinked, then mumbled, “That’s… really not enough time.”
Her expression shifted into exaggerated annoyance.
“You’re way too fast,” she complained. “I haven’t even processed everything yet!”
Ethan sighed. Of course.
He changed tactics.
“The cocoon that was sealed beneath the Duskfall Temple,” he said, “was stolen.”
Xueyu’s posture stiffened. She tried not to look too interested and failed.
“The cocoon… stolen by who?”
“A man who’s been sniffing around the divinity under Storm Island,” Ethan said, eating calmly. “Panglos Fell. The so-called dragon-slaying governor.”
The name alone made Xueyu’s smile tighten.
Ethan pressed, voice steady and almost casual.
“You know what that cocoon is,” he said. “It’s Cocoon—the Lava Lord who was sealed by an angel.”
Ethan watched her carefully and kept going before she could interrupt.
“The governor wants to wake Cocoon,” Ethan said, “use him to break Delanna’s restrictions, and take the half-fragment beneath Storm Island.”
“I don’t know whether Cocoon will obey him or cut a deal.”
He shrugged.
“But I do know what Cocoon will do once he wakes.”
Ethan’s tone cooled.
“He’ll go after the mermaids who sealed him. He’ll hunt down Isralae’s Tomb and grind that angel’s bones into dust.”
“And the Dirge Priestesses guarding the tomb?” Ethan said, meeting Xueyu’s eyes. “They aren’t Transcendent. They won’t be able to stop him.”
Xueyu held her expression, but her eyes went sharp.
“You’re saying a lot,” she said softly. “But what does any of that have to do with me giving you the fragment?”
“It doesn’t,” Ethan said with a faint smile.
He wasn’t going to say something pathetic like Give it to me and I’ll save your people.
Even if she believed him, he’d hate himself for it.
He set the chopsticks down.
“But think about it,” he continued. “Whether the governor gets the fragment… whether Cocoon starts a war with your kind… none of that is my problem.”
“I’m a traveler,” Ethan said, leaning back. “The Creator might toss me hints and hope I change something. But he’s never demanded I risk my life.”
“There are plenty of travelers,” Ethan added. “If I don’t act, the Creator can nudge someone else.”
He watched Xueyu wrestle with that.
He casually dropped another “piece of traveler news.”
“I also heard something,” Ethan said. “The sea has been bad lately. Several ships have been slaughtered—killed, not robbed.”
“Some travelers think someone’s harvesting souls to revive Cocoon.”
He let the words hang.
He didn’t need to prove anything. He just needed the idea to take root.
Xueyu stared at him, uncertain.
Ethan pivoted cleanly, as if the conversation meant nothing.
He opened a shopping app on his phone and slid it toward her.
“Pick what you like,” he said. “I’ll pay.”
Xueyu blinked at the screen—women’s clothes scrolling under her fingers.
She finally looked up, confused.
“Is it because… you don’t like me wearing your clothes?”
“It’s not appropriate,” Ethan said.
Before she could untangle what he meant by that, Ethan stood.
“I’m full,” he said. “Thanks for cooking. It was good.”
He left the table.
Behind him, Xueyu sat staring at the phone, thoughts tangled.
He’s bluffing, she told herself.
He’s just trying to scare me into giving up the fragment.
And yet—
What if it’s true?
He knew too much about Cocoon.
Too much about Isralae.
And the consequences were… huge.