The amulet is broken.

That is the only explanation that presents itself to my mind as I cut through the clear waves, cold water kissing my skin.

I'm supposed to find a pure heart, not a mortally wounded one.

My disappointment leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I hadn't realized how high my hopes had climbed in so short a time, and the pain of their dashing catches me by surprise. Our first meeting had left me nonplussed, but after so much time I'd been willing and eager to believe the slightest sign and to pursue it with a passion.

I'd even gone so far as to listen in on his children's conversations, learning their plans for the lake today.

I hadn't lied: I come here often to swim, though more often by cover of night than by day. Under darkness, I'm free to take my true form — one of them, as Mother would remind me. I'm half human, fins or not.

Reminded of her, and of the brothers and sisters I so long to see, I dive deep and let my mind go still. The lake is lovely, its waters cleansing and calm, but my heart aches for the wild waves and deep blue depths of the sea.

From which I am banished.

Bring me a pure heart, Mother said, and the Crown is yours.

The amulet is supposed to help me find such a thing, though it hasn't been much help so far. Martin Hunter is the first for whom it's burned so hot; it burned hotter still at our second meeting than at our first; but by the invisible glow of its fire, I'd seen something else as well.

There is a shadow over him — or within him, perhaps; a darkness that devours, born of a bitter hurt. It will kill him before long, unless he finds some cure for it.

Ergo, he cannot be the one I seek. Perhaps, after so much time, the enchantments my mother placed upon the amulet are wearing thin; perhaps I must, at long last, accept my fate and my defeat.

Drawn to the depths by a sinking despair, I settle on the gravelly lakebed, legs crossed, and let my hair float about me free. I shut my eyes, imagining what Mother would think if she could see me now — prince of the sea, teaching little children how to paint.

It's not a bad life, a kinder part of my mind points out. You enjoy it, even.

Yes, a more dutiful part agrees, and were it for myself alone, I might be happy enough to live it out on land. But for my brothers and sisters, I have no choice but to continue my search — elsewhere, perhaps.

I had often wondered if Mother had made some mistake in her magic. At first, the task had seemed simple enough — 'pure hearts' could not be so rare, I had thought — but time had proven me wrong. Now and then, I encountered a soul in whose presence the amulet stirred, but never with very great heat. Mother said when I found the one, I would know, but so far that 'one' has eluded me, and not for lack of seeking on my part.

There were few places anymore where one could encounter a large group of people long enough to get to know them, but one such place is a school. Becoming a teacher solved several difficulties: it gave me a livelihood, a chance to meet people, and an excuse to move often.

Advances in technology had made keeping my 'credentials' in order a little more difficult, but it was still easy enough. Fortunately, my Voice worked nearly as well over the phone as it did face-to-face, and a few words were usually enough to get what I wanted.

Still, I'd grown weary of late, with this world and its turmoil and trials, and with the self-destructive short-sightedness of humanity. It no longer amused me, as it once had; now it saddened me, and made me sorrow for the children whom I taught, whose futures their parents foundered like a poorly sailed ship.

Caught in the net of such thoughts, I sigh, bubbles escaping my lips like a little school of fish, and uncurl myself as I follow them towards the surface.

I've nearly reached the bright ring of sunlight overhead, when a pulse goes through the water, hitting me like a seismic shock. The amulet flares, almost sizzling with sudden heat, and with a gasp I accidentally breathe water.

My body adjusts even as my mind scrambles for a cause. Surfacing, I spit, clear my lungs and scan the lake.

All is calm.

The waves lap about me, gentle beneath a quiet sky, and sunlight bathes a peaceful shore. I turn in a slow circle, looking back the way I had come, but see nothing that would explain the strange pulse.

Then, a small figure runs out along the deserted dock and leans over the edge, reaching for something in the water. Shrill, distant shouts reach my ears as a second figure joins the first, and both attempt to lift something from the waves. Another pulse goes through me, but this one is purely one of sudden understanding, as the distant shouts translate to a word.

"Daddy!"

"Poseidon's piss," I mutter. "Is the fool trying to drown himself?"

Spurred by urgency, I strike off at top speed.

I would be faster with fins, faster with scales than skin, but I don't dare a change now.

I reach the dock in under a minute, grateful my submerged meanderings had brought me closer already, and spot the two older children keeping their father afloat with a grip on his shirt. He's face up, fortunately, but appears unconscious.

Swimming alongside, I slip one arm beneath his shoulders and pull him against my chest.

"It's alright — I've got him now," I say, as the children reluctantly release their hold. "Let me get him ashore."

They obey with fearful faces, and keep close along the dock until I lift their father from the waves, carry him the last few strides, and lay him on the gravelly shore.

Please be alive, I beg silently, as I tear open the front of his shirt to loosen it and lift his head a little. The amulet burns painfully hot against my breast as, even in unconsciousness, his unusual, unguarded beauty strikes me afresh.

Perhaps the amulet is broken; perhaps it's not. Either way, I don't want to lose the chance to find out and spend the rest of my day consoling the bereaved and filling out forms.

Thankfully, before I've even begun to administer first aid, he seizes and coughs, and I help him sit up as he comes around.

His children fall upon him, the two older ones asking quick questions as the little ones cling to his arms and cry with relief, and I give him room to recover as I take stock.

There's something about him, certainly: something different; something strange; something lovely, even.

Most importantly, the amulet has never reacted so strongly to anyone before, and as I observe him reassure his children and wipe water from his face with a shaking hand, a strange sensation settles on my heart.

Just as Mother said I would, I Know.

It doesn't make me happy; he isn't at all what I expected to find, and part of me still clings to doubt. I need a greater certainty, and I'll need to get closer to gain it.

For better or worse, he's given me the perfect opportunity right now.