Chapter 3: Chapter 2: The Immortal On The Fateful Flight

Not the beautiful mermaid of fairy tales.

But a grotesque creature—a descendant of the prehistoric merfolk who once ruled the oceans before mankind ever appeared.

He, once a “king” of that ancient era, understood these merfolk better than anyone. He knew where they lived, what they ate, and how they thought.

In the extinction era brought upon by a meteor, the ocean once again became the safest place on Earth.

The merfolk were no exception. Over millions of years, they evolved into various species—from the giants lurking in the abyss to the smaller beings that roamed the shallows.

He had no interest in the monsters of the deep. He simply wanted to capture a shallow-water mer—a species easier to find and less dangerous.

They lived alone, wandering beaches, harbors, and seaside caves. Omnivorous, much like humans, they devoured anything and everything.

For years, he lived as a drifter, homeless along the coastlines, hunting for any sign of them. Eventually, he found one in San Juan.

He lured it by pretending to be dead, floating motionless on the water’s surface, waiting for the prey to approach. Once it got close enough, he struck—swift and decisive.

He smiled, taking a sip of whiskey. Collecting living creatures—a bizarre hobby for an immortal being. Some people collect stamps. Others, coins. He collected ancient lifeforms, relics of a world long lost.

It was how he passed the time—a way to fill the void of endless existence.

Of course, grappling with that mer almost cost him his “old man’s” life. The creature fought back with such ferocity, nearly dragging him into the depths.

But... the older the ginger, the spicier it gets. Don’t underestimate the elderly, kid.

Poetic words aside, if he hadn't transformed into his Undead form to terrify the mer into submission, that little stunt might’ve turned into a real tragedy. The next day’s headlines might’ve read: “Foreign Tourist’s Corpse Found Floating in Harbor.”

He downed the last of his Talisker. The fiery aftertaste scorched his throat like a small inferno. In that moment, he fancied himself a grizzled monster hunter straight out of an old film. A foolish thought—but one that offered comfort in the void.

Brushing aside idle thoughts, his eyes returned to the TV screen, absorbing fragmented news segments. The soft saxophone in the background flowed like a gentle stream, soothing the weary souls in the airport lounge.

A rare moment of peace—an oasis amid the desert of daily life.

But that fragile tranquility was shattered by the boarding announcement. The flight to Miami. A call for travelers to return to the world’s frantic pace.

He stood—not hurriedly, unlike the others. Instead of joining the swarm, he called over the French bartender with an unusual request.

“Would you mind packing this bottle for me? I don’t want to board like some drunken fool.”

A polite request, yet laced with subtle mockery. He, an immortal who had lived through countless lifetimes, now concerned himself with such trivial social norms.

The young man responded with a professional smile. His hands moved swiftly, expertly. A simple cardboard box, some discreet tape, and finally, a sleek carrying bag. Everything was done with smooth efficiency, like a dance practiced a thousand times.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Thank you, young man.” He nodded, a faint smile creasing his aged face.

“Have a safe flight, sir. Hope to see you again.”

A hollow farewell—but it echoed in his mind like a curse. Because he knew, as fate had already decided, he would never return to this place.

---

The airplane cabin—a cramped, stifling space filled with unfamiliar faces.

He, in his frail elderly form, weaved through the crowd, searching for his seat.

And found it—an ideal window seat. His eyes lit up slightly, a tiny reward for his patience.

He sat down carefully, avoiding contact with the passenger beside him. Then he leaned back, closed his eyes, and surrendered himself to the plane’s gentle vibrations.

Through the tiny window, he watched the glittering lights of the city—like fireflies in the vast night.

He knew his journey had only just begun.

In the bag beside him, the bottle of Talisker lay dormant, awaiting the right moment to be uncorked. A silent companion. A symbol of the loneliness and longing that haunted an immortal soul.

As soon as his back touched the seat, he turned to glance at his reluctant seatmate.

A complete human—middle-aged male, dressed in a well-tailored light blue suit that hugged his frame. His hair slicked back like someone straight out of a fashion ad. A faint scent of cologne hinted at success and self-confidence.

But the real intrigue lay in the laptop on his lap, and the nimble fingers dancing across the keyboard—producing a nonstop ‘click-clack’ melody. He was so engrossed in work, it was as if the world around him ceased to exist.

“American?” His voice was gravelly, like a bell tolling in a dream.

The man flinched, looking up to see the kind smile of an elderly gentleman—weathered, yet courteous.

“Yes, I am. I apologize if the typing disturbed you. I’m just wrapping up a few final edits for a contract.”

“No worries,” he chuckled. “You were so focused, I figured I’d say hello. Fyodor Vasilyev. Russian.”

The man closed his laptop and shook his hand. “John. John Lennon. A pleasure. I must say, your English is impeccable. If I hadn’t seen you, I’d think I was talking to a native Londoner.”

“Haha, not the first time I’ve heard that.” Fyodor winked, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “It’s the fruit of a ‘past life,’ you could say.”

Whatever that meant was soon drowned out by the sweet female voice over the speaker:

“Welcome aboard flight A3 from San Juan to Miami. Please fasten your seatbelts and follow all safety instructions…”

John chuckled, placing the laptop into his bag. “You’re quite the character.”

Fyodor shrugged. “So, John, what do you do? You seem rather successful.”

“I represent a real estate firm in New York.” His eyes sparkled with pride.

“Sounds lucrative, I imagine?”

“Exactly.” He raised his wrist, showing off a gleaming Rolex Submariner. “Not cheap either—around a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Expensive indeed.”

“Not really, sir.” John smiled, clearly enjoying the older man’s surprise. “It’s the price of success.”

He changed the topic. “And you? Are you traveling alone or with family? A trip like this can’t be easy at your age.”

“Just me.” Fyodor replied. “I wanted some time alone. To explore new things.”

“I see. So, you’re visiting Miami for leisure? Or do you have family there?”

“Just for travel. And you, John? You look like you’re on a business trip.”

“Correct. I just wrapped up an important meeting in Puerto Rico, and now I’m heading to Miami for another contract signing.” He sighed, looking a bit drained.

“Sounds exhausting, doesn’t it?” Fyodor asked, though a flicker of amusement gleamed in his eyes.

“I completely agree. The constant flying takes a real toll.”

“Hopefully, the hot bodies on Miami Beach will help you recover a little.”

“Ha ha ha!”

A casual conversation between two strangers—bound by fate on this flight. John, with his hectic life and clear goals. Fyodor, a mysterious traveler carrying an unimaginable past.

The plane began to roll along the runway, preparing for its ascent through the clouds.

Before long, the conversation halted as the plane trembled—signaling the takeoff sequence.

Just as expected, once the aircraft stabilized on the runway, Fyodor felt the powerful tremor. Metal screeched, engines roared—a symphony of might and control. It was a moment where every passenger, including him, held their breath in anticipation of flight’s magic.

Then suddenly, gravity pressed down on them all. The plane surged forward, accelerating to a breakneck speed—300 km/h—a velocity once reserved for high-end sports cars. This time, everyone was pinned to their seats, enduring the discomfort with a thrill in their veins.

The aircraft lifted off, a giant metal bird soaring into the sky. As it climbed higher, the world below shrank into a miniature painting—winding roads, tiny buildings, and distant lights twinkling like dreams long past.