King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 4: Flashback

[Third person POV]

A Few Years Earlier…

A young 8-year-old Arthur sat alone on a jagged rock formation that jutted out over the shore, his legs dangling off the edge. His bare chest shimmered under the golden sun, his only attire being a pair of faded orange swim trunks clinging to his frame. The ocean stretched endlessly before him, each wave crashing rhythmically against the rocks below, but Arthur’s gaze wasn’t on the waves. His blue eyes were glassy, distant—lost somewhere far beyond the horizon.

It was a routine of his now—sitting in silence, letting the salty breeze brush through his sun-bleached hair, thinking of another life from long ago.

Then, something changed.

A flicker of movement beneath the water’s surface caught his eye. At first, he assumed it was a school of fish or a drifting shadow, but the movement was deliberate, purposeful. His narrowed gaze followed the figure that began to rise through the depths.

A man stepped from the water. Regal in bearing, older in age, with long hair tied back and ocean-worn armor covering his form. Despite the salt clinging to him, he looked composed, like he belonged to the sea itself.

Arthur stood immediately, his small form tense and alert. He stared at the stranger walking up the shore, and when the man smiled and greeted him, his voice calm and polite—

“Greetings—”

Arthur didn’t let him finish.

“Oi! You’re from Atlantis, aren’t you?” he shouted. The boy suddenly sprang down from the rocks, hopping nimbly from stone to stone before landing in front of the stranger with a burst of sand.

Vulko blinked, slightly startled. “Oh? So you know of your heritage—”

Arthur didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, glaring up at the man. “Did you come here to report that my mother’s dead?”

Vulko’s composed expression faltered. He hadn’t expected such aggression from a boy so young, much less such coarse language. “Why would you assume something like that?” he asked, careful with his tone.

Arthur’s jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. “Because I’m not a dumbass. I saw the look she gave us—my dad and me—when they took her away. She knew she wasn’t coming back. She knew exactly what was going to happen, and she still went with them.” He took a step forward. “So don’t lie to me. Just answer the question. Is she dead?”

There was a long silence between them—just the crashing waves and Arthur’s shallow breathing filling the air. Vulko’s face grew grim, his shoulders heavy. He had hoped to delay this truth, to ease the boy into it when he was older. But it was clear Arthur had already accepted what most would deny.

“Yes,” Vulko finally said, voice low and burdened. “I’m afraid the Queen—your mother, Atlanna—is no more. The King tried to forgive her, to push past what he saw as betrayal. Even after she bore him a son—your half-brother, Prince Orm—he remained consumed with envy and rage. The mere thought of your existence, a child of the surface, was too much for him. And so… he sentenced her to the Deep Abyss. He cast her into the Trench, to a place where even the strongest Atlanteans fear to venture. No one has ever returned.”

Arthur’s lips trembled slightly as he bit down hard on them, trying to hold back the storm building inside. But his eyes betrayed him. Tears welled at the corners as he turned away, pacing slowly back toward the rock he’d been sitting on just moments earlier.

He raised his tiny fist, cocked it back, and drove it into the solid stone with everything he had.

The sound echoed like a cannon blast—CRACK. A spiderweb of fractures tore through the rock. Chunks split off, scattering like shards across the sand. Arthur’s fist remained buried deep in the stone, trembling with the force of the blow. Blood trickled down his knuckles, dripping steadily onto the pale sand below.

He panted hard, chest heaving, eyes overflowing. “Fuck…” he muttered, his voice cracking under the weight of grief. “Fucking bastards…”

Vulko quietly approached, his own expression lined with sorrow. He placed a gentle, steadying hand on Arthur’s small shoulder, only to see the blood trailing down the boy’s arm, his knuckles already swelling and raw. The pain didn’t seem to faze him. Not compared to the loss.

“I’m here because I made a vow to your mother,” Vulko said solemnly. “I owe her my life. And I intend to honor her memory. I will look after you, Arthur. I will teach you everything I know—how to survive in the sea, how to use your gifts. What it truly means to be Atlantean.”

Arthur turned his head just enough to glare at the older man from over his shoulder. His voice was sharp and venom-laced.

“Get your fucking hands off me,” he growled. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need you to teach me shit. I’ve been looking after myself just fine.”

Vulko let out a weary sigh. “Your mother… she confided in me about you—her love, her worries, everything. She feared the King's wrath wouldn’t end with her. She believed... he’d come for you next. That’s why she made me swear to look after you, to protect you, and to teach you what it means to be Atlantean. So please, Arthur… let me help you.”

Arthur stared into Vulko’s eyes, and for the first time, he saw no lies, no deception—only sincerity. But Vulko also saw something in Arthur’s gaze: a young boy barely holding himself together, his grief tucked behind rage and defiance.

Without another word, Vulko sank to one knee in front of him and gently pulled him into an embrace. One hand rested behind Arthur’s head as his forehead fell onto Vulko’s shoulder. Arthur’s lips trembled, his body stiff, but then his fists unclenched. His eyes shut tight, and he silently cried. No sobs, no sound—just tears spilling down his cheeks.

---

A Few Days Later…

Arthur and Vulko now floated deep beneath the ocean’s surface, surrounded by schools of fish and glowing jellyfish drifting through the water like slow-moving stars. They faced one another, a current gently swirling between them.

“I can see you’re already familiar with most of your Atlantean abilities,” Vulko noted. “But what I want to know is—do you know how to use them in a fight?”

Arthur grinned. “I’ll have you know I’ve taken karate.”

Vulko raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

‘Granted,’ Arthur added in his mind, “it was a side hobby in a past life… but he doesn't need to know that.’

Vulko smirked and gestured with two fingers. “Come on, then. Show me.”

Arthur rolled his neck with a crack and muttered, “Since you asked so nicely…” With a sharp kick of his legs, he shot forward like a torpedo, his fist cocked back.

The moment Arthur struck, Vulko calmly batted his punch aside like swatting a leaf. Arthur followed with a flurry—kicks, palm strikes, knees—but Vulko deflected everything with minimal movement, weaving around the boy’s attacks with effortless grace.

Then, to Arthur’s great annoyance, Vulko yawned. He even covered his mouth with one hand.

“You arrogant bastard—!” Arthur growled, launching forward again. Vulko responded with a single arm thrust, sending Arthur tumbling backward through the water like a skipped stone.

“You’re still fighting like you’re on land,” Vulko said, floating calmly. “You think in straight lines—up, down, forward, back. But you’re in the ocean now. There are no limits here. You're Atlantean, Arthur. Learn to move like one.”

He vanished from where he floated and reappeared in a blur just in front of Arthur.

“For example—”

Before Arthur could react, Vulko twisted his body, wrapping his legs around Arthur’s neck. In one fluid motion, he performed a rapid series of somersaults, spinning Arthur in every direction, completely disorienting him. Then Vulko flung him down toward the seabed.

Arthur hit the sand with a dull thud, sending up a plume of it in every direction. He groaned, bouncing slightly before floating back up.

“Urrghhh—! You motherfucker!” he barked, shaking the dizziness from his head. “You didn’t have to throw me into the goddamn sand just to prove your point!”

Vulko floated down toward him and sighed. “Another thing,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “you are a prince. The firstborn prince, in fact. That makes you the rightful Crown Prince of Atlantis. It is… inappropriate for someone of your stature to speak like that.”

Arthur, unbothered, raised both middle fingers and stuck out his tongue. “Crown this.”

Vulko’s lips twitched as he struggled to contain his frustration. He exhaled slowly. “We’ll just… add that to the list of lessons. Your behavior is clearly going to be at the top priority we need to be working on.”