Chapter 179

The morning after the shifting, my three serpent daughters woke with new energy, a restlessness that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with discovery. They had tasted limbs, however briefly, and they wanted more. Immediately. Now.

Seraya was the first to approach me, her blue-green hair still tangled from sleep, sticking up in wild directions. Her emerald eyes were bright with determination. She found me in the main room of our house, where I was folding dried seaweed for storage.

"Mama," she said, her voice clear and high, already so different from the hisses of her serpent form. "We want to go out. To play. To see the island. We want to use our legs."

My heart clenched. How to tell a child who had just discovered legs that she couldn’t use them, couldn’t show them, couldn’t be seen?

I set down the seaweed and led her to the back room where we could speak privately. Nyssara and Elira followed, settling onto cushions as I closed the woven curtain behind us.

"You can’t," I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm. "Not yet. Not for three more months."

"Why?" Seraya asked, confusion clouding her features. "Three months is forever."

"More like ninety sleeps," Nyssara corrected, her own hair equally wild.

"Way too many," Elira added with a huff. "We want to run now. Our legs are bored."

I sat facing them, three pairs of emerald eyes waiting for answers. "Because it’s too early. If anyone finds out you can shift, you could be in danger. We just came here. We don’t know who our friends are yet. It’s best not to risk anything."

"But we want to run," Nyssara said, her lower lip trembling. "Our legs want to run."

"Legs don’t talk," Elira said, rolling her eyes.

"Mine do," Nyssara insisted. "They whisper."

"Your legs are silly," Seraya decided. Then she turned to me, serious. "Mama, we promise to be careful. We’ll be good."

"I know you would try," I said. "But it’s not about being good. It’s about being safe. For three months, you must stay as serpents when you go outside. Can you promise?"

They were quiet. Then Seraya, the oldest, nodded. "We promise, Mama. We’ll be snakes outside and girls inside."

"Three months," I confirmed. "Then you can run and play and be seen."

They nodded, but I saw the disappointment in their shoulders, the way their new bodies wanted to move.

The curtain parted, and Levy slipped inside, her black hair catching the light. She immediately understood what was happening. She had been here before.

She sat with us, joining our circle, speaking with the authority of experience. At nine months in her beast form and five years old in her man form, she was a veteran in the world of early shifting.

"You have to listen to Mama," she said, her voice serious. "It makes her scared and worried when we don’t listen. You don’t want to make Mama feel like that, do you?"

The three serpent girls shook their heads.

"She cried when I shifted," Levy continued, her voice dropping. "She was so scared. She didn’t sleep for days. We have to protect her too. By being safe. By waiting until she says it’s okay."

Seraya looked at Levy with wide eyes. "She cried?"

"Lots," Levy confirmed. "And all the papas cried too. Even Papa Soryn, and he never cries."

"He cried yesterday," Nyssara pointed out.

"That was because you were hurting," Levy said. "But when I shifted early, they cried because they were scared. We don’t want them to be scared, do we?"

"No," the three said in unison.

"Then we wait," Levy said. "We practice inside, where no one can see. And when Mama says it’s time, we run so fast no one can catch us."

The serpent girls looked at each other, then at Levy, then at me. Their disappointment transformed into determination.

"We’ll wait," Seraya said, taking Levy’s hand. "And we’ll practice with you. You can teach us."

"And jump," Nyssara added.

"And dance," Elira finished.

Levy smiled, bright and wise. "I’ll teach you everything."

I watched my daughters, my oldest daughter and my three youngest girls, their hands joined in sisterhood, and felt tears prick my eyes. Levy had become a teacher, a guide. She had walked this path alone, the first, the one we learned with. Now she was paving the way for her sisters.

They had it easier than she had. They had control of their shifts that Levy had lacked. She had been a month old when she shifted, barely more than an infant, her body unprepared, her mind overwhelmed. These girls had started at five months, their bodies stronger, their minds more developed. They understood what was happening, could articulate their pain.

I was grateful. If they had shifted earlier, at one month like Levy, it would have been so much harder. Those early days with her had been the hardest of my life. The constant vigilance, the fear, the not knowing.

Now I had some measure of peace. They understood. They promised. They would wait.

After that private conversation, I went to the lagoon. I needed the water, the weightlessness, the silence where my thoughts could untangle.

But I was not alone.

The children wanted to join me. The girls, confined to serpent forms outside, wanted to experience deep water where they could be in their man form without fear. Levy, always eager. The cheetah cubs, who had developed a love of swimming. Even Niku and Sikai. And even my four older boys didn’t need an invitation. Jasper, who usually slept, wanted to join.

Caelion created air bubble masks, ingenious devices that fit over their faces, creating a pocket of air while leaving their bodies free to feel the water, the pressure, the currents.

"Like this," he demonstrated, fitting a mask over Seraya’s serpent head. Once we were sure no one was around, she shifted to human form. She gasped, then laughed, her eyes wide behind the clear membrane.

"I can breathe," she said, wonder filling her voice. "And I can feel the water on my skin!"

"Exactly," Caelion smiled. "Now you can explore. See what the Mer see."

He fitted masks on all of them, adjusting each one carefully, checking the seals, making sure they were secure.

We went together, a caravan of children and adults, descending into the blue. The girls, released from their promise of secrecy in the depths where no prying eyes could see them, shifted to human form with cries of joy, their legs kicking, their hands reaching, their masked faces turned toward the wonders around them.

We explored together, a family of land and sea, of air and water. We swam through forests of kelp that towered like trees, their fronds swaying in the current, creating patterns of light and shadow that danced across our skin. We chased schools of fish that sparkled like living jewels, darting and turning as one, their scales catching the filtered sunlight and throwing it back in a thousand directions.

We found caves and crevices, dark places where creatures glowed with their own light, bioluminescent wonders that made my kids gasp with delight. We explored coral gardens, delicate structures of pink and white and gold, home to creatures of infinite variety and color.

At one point, Tavren discovered an octopus, its body pulsing with color and texture, and he spent ten minutes trying to convince it to play with him, offering shells, offering chase, offering friendship. The octopus was not interested, but Tavren was undeterred, declaring that they would be "best friends tomorrow."

The children laughed, their voices strange and wonderful underwater, bubbles of sound rising to the surface like pearls. They held hands, formed chains, played games of tag and hide and seek among the rocks. They collected shells, pointed at fish, discovered starfish and sea urchins and creatures they had never imagined existed.

I watched them, my heart full to bursting, my body light, my soul at peace.

"Happy?" Caelion asked, swimming up beside me, his hand finding mine in the water.

"Very," I said, leaning my head against his shoulder. "Look at them. Look at how free they are."

"They’re beautiful," he agreed. "All of them. But especially you."

I laughed, the sound bubbling out of me. "Flatterer."

"Truth-teller," he corrected. "There’s a difference."

We watched as Seraya, Nyssara, and Elira discovered their own reflections in a still pool, their masked faces looking back at them, their blue-green hair floating around them like clouds.

"We should do this every day," I said. "As long as we can. Before the baby comes. Before everything changes again."

"We will," Caelion promised. "Every day. For as long as you want. For as long as you need."

It was a fun day. A perfect day. A day of promises kept, and bubbles shared and family together, swimming in the deep blue heart of the ocean, surrounded by wonder, protected by love, alive with possibility.