Mini Brain Dumps

If you’re just joining us and haven’t read the beginning of Darkest Depths, you can catch up here: Beginning of the Story

Missed the previous chapter? No problem! You can find it here: Previous Chapter

Trigger Warning: This novel contains references to sexual assault and mental health disorders. Reader discretion is advised.

I left you all on a huge cliffhanger… and I am sure you have a ton of questions like what happened to Quentin? Where the heck is this story going? And to be honest, I feel pretty bad about it. Besides, the story really just got interesting, right? So, SURPRISE!!!! Here is the next chapter for you all!

From here on out, we are FINALLY, getting to the fantasy bit of this young adult fantasy novel. I am so excited to share it with you all!

So without further adieu…

Chapter 15:

The first thing Quentin felt was the cold—a deep, enveloping chill that seemed to press in from all sides. His chest felt tight, the weight of unseen forces compressing him as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. There was a muffled sound, his own breathing echoing in his ears, but something was wrong. The sound wasn’t natural. It was distorted, as if it was coming from all around him, reverberating through a hollow space.

His eyes snapped open. Instead of the blinding morning light he expected, he was greeted by an inky blackness. Panic surged through him as his memories flooded back—the storm, the Sovereign, and the cold, merciless sea. He was underwater.

Frantically, he flailed, expecting the suffocating rush of seawater into his lungs, but none came. Instead, he realized that he was… breathing. The air—or whatever filled his lungs—was cool, fluid, yet natural. His body wasn’t fighting it. His initial panic gave way to confusion.

I’m underwater, he thought, but I’m not drowning?

Instinctively, Quentin took another deep breath, his lungs expanding without strain. It should have felt wrong, but it was strangely natural, as if his body had adapted to the impossible without his consent. There was no burning in his chest, no overwhelming need to surface. The sheer impossibility of it all made his head spin. He moved his hands in front of his face, watching the water ripple in response, a faint glow illuminating his surroundings.

His heart raced as he realized where he was—a room. Not a cave or the open ocean, but a room. The walls were a living, breathing coral, vibrant and pulsing faintly with an eerie light. He floated there, suspended, his body entirely weightless in the calm, dark water.
Quentin’s eyes widened as he looked down at his legs—except, they weren’t legs anymore. Where his legs had been was now a long, shimmering tail, the scales flashing green and blue with every flick. Panic shot through him once more, and he jerked backward, crashing into the coral wall. The sharp texture bit into his skin, but he barely felt it, his mind too focused on the impossible sight before him.

What the hell…?

His hand shot out, brushing the coral, its rough surface somehow comforting in its solidity. He pressed his palm against the wall, trying to ground himself, trying to make sense of the absurdity surrounding him. The water that had initially felt calm now felt claustrophobic, a prison that was slowly closing in.

Quentin’s tail thrashed, sending him spinning in the water. His heart pounded in his chest, his thoughts racing faster than he could grasp them. He caught sight of the window—large, arched openings covered by thin, shimmering currents of water that allowed light to filter in from the outside.

Through the window, he saw it.

An underwater city.

Towering kelp forests stretched upward, their fronds swaying gently like trees in the wind. Schools of brightly colored fish darted between what appeared to be coral buildings, their movement swift and purposeful. The city itself was a marvel—a sprawling metropolis carved from coral and stone, alive with bioluminescent lights that cast an ethereal glow across the sea floor.

For a moment, Quentin’s panic was replaced by awe. Is this real? Am I dreaming? He floated closer to the window, his tail moving instinctively now, propelling him forward with surprising grace. The sight was mesmerizing, almost enough to make him forget the terror of his situation.

Almost.

The reality of it hit him again like a cold wave crashing over him. He looked down at his body—his new body. His tail, his webbed fingers, and when he reached up to his neck, his fingers brushed against gills. Gills. He winced as the water passed through them, the salt burning the back of his throat.

Quentin tried to take a step, instinctively reaching out to steady himself on the coral wall. But instead of the firm sensation of feet meeting ground, his tail swayed beneath him, throwing him off balance. He flailed, his arms grasping at nothing as he spun awkwardly in the water. His tail flicked uncontrollably, propelling him backward instead of forward, and he tumbled into the corner of the room, the hard coral digging into his back.

“Damn it!” he muttered, frustration surging through him. His body wasn’t obeying him—it wasn’t even his body anymore. His legs were gone, replaced by a massive tail that moved of its own accord, the muscles twitching beneath the smooth scales in a way that felt foreign, almost alien.

He braced himself against the wall and tried again, concentrating hard on what should have been a simple motion—walking. But every movement of his tail sent him drifting sideways, his arms flailing uselessly to right himself. It was like learning to walk all over again, but worse—his body, now foreign and unrecognizable, refused to cooperate.
With each failed attempt, panic clawed at him. He was trapped in this… thing. His own body had betrayed him, and the loss of control made the room feel smaller, the walls closing in.

Quentin took a deep breath, or whatever passed for one, the water flowing through his gills. How was he supposed to survive like this?

Quentin dragged his gaze away from the window, focusing instead on the room around him. A grand bed, carved with smooth coral and draped with flowing silken curtains, was in one corner of the chamber. Delicate shells and iridescent pearls adorned the bedside tables, their surface gleaming softly in the dim light. A desk sat by the window, that appeared to be crafted of stone, with a smooth flat rock in front of it which looked as if it would serve the purpose of a stool.

Questions tumbled through his mind in a dizzying whirlwind. How had this happened? It felt surreal, as if he had been plunged into the midst of a fantastical tale – a tale where humans transformed into mythical creatures. He was dead. He had to be dead.
A soft sound drew his attention. He turned sharply to find someone standing at the doorway—a figure, feminine, draped in sea foam-green robes. Her dark brown hair floating around her head like a halo, her eyes calm and… knowing.

“You’re awake,” she said, her voice soft and melodic, though muffled by the water.

Quentin blinked; his voice caught in his throat as he tried to process her presence.

Where… where am I?” His voice was thick, shaky.

The woman swam closer, her movements slow and fluid, her tail trailing behind her in graceful arcs.

“Welcome to Seidonis, I’m Elysia,” she said, her voice echoing like a soft ripple through the water. Her tail flicked gracefully beneath her, sending a gentle wave through the room. “It’s not every day that we have visitors from the surface,’ she added, eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed him.

Quentin frowned. “Visitors?”

Elysia tilted her head, strangers of her hair floating like seaweed caught in the current. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Though I suppose you’re not exactly a visitor, are you? The sea has a way of choosing its own, no matter what we want.”

She glanced away for the briefest moment, her tail curling closer to her body. “What do you mean by ‘choosing’?” he pressed.

Elysia’s smile wavered ever so slightly, her eyes darting to the door before settling back on him. “You’ll understand in time,” she replied, but her words were too smooth, too practice, as though she had given this answer a hundred times before. “Seidonis is ancient. The currents here… they have their own will. The storms, the whirlpools, even the calm waters you sailed on—they all serve a purpose, though not one the surface world often understands.” She paused, her gaze distant for a moment, as though lost in memory. “Sometimes the sea calls people. Sometimes it pulls them under. You… and your crew… you were caught in something larger than any of us.”

He remembered the storm – the deafening roar of thunder, the relentless fury of the wind as it lashed against the sails of the ship. Panic had surged through him as he was thrown from the ship. The sickening snap of the rope that tethered him.

“The crew,” Quentin said, urgency lacing his voice. “What happened to them? The Sovereign—”

Elysia’s tail flicked nervously, her eyes darting to the door before she replied, “We only found you… and one other. The rest…” She hesitated, then quickly turned her back to him as if the words were too heavy to face directly. “The sea doesn’t always give back what it takes.”

His chest tightened with the weight of loss, the faces of his crew mates flashing in his mind—Captain Reynold, Cate, Jack, the rest of the crew. They were like family to him. Were they lost to the storm? To the sea?

Quentin’s heart sank. “One…” he repeated, the word hanging in the air like a lament.
His mind raced with a barrage of questions, each on a sharp thorn pricking at the edges of his consciousness. There had been at least a dozen other crew members aboard the Sovereign – men and women he had sailed with, laughed with, shared stories with beneath the vast expanse of the open sky. If only one other person was here, what fate had befallen the rest?

Quentin could almost hear Captain Reynold’s voice, barking orders over the wind’s howl. ‘Stay steady, lad! We’ve weathered worse than this!’ Jack’s laughter as Quentin had failed miserably at tying a rope and Jack had clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’ll get it, kid. One more go.” The memory hit like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t just mourning their loss. He was mourning the life that had vanished in an instant, the family they had been.
There had been at least a dozen other crew members on that ship. If only one other person was here with him, what had happened to the others? What had happened to the Sovereign?

Quentin’s heart sank, but there was something in her tone that nagged at him. “And the one other? Who is it? Are they awake?”

She hesitated, her tail flicking nervously in the water. “Not yet. But soon, I hope. Lyra is tending to them. For now, rest. There are things you’ll need to understand, but they will come with time.”

Quentin opened his mouth to protest, but the words died on his lips. Exhaustion hit him all at once, his body heavy as he sank back against the coral wall. His mind felt like it was unraveling, the reality of his transformation and the loss of his crew mates crashing down on him all at once.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” Elysia said softly, her form disappearing through the doorway.
Quentin remained still, staring blankly at the shimmering coral walls, his mind a tumult of emotions—grief, confusion, fear. What am I?

His eyes drifted back to his tail, the shimmering scales catching the faint light. Quentin raised his hand to where there was now a taut membrane stretched between his fingers. His heart jolted at the sight. He willed his hand to move, but each finger seemed to drag behind the next, sluggish and foreign. When he touched his neck, his fingers brushed against slits—gills—opening and closing rhythmically with each breath. The sensation was wrong, his throat raw as the water rushed through them, cold and invasive, like a thousand tiny needles piercing his skin. His body wasn’t his own. Each movement felt unfamiliar, as if he was trapped in a stranger’s skin, like a marionette tugged by invisible strings.

He wasn’t human anymore.

Quentin closed his eyes, willing the nightmares that lurked at the edges of his consciousness to stay at bay. But they came anyway—images of the storm, the faces of his crew, the cold, dark ocean swallowing him whole.

When sleep finally claimed him, it wasn’t with the comfort of rest. The sea was inside him now, its weight pressing, smothering. He wasn’t the man he’d been—he wasn’t sure what he was anymore. But whatever he had become, there was no going back.
He had wanted an adventure and in a cruel twist of fate, he had gotten one.

Your Thoughts Matter!

Is this where you though the story was heading? Or did you think it was going to go somewhere else? What do you think happened to the crew? Who do you think is the other person that the mermaids found? Put your guesses in the comments below!

And as always, if you have any thoughts on this chapter I would love to hear them.

Thank you for taking the time to read and I can’t wait to hear from you!