The endless blue ocean stretched in all directions, a shimmering veil of mystery that swallowed the horizon. A small boat, its azure blue paint chipped and faded from years of saltwater's embrace, swayed gently on the calm waves. The sun blazed at its zenith, a relentless tyrant whose scorching heat mingled with a gentle sea breeze, carrying whispers of distant storms and the sharp tang of seaweed. A long fishing rod rested on one side of the boat, its taut line slicing into the sea. A sad, soggy worm dangled below as bait, luring unseen creatures.
A scrawny boy, barely fourteen, sat beside the rod, his eyes dark as an abyss fixed on the reel. He wore a wide straw hat, its frayed edges fluttering like a weary flag, shielding his body from the sun's glare. This was Calen, an orphan from the village of Sunset. Orphanhood offered no privileges; after his father vanished two years ago during a routine fishing trip—swallowed by the sea's greedy depths—and his mother died at his birth, Calen fended for himself. All he had were his father's meager savings, a handful of coins that jingled like broken promises, this boat, and the fishing rod, its handle worn smooth by desperate hands.
The past two years had been grueling. Calen survived on dried fish and bark bread, traded for his last coins. He lacked the skill to fish safely at sea, having learned only the basics from his father before his disappearance. He ventured out only when certain of the day's weather, reading clouds like a nervous poet, staying close to the village, and targeting the most common fish that were easy to catch. This was his fourth sea trip in two years. He had exhausted his money and hadn't eaten in two days, his stomach growling like a caged beast. As a mere speck among Sunset's thousands, his pride forbade him from begging. He had no neighbors or friends, nor did his father, a quiet man who preferred the sea's company to the village's chatter. No one checked on Calen in two years, and no one cared about his father's fate. Fishermen vanishing was typical in the village. From the day Calen remembers, his father had been the only other human being he had interacted with, and even after his disappearance, Calen never felt like connecting with anyone, keeping himself isolated from the other people in the village.
Today, Calen ventured out with resolve, a spark in his empty gut. Starving, he needed food soon. He vowed to stay until he caught a fish to eat or a fish killed him, joining his parents in whatever soggy afterlife awaited. He crouched in the boat, his bony knees drawn up, eyes locked on the rod's reel, every twitch a heartbeat.
He once foolishly wondered why not use large nets to haul in multiple fish instead of waiting for one to bite, as patient as stones—utter folly. No ordinary person knew what lurked below the ocean. Dark shapes twisting in the deep like nightmares given fins. A net could snag a demon fish too strong, a monster with teeth like shattered glass. Even the weakest demon fish matched a ten-year-old's strength and size, thrashing wildly. Catching even five at once would require multiple people to haul the net, their arms straining like taut ropes, and a larger boat, made of sturdy wood and iron. But bigger boats drew bigger threats, bold targets for the ocean's horrors. A snake ignores an ant but might devour a frog-sized ant. So, nets were impractical. Fishing rods were safest, and skilled fishers could catch a fish every five minutes, a rhythm like breathing, provided they stayed quiet and avoided attracting larger demon fish—beasts that could swallow the boat whole and burp up the bones.
Alone, Calen wasn't just fishing for supper. He fished for a reason to keep going, the rod trembling in his grip as if it knew the stakes. Then, it happened. The rod quivered, and the reel jerked downward. Calen swiftly grabbed the rod, bracing himself near the boat's floor, feet planted firmly. He reeled in the line for a few seconds, then locked the reel to prevent more line from spooling out, letting the fish pull him and the boat. The force told him this wasn't a common bristlemouth fish, like the ones in his previous catches. Those had less strength and easily reeled in on the first try. Whatever was hooked now was strong enough to drag Calen and his boat.
Quick to adapt, Calen regained his composure. He shifted tactics, letting the fish pull and tire itself out. His father had warned him to cut the line in such cases, admitting he wasn't strong enough to catch that demon fish. But hunger and pride gnawed at him. The world seemed to conspire to crush him, yet he refused to yield. Defiance surged, perhaps his last spark of adrenaline. "Today, one of us dies, you damned fish!" he screamed, throat raw. "Either you kill me, or I eat you!"
He yanked the rod from the boat's side, securing its base at the bow, and resumed reeling. After thirty seconds, he locked the reel again, letting the fish pull. His only chance was to exhaust it before it surfaced. For the next hour, he repeated the cycle: reel, lock, let the fish pull, then reel again. When the line neared its end, he loosened the reel, giving the fish room to expend more energy. But Calen wasn't unscathed. His body, weakened by hunger, burned with exhaustion. Only sheer willpower kept him going, a refusal to accept defeat quietly.
An hour later, the fish's pulling weakened. Sometimes, Calen barely felt it tug. Without the hook's weight, he might've thought it had escaped. He began reeling steadily, no longer pausing. Dread mixed with excitement—his first major catch, but what horror had he hooked? As he pulled, a bright white pearl gleamed beneath the water. Sunlight reflecting off the surface made him doubt his eyes, but the pearl emerged, attached to a stem of dried, shriveled skin.
Before he could process it, a giant, ball-like monster fish erupted from the water. The pearl's stem sprouted from its head, its mouth bristling with saw-like teeth that flashed in the sunlight. It lunged for Calen and the boat. He rolled to the stern, but its sharp fins grazed his back, drawing blood. The fish landed at the bow with a heavy plop, breathing heavily, glaring at Calen. It flapped, trying to reach him, enraged at the human who'd exhausted it for an hour. Had it not been weakened, it would've snapped him in half.
Calen saw its weakened state. Studying it, he realized what he'd caught. " Demon Angler Fish," he murmured, recalling a market memory from age eight. His father had shown him a dead one someone found floating, a rare creature from the ocean's darkest depths. They surfaced only when lost, dying under the sun's glare. Its head-pearl was immensely valuable, enough to feed him for years. Catching one on his hook was an incredible stroke of luck.
He planned to let the sun finish it, but the rod's tip was broken, the line severed by the fish's fins. Nothing held it to the boat. The fish sensed this, flapping toward the water. Fury surged in Calen; he felt as if the world itself blocked his path. Ignoring the pain in his back and the fish's gleaming teeth, he grabbed two daggers from the boat's rear. With a roar, he lunged.
A brutal brawl erupted on the small boat—a fourteen-year-old boy against a giant Demon Angler Fish. Calen stabbed wildly, daggers piercing its rubbery flesh, blue blood spraying. The fish's teeth scraped his body, seeking a limb to seize. Red blood mingled with blue, pooling purple in places. After five minutes of relentless stabbing and scraping, silence fell. Calen lay in the blood-soaked boat, breath ragged, beside the fish, its body riddled with stab wounds. Its pearl, dimmed and blood-stained, adorned its lifeless head, eyes staring blankly.
Calen met its gaze. "Your life was forfeit when you lost your way," he whispered. "Don't regret becoming my food… I'll remember you." He retrieved a dagger, cut a chunk of its flesh, and ate it. That was his gravest mistake today. Demon fish had their bodies immensely strengthened by Aether. Common sea fish were tough, but Demon Angler Fish, adapted to the ocean's deepest pressures, were packed with Aether to withstand pressure Calen couldn't fathom. Their flesh, though softened on the surface, retained potent energy. Normally, when these fish died, their Aether dissipated into the ocean and air before being claimed by predators or humans who were fortunate enough to find them floating. It's also fairly common knowledge that you can't eat any demon fish other than the standard varieties like Bristlemouths raw. But Calen, unaware and driven by hunger, ate the fresh flesh of a newly killed Demon Angler Fish.