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THE PROMISED LAND

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~ Summer, 703 ~

The Promised Land.

That is the name that they gave my home, when they arrived. Humans. They soaked up in our crystalline waters, they sank their feet in our golden sand, and they became fascinated with the magic that pours out of every single being that breathes Brevylian air. The name came afterwards, a name befitting of the enchantment and eternal shine that composes the essence of it. Brevylia was too common a name for an island so full of promises of a good life, so full of dreams and riches.

But then they started destroying it.

There is something about humans that I struggle to understand, even after living for two years among them. The need to touch. Nothing on sight can be left exactly as they find it. The need to dissect, evaluate, explore. The need to own, to destroy, to make a profit.

When I was away, I dreamed of this island constantly and called it my home. But in my dreams, it remained as it was in my childhood, virgin and glorified, before it was slashed with weapons and technology, horses, ships and sailors, the rough language of Haysen, the humans from the Continent that left their mark on everything their eyes landed upon.

Yet today, I arrive in Brevylia in the middle of the morning and I barely accept this place as my own, like a pale version of the paradise in my dreams. I’m leaning on the hem of the ship and my throat burns as a blue, cloudless sky stretches before me, apparently unchanged in the eyes of an outsider, but violated in the eyes of a Brevylian.

"Something's off."

Merida is the first to say it. She raises her hand as a silver thread of water spirals all the way from the ocean and rests at the palm of her white hand. She closes her eyes and murmurs something, and she opens them back with a frown.

"The water," she says. "It's blank. Can you feel their auras?"

I shake my head. I can't feel the blanket of magic that enveloped me everytime I walked this land. I feel underneath it the magic of my island, lurking deep within, like a thin voice slowly dying.

"Shit."

No matter how much I strain my aura, I don’t feel the auras of the Brevylians that gather below in the sand, looking up curiously at the ship that just stopped. I don't feel anything. I can't feel the magic right away, I can't sense the aura of the Brevylians spread throughout the beach as the ship softly comes to a stop.

“We're- home,” Merida whispers, choking. She can't believe it.

I look down at her. We're the same age, but I'm taller than her, partially because Brevylians are taller than most creatures, partially because mermaids are shorter than them. Her sapphire blue hair is waving and her cyan blue eyes are shining as she stares at a group of children splashing in the sea. A couple of them are making the water twirl along their fingers and making it spiral graciously around their arms and legs. They’re restless and laughing, just like I once laughed as I played in these waters with my siblings and cousins. The memory hits me with a shock.

I'm home.

It doesn't feel like home.

Should I be here?

“It's different,” Merida whispers, her knuckles growing white as she clutches to the hem of the ship. The strong sun taints her snow white skin in gold."It's-"

"Molested," I say. "Humanized."

“Yet these are your roots. This is your family.”

My hands clench into fists, and my heart hardens.

“A family that turned its back on me the second I needed help.”

She purses her lips and says nothing. I pull the hood of the black cape I'm wearing over my long, hazel hair. It's too hot to be wearing a cape and I'm sweating and hoping I don't attract too much atention. I used to cover my hands with gloves as well in the Continent, but in Brevylia, all skins are different tones of brown, instead of white, like a pallette of five thousand shades from pale gold to midnight sky. Protected by the cloak, no one should be able to recognize me. I push away the fear of being recognized and make my way to the line of passengers who are ready to disembark.

Merida follows me faithfully. She left her vibrant blue cloak in her bag and traded it for a discrete, plain grey one, though if someone looked a little more carefully, they would be hypnotized by how her beauty resonates from her perfectly oval face, her perfect round blue eyes and the plump lips. Sometimes I fear for our lives because she is too divinely powerful and beautiful, like a raw diamond. Mermaids are like this, they resonate magic. A mermaid's essence is raw beauty, every inch of her was made to capture human atention, like preys tangled in the web of an incandescent predator. Humans would kill to own her.

The man behind me pushes me impatiently and I don't fight back, even though Merida looks murderous and almost unable to refrain herself.

"It's alright," I mutter, but she still looks displeased. She never let go of her instincts of protection towards me.

Being normal took some accustoming to at first, but now I am used to it, like I shed the royalty skin behind and wore an entirely new me abroad. As long as this cloak covers my face, people will not bow at me as I walk, they will not shower me with flowers and blessings, they might even try to talk to me as if I am a mere peasant, or approach me, or elbow me in the middle of the crowd, even though my skin is said to be sacred. Right now, people on the boats are pushing to be the firsts to reunite with their families and climb down the stairs that will lead them to the golden sand, to the place where thousands of men, women and children are waiting and hopefully looking up. They unite under the warmness of our Brevylian sun, they hug each other tightly and kiss each other like there is no tomorrow, tears are shed and blessings are murmured shakily.

Something shifts on the soil as the fiirst passengers disembark. The children stop playing and gallop urgently through the waves, running back to their mothers as they stare hopefully at the ladder flooding with the passengers. Some of the smallest children, barely even past toddlers, look slightly lost, as if they are looking for someone who they don't remember well, with void eyes like this moment on the beach is only part of a routine that has played on for endless days now, where they are dragged by their mothers who look hopefully for someone who never arrived.

I know that many of these men and women who stand with hopeful eyes as the disembarkment carries away, searching for a particular face in the crowd, will soon realize that their husbands and wives, sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, did not return again today.

A sin for which I am responsible.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I wonder if they would kill me if they knew I was hidden among them right now.

I feel Merida's warm fingers lace in mine and when I look at her, her head is tilted slightly.

"Your hands are cold," she says softly, enveloping my hands with her warm ones. I smile at her gratefully and look back at the beautiful scenery spread before my eyes.

I missed the waves crashing slowly against the rocks. I missed the palm trees stretching against a blue sky, a cloudless and bright blue sky, not like the ones in the outer world. The past two years have made me realize that absolutely nothing on foreign lands compares to the striking beauty of this island. Blue skies are a rare sight in Haysen, which is cold and gloomy, just like most regions in the North. Brevylia, though, is brimming with magic and sun. It hides like a gem, with its transparent crystalline blue waters, and it is filled with sunlight. And we Brevylians, natural born magical creatures, are respectful towards each other, towards nature, towards other animals and creatures; we are not like humans.

At last, we reach soil. My sandals sink in the sand and I feel the warmness of the grains sinking between my toes. Merida and I depart from the crowd with a gentle pace, as if we aren't in a hurry, as if our hearts aren't pounding, as if we're just normal Brevylians who are going home after a short journey overseas. My heart pounds against my ribs so hard that I feel like I could faint, but I concentrate in taking one step at a time and keeping my head bent low. No one recognized me yet. No one will recognize me.

"We're being followed," Merida hisses.

I process this mechanically. Once, I would have jumped in fear but two years in the Continent have put me in this position over and over again. Yet I see her reaching for her vial and my heart sinks. I can fight, but I'd rather not do it in a crowded place. It's different to raise my weapons at home, among my people.

"How many?" I hiss back. I curse as my hand finds my dagger, pressed into the belt.

"Just one," she whispers. "Look."

I almost freeze when I see a hurried movement at the corner of my eye, a slim figure who is at least one head taller than the rest of the crowd, pushing hastily through the other Brevylians who stand between us. We hasten our pace but he is tall and has no trouble keeping up. I decide that as soon as we leave the sand and are eclipsed by the palm trees, I will embush him. I'm ready to use force.

Exactly as I planned, as soon as I cross the first hem of grass, I turn and shoot my dagger at the figure. The person yells when the dagger ends up in the palm tree trunk, just a few inches from his ear. He raises his hand.

"Stop!" Merida yells, and a jet of water instantly dashes from the river and into her palm.

"Wait!" He cries. It's a boy's voice.

Slowly, the boy takes his hands to his hood. It falls down to reveal a mash of bright red curls, his bright brown eyes staring at me with fear and excitement.

"My lady!" He yells, raising his trembling hands. “Princess Sheryna,” he says in a quivering voice. "Is that really you?"

I blink. Is that-

“Toriel!” I yell.

I laugh and lower the dagger at once as a wave of relief washes over me. Merida looks to me and back to him with suspicion, slightly more adamant about lowering her guard.

"He's fine, Merida, really." Toriel gives her a slightly scared look and tentatively lowers his hands. Then he walks over to us and I wonder how I didn't notice him before. He is abnormally tall, with strangely long limbs, and he stands out immediately in the middle of a crowd. He hasn't changed. Under his brown hood, he wears a beige shirt with ragged trousers and filthy boots. Of course I should have known.

"And who might she be?" Toriel asks, looking at Merida. His voice looses its warmth when he addresses her. She looks back with steel eyes, even though he towers over her.

"This is Merida, she helped me while I was away. Merida, this is my childhood friend and faithful servant of the royal family."

Toriel's ears turn pink at the compliment and he almost bows with pride, but I stop him with one hand and glance at the people who are passing by on the main road.

"Not here," I warn him.

"But, my lady-"

"Not here," I repeat firmly. "Not while everyone's looking."

He turns red. Knowing Toriel, he would bow to me until his nose touched the ground. It would attract too much atention.

Looking at him makes me happier than ever. I could wrap my arms around him and hug him tightlly. He was genuinely kind when we were young, and his family, though poor, was always extremely faithful to the royal family. When we were children, my siblings and cousins would treat him as one of us. We would swim on waterfalls and ride horses and harvest strawberries and maranijas together. He's like a little brother, though I would never tell him that. Toriel is highly aware of his position as servant and my position as ruler. More than looking up to me, I remember him almost worshipping me.

He decides to settle for a respectful, curt head nod that remains unnoticed. The situation looks wrong to him, and I can only try to imaginne his reaction if I ever told him that during the past two years, no one bothered to bow or to treat me with the honorifics of Brevylia. If he saw anyone pushing me on the line of the ship just a few minutes ago, he would have probably made a comotion.

"Shall we return?" He asks. Merida nods in silence, watching him coldly as we head to the main road and I look around. On the left, the path branches into a smaller dirt path that crosses the Forest of Geldior. "My lady, I- forgive me, but-"

"You weren't expecting me," I interrupt.

"No," he admits. I can see in his eyes that a part of him never expected to see me ever again. "I- I thought you were-"

Dead?

"-far away," he catches himself. "On the other side of the world. I didn't expect you to return."

"I always intended to return." It's a blatant lie. "I left in a hurry, though, didn't I?"

He nods and his lips tremble, so he turns his face to the side and stares at the ground as if he is admiring the rustic houses. His eyes are shining too much as we walk, the shadows of the palm trees toy with his face, a game of shadows and light blurring through his face and clothes.

When he catches me staring, he smiles shyly, revealing a set of familiar crooked teeth, and his cheeks turn red as he looks away. He’s grown, he’s eighteen years old now, two years younger than me, but his limbs remain long and disproportionate against his body, even if he is irregularly tall. He is also very skinny, his face is specked with dark freckles, and his eyes are round and frank, filled with a complete innocence that is rare to find in a Brevylian. Perhaps because Toriel wasn't blessed with magic, he doesn't know the weight of power. Instead, he had me to look up to. He has always prayed for my safety and well being, he has always protected me and asked Geldior to give me health.

"Did you- did the foreigners treat you with the proper respect?"

I refrain from informing him that I've slept on the ground too many times for the past two years, or that I learned about what a tavern is and how to fight properly.

"Don't worry, Toriel. It was highly comfortable."

"And you weren't recognized today?"

"Of course not. Otherwise I wouldn't be here alone, would I?"

Brevylians tend to stick to me when they see me on the road, asking for blessings like I am a powerful goddess who can grant their wishes, as if I am but a normal girl. He looks slightly disappointed.

"How is it possible that our own people won't recognize their Princess?"

I shrug, a gesture that I picked up in Vyanna. A Princess is but a simple woman when she takes off her crown, I want to tell him, but he would be horrified with the statement, so I choose to remain silent. Another thought is crawling through me.

We're headed home.

How will Father and Mother react to having me here? I try to push away the thought.

“How does it feel, being back on the island?” Toriel trying to distract me.

“I don't know,” I say. "I remember it differently. Louder, with more laughter, and I used to be able to feel my people's auras, yet now I can only sense void and silence." Yet I notice strangely that I’m at peace with myself. I’ve been so worried to set feet on Brevylian soil, but now that I am here, I feel strangely alive, like this is the place where I am meant to be. “How are my parents?”

His smile vanishes. I'm not used to Toriel being serious.

“They’re fighters,” he answers curtly. “Even with the kingdom in such a cruel condition, they move on with their heads held high and fights. Your siblings are also doing well. The Gadriels have never been a week family.”

“Haven’t we, in the end?”

He looks at me, slightly surprised.

“Princess-"

“I know that you are sworn to protect them and that you feel like you must always agree with the royal family,” I say. “But they are flawed. And I am here to remind them about that.”

He looks shocked.

“I thought you were here to reconsider your position. But you haven’t changed your mind, then.”

“No.”

We stay silent for the rest of the journey. His silence tells me everything that I need to know – my family will expect me to fall on my knees and tell them that I changed my mind. That I’m no longer being selfish.

But I am. Being selfish is the only way I know to self-preservation.