Water surrounded him. He was in a cage and the animals avoided him. Yet, he slept.

The golden light was foreign to the sea dwelling creatures. More than one mermaid had attempted to get the human within out. To drown him and feast on his flesh. They were long-lived, these half-humans.

 And they recognized the hated Emperor of the empire, which more than once attempted to subjugate even them. Failing only because its greatest weapon, the bestial Nephilim, were slow and prone to drowning in the water. Even their feet not reaching the bottom of the great ocean.

There was a bird’s feather clutched in the young and yet ancient man’s left hand. His expression of turmoil. No matter how much the merfolk screamed at him, he didn’t wake.

When, after a hundred years had passed and the human remained in their domain, the merfolk decided to get rid of him. To push him far away from the ruins of his once great city, which now was theirs, and let those who he had enslaved before recognize him and have their vengeance.

Humanity always found a way to get even, and here was someone who they must still remember. Who they must still hate? The merfolk used the emperor’s own golden spear to push the cage made of light in the ocean. Carrying him through warm waters, then leaving him with their cousins, who carried him through colder ones.

There was ice around the cage. Yet, it never lasted for long. Once per day the ice would melt and the joy of the savage merfolk with it. They all hoped they could leave the human into an iceberg.

 Where his magic would be too busy keeping him alive in the cold. Yet, they didn’t stop their journey for they knew he would one day wake and when he did, they wanted him out of their domain.

Cold made way to warmth again and the cage was pushed into a sandy beach. Dissolving immediately now that it wasn’t needed, and the merfolk scattered away. Throwing the golden spear at the sleeping figure and cursing him as they swam.

The sun gave Nikola warmth that he hadn’t felt since Atlantis had fallen. He wanted to remain here forever. But he opened his eyes and saw with both of them, and then he regretted it immediately. The eye he had gauged out had regenerated. He had deserved for it not to as punishment.

“Penemue, my love, do you hear me?” He prayed just like he used to when the angel first came into his life. “I’m lost, and you are the only thing I have left of my old world. I know you are not dead. Please answer me.”

 A gentle breeze played with Nikola’s now waist length hair, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry about Pallas. He was as much my son as yours and Vasiliki’s,” nothing again, and Nikola looked down at the feather he was still clutching. He suddenly felt hatred rise within him.

This was as much Penemue’s doing as well as his own. He let go of the feather and watched it drift down to the ground. He raised his foot to step on it when it finally touched the sand, but then a stray tear fell down his cheek.

Everyone was dead. His island was sunken and destroyed. He was sure of it. The tears kept falling as he knelt down on the ground and cupped the feather in his hands, cleaning it from the sand grains that clutched to it.

 He had overreached. Had been fearful to give the throne to Pallas. Or even a little land for the giant to call his own. And now Pallas…no. He, Nikola, had destroyed everything. He kissed the feather as if it truly belonged to his lover and placed it in the folds of his tunic. Over his heart.

“Until we meet again, my love,” he whispered brokenly to the wind as he began to go in the direction of the mountains surrounding the beach.

He could be anywhere, he reasoned with himself. But these mountains, which were standing high as if they were columns in truth, and which looked eaten, belonged to only one place.

He was in Asia and if he didn’t have luck, he was in China now. The empire, which had fought against him for three centuries before falling to the Nephilim. He had thought it amusing back then to let them keep their giant wall that had been taller even than the tallest giant. Now he only hoped they had burned all his portraits in joy and could no longer recall who he was.