Legend LXVI – Ariele, Neptune's Daughter

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As the sun ran like liquid gold across the sea and the waves shimmered in the breath of evening, a soft melody rose above the shore. It sounded like salt and longing, like memories of places no sailor ever found on a map. There, between gentle foam and warm sand, sat Ariele – Neptune's daughter, born of storm crest and deep green water. Her hair fell like burning copper wind over her shoulders, and in her eyes lay the horizon itself: endless, promising, dangerous. Before her lay an open chest of dark wood, engraved with symbols of ancient tides. A compass, its needle never pointing north, gleamed like a small brass heart. Beside it, a map, drawn on silk, tanned by salt – it showed reefs like crowns, canyons beneath the sea, routes that even the ancients considered legendary. Ariele traced the lines with her fingertips. Each one was a whisper from her heritage, a call. But today the call was different. Far on the horizon, three ships sailed, their sails like white prayers in the evening light. Humans, she thought. Searching, hunting—and sometimes dreaming. They said Ariele could see into the future as into clear water. Some called her a harbinger of doom, others a savior. But she was neither—only the daughter of a realm that knew neither mercy nor cruelty, but only depths. Her father, Neptune, had once forbidden her to touch the surface for more than a breath. "The world above us is built of storm," he had said. "It does not love, it takes." But Ariele had heard the call of the waves, rolling toward land like thoughts that never fall silent. And so she had secretly risen, with a chest full of memories of the realm of the deep, and had touched the shore—skin against sand, freedom against command. As the ships drew nearer, the sound of drums crossed the water. Not a battle cry, but a call—curious, searching. The captain of the lead ship was young, with a gaze that wasn't one of greed, but of thirst for knowledge. His name was Alessandro Maren, cartographer and seeker of truth. He had heard of a mermaid who sang along beaches, using star charts, and who held treasures not of gold, but of paths and answers. His heart drew him inexorably to her. Ariele saw him coming, saw the doubt in his eyes, the wonder, the respect. She smiled almost imperceptibly. "You're looking for something," she said, when he was close enough for their voices to meet. "Not wealth." "A direction," he replied. "To where the world ends—or begins." Then she took the compass, its needle resting like a sleeping thought, and touched it with her lips. The needle swirled, turned like a dance, and then stood still—not pointing north, but out onto the open sea, into a blue that stretched endlessly. Alessandro sensed this wasn't a map of geography, but of destiny. "Follow it," Ariele said, "and you'll find more than countries. Perhaps yourself." Then she lowered her hand into the water.