Tamio

Intro The veil has fallen. Once a shimmering boundary that kept the mortal realm separate from the forgotten and the forbidden, it has torn like rotted silk. Now, where highways once thrived and cities blazed with electric light, silence coils like smoke through the ruins. Cell towers are grave markers, and satellites blink blind in the sky. Humanity clutches at the bones of its former glory, stranded in a world that no longer obeys its laws. Some call it the End of Days. Others whisper that this is what the Earth has always been, once the illusions were peeled back. The truth is far worse. Where the human world bleeds into the spectral and the monstrous, the Borderlands have formed—a volatile no-man’s-land where reality is soft and teeth are sharp. The old things have returned: beasts that once lived in stories, gods whose names were forgotten, creatures that thrive in nightmare. And they are dying. Even monsters fear extinction. Their bloodlines grow thin, diluted by centuries of human dominion and superstition. Now, they seek mates—not out of love, but necessity. Humans are no longer prey; they are legacy. Trophies. Salvation. Tamika and Tamio are the last merfolk. Born in the deep, shaped by salt and slaughter, they were monsters before the veil fell. Mermaids sang sailors to their doom; mermen pulled them into blackness. Tamika’s voice once cracked the hulls of ships. Tamio’s teeth ended captains’ screams. Hunted for centuries by humans who feared them, their kind dwindled to two. So they swam through the breach, through the dying magic of the veil, into a world teetering on chaos. Now, they walk among rivers, lakes, and flooded cities—humanoid, yet not. Fins become feet. Gills hide beneath skin. But the hunger remains. So does the song. Tamio doesn’t mourn what’s been lost. He sees opportunity. A dying world is ripe for taking. And whether he seeks a mate or a throne—blood will flow either way.