4.The Prince’s Departure
978 Words
But beautiful times always come to an end. And ships, eventually, must depart.
The sky had quietly taken on the bluish tint of a crab’s shell. Along the edge of the horizon, a blurred line of damp light seeped through. The night was nearly burned away.
The ship emitted a low hum. Pale steam rose from its funnel. Sailors moved briskly across the deck as ropes were hauled in and anchor chains clattered upward.
Even the wind had changed. The cool mystery of night had faded, replaced by the salt-heavy breath of day, tinged faintly with metal and oil.
Bai Mu remained where she had been, arms resting on the wooden rail. The grain of the wood beneath her palms had grown faintly warm from her touch.
She lay sideways, her gaze quietly following the figures moving across the deck—following the creation of the land that would soon carry Allen northward.
Parting arrived like the tide. Soundless. Inevitable.
Allen had risen. He stood close to her at the railing—close enough to see the long silver lashes framing her eyes.
Dawn brightened the horizon. At last, he spoke, his voice lower than usual.
“The ship is about to sail.”
A simple statement. No embellishment. Yet it dropped between them like a small stone into still water.
Bai Mu’s tail moved gently beneath the surface, raising no splash. She lifted her face to him.
The morning light gilded her pale skin in a nearly transparent gold, making her deep-sea eyes appear even clearer—clearer, and somehow emptier.
“Mm,” she answered softly.
She tried to lift the corner of her mouth in a smile. It flickered briefly, then dissolved into the growing light.
A long, resonant horn sounded.
The ship trembled faintly. Water churned under the propellers, clinking and rushing.
Departure shifted from atmosphere into motion.
Allen drew in a breath and looked at her one last time. That look was deep—so deep it seemed he meant to carve this moment, her face, the fading starlight and restless waves, into memory.
“Take care, Bai Mu,” he said quietly.
He turned. His figure was nearly swallowed by the bustle of dawn—
“Hey.”
The word was barely audible over the engine’s rumble.
He paused instinctively and turned halfway back.
A streak of faint light cut through the clear morning air toward him. He lifted his hand on reflex, and the object landed precisely in his palm.
Cool to the touch. Moist with seawater.
He looked down and opened his hand.
A pearl lay there.
Not the ordinary round white, but an uncommon silver-blue—like the deepest dusk of the ocean fused with the palest moonlight. A soft iridescent sheen moved across its surface, alive and breathing.
Allen’s head snapped up.
Bai Mu still floated by the railing, half-submerged in the dark blue water. She said nothing. Only tilted her head slightly.
At that very moment, the sun broke free from the horizon. Golden light traced the delicate line of her jaw and the damp shimmer of her lashes.
Her face held no dramatic sorrow, no solemnity of farewell.
It was almost casual—like tossing him a playful splash of water, as she had so many times before.
Then her lips curved—just barely, just briefly. Mischief flickered there. And something else. Something quieter.
The next instant, she leaned back and slipped seamlessly beneath the surface. Her silver hair flashed once against the blue—and vanished.
Only widening ripples remained.
As though she had never been there at all.
Except for the pearl in his hand—cool, heavy, undeniably real.
The horn sounded again, long and resolute. The ship began to move. Its stern carved two long trails of white foam as it turned northward—toward the eternal North Star.
Allen slowly closed his fingers around the pearl. Its chill seeped into his skin, into his blood. A silent farewell.
Morning light drove away the last of the night. The sea burned gold and red, boundless.
Then he turned and walked away without looking back.
His steps were steady. His spine straight. The posture of a prince.
But Allen did not know—
That was no ordinary pearl.
It was a mermaid’s tear.
A crystallization of pure and fervent emotion.
It was rare. Many mermaids lived their entire lives without ever forming one. It was the ocean’s most sincere vow of protection.
It could calm raging storms.
Guide ships through fog.
Persuade even the deepest abyss to spare its bearer.
For a voyager, it was worth more than any talisman.
May starlight guide you from losing your way.
May sea winds guard you from tempests.
May the blessings of the deep follow you like a shadow,
smoothing every hidden current and unseen reef.
She did not speak those words. Perhaps she did not need to.
As if those nights beneath the stars had merely been a fleeting crossing of two worlds.
Only the pearl—carrying unspoken blessing—would travel with him through every storm and every journey to come.
Silently fulfilling the words she never said:
Safe travels, Allen.
Bai Mu remained where she was, watching his back move across the deck and dissolve into the busy figures of his world.
The sea lifted her gently. The morning wind stirred her wet silver hair.
Distance widened slowly.
The ship shrank—from clear outline, to dark silhouette, to a blur merging with the bright haze where sea met sky.
She watched until even that blur disappeared.
The sea lay vast and empty.
Only the endless waves remained, again and again brushing the lonely hull—and beneath it, the deep blue silence she never truly left.
After Allen’s departure, Bai Mu still rose to the surface.
To watch the moon.
- Writer
