A few hours passed and the sun has begun to set; Dylan tossed a fish bone into the ocean while Yve eats cooked fish in one bite. Then, Dylan spoke without looking at her. "So how you gonna get your legs?"
"Full moon tonight. I hope it happens. I've been waiting for years…" Her voice softer than the breeze. Her words hung there, unrushed, unburdened. Hope wrapped in patience.
Dylan scratched at the corner of his jaw, stared at the fire too long. "Well…" he said, voice gruff, low, "whatever happens… it's meant to be." But the words stuck halfway down his throat. He looked at her. "You sure that's somethin' you still want?" he asked, quieter now. "Bein' up here? Walkin' in all this?"
Yve met his gaze with an odd sort of peace in her eyes. "I've wanted it longer than I've feared it."
Dylan didn't answer. Just stared back at the flames as they cracked over blackened logs—silent, torn between running and wishing.
Dylan crouched at the edge of the dock; eyes fixed on the ripples. Below, Yve lingered in the ocean's hush, submerged, still, her hands clasped before her chest like prayer. Her tail stirred faintly in the dark, green and opal scales catching stray glimmers as if reluctant to let go.
Dylan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching her through the shifting surface. He didn't speak. He didn't dare.
Then the moon crested, its light sharpened, narrowing, as though the sky itself had chosen her. The ocean seemed to notice. Water coiled around Yve's tail, silk-like, pulsing once, twice, wrapping tighter. She gasped beneath the surface, bubbles slipping past her lips—half prayer, half shock.
Dylan's breath caught. He pressed his palms to the dock, boots braced, eyes locked on her as the sea began to lift her. Slowly, deliberately, the water raised her above the surface, her body suspended in liquid light. Her tail shimmered, then melted. The ocean pulled it away, not violently, but with purpose. And where it had been, legs emerged—pale, trembling, foreign.
A few hours passed, and the sun had begun to set. Dylan tossed a fish bone into the ocean while Yve devoured the cooked fish in a single bite. Then he spoke without looking at her.
"So… how you gonna get your legs?"
"Full moon tonight. I hope it happens. I've been waiting for years…" Her voice was softer than the breeze, calm, patient.
Dylan scratched at the corner of his jaw, staring at the fire. "Well…" he said, gruff and low, "whatever happens… it's meant to be." The words stuck halfway down his throat. He finally looked at her. "You sure that's somethin' you still want?" he asked, quieter now. "Bein' up here… walkin' in all this?"
Yve met his gaze with a strange sort of peace. "I've wanted it longer than I've feared it."
Dylan didn't answer. He just watched the flames crack over blackened logs—silent, torn between running and wishing.
~~~
Deeper into the night, Dylan crouched at the edge of the dock, eyes fixed on the ripples. Below, Yve lingered in the ocean's hush, submerged and still, hands clasped before her chest like prayer. Her tail stirred faintly, green and opal scales catching stray glimmers as if reluctant to let go.
Dylan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching through the shifting surface. He didn't speak. Didn't dare.
Then the moon crested. Its light sharpened, narrowing, as if the sky itself had chosen her. The ocean seemed to notice. Water coiled around Yve's tail, silk-like, pulsing once, twice, wrapping tighter. She gasped beneath the surface, bubbles slipping past her lips—half prayer, half shock.
Dylan's breath caught. He pressed his palms to the dock, boots braced, eyes locked as the sea began to lift her. Slowly, deliberately, the water raised her above the surface, her body suspended in liquid light. Her tail shimmered, then melted. The ocean pulled it away, not violently, but with purpose. Where it had been, legs emerged, pale, trembling, foreign.
For a heartbeat, she hovered there, disbelief etched across her face. Then the ocean spat her out. The waves surged once, hard, and Yve landed on the dock, flat-faced, breathless. The sound was sharp, human, startling.
Dylan staggered back, arms jerking up. A naked girl had just been hurled from the sea in front of him—of course he was startled. His boots scraped the boards, chest tight with awe and dread.
The moonlight lingered, then faded behind clouds, the spotlight withdrawn.
Dylan blinked, frozen for half a beat before instinct kicked in. He dropped to one knee beside the duffle bag and fished through shirts, dresses, and denim, muttering under his breath.
He found a towel first. Rough but clean. Without a word, he stepped forward and wrapped it around Yve, eyes averted, jaw tight.
Yve didn't move. Didn't speak. Her fingers hovered above her new legs, hesitant, as if afraid they might vanish.
He knelt beside her and set down the clothes. Beside them, a pair of brand-new rubber shoes, tags still tucked into the soles.
Still, she didn't speak. Just blinked. Then let out a shaky exhale that might've been a laugh, a sob, or both.
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "Well, hell," he muttered. "You really did it."
Yve trembled, fingers curling tighter around the towel draped over her shoulders. The first sob came quiet, barely a hitch in her breath—but the second hit like a wave. Her face crumpled, and tears spilled freely. "I've waited for years…" she choked out, voice cracking.
Dylan shifted, alarm flashing in his eyes. "Hey," he murmured awkwardly, patting her shoulder—light, stiff, like he was afraid she might shatter. "C'mon now. You… you did it."
She didn't answer, just cried harder, head dipping as her new legs folded awkwardly beneath her. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around him, clinging like the storm hadn't passed.
Dylan stiffened for half a second—but slowly, his arms came around her. A little too wide. A little too uncertain. But they held firm. He kept patting her back, light at first, then steadier. "Okay," he muttered. "Uhh… breathe. I got you."
Yve slowly pulled away, wiping her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "They're so beautiful…" she whispered, wonder thick in her voice.
Dylan cleared his throat, rubbing his neck. "Yeah. Yeah, they're… they're real nice."
She glanced at him, a grin breaking through the tears. "Help me up?"
He hesitated for a half-second, then gently took her by the arms, careful not to jostle her. "Alright. Nice and easy…"
Yve braced herself and, with his help, pushed upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her like seaweed pulled too far from the tide. She stood—barely—but her toes curled, heels lifted, her body instinctively balancing as if still part of the waves. Her stance looked more ballerina than human. "I feel so tall…" she murmured, wobbling again.
"That's 'cause you're standin'," Dylan muttered, tightening his grip when she leaned too far sideways.
She giggled, took a step—and promptly collapsed into him. He caught her fast, arms around her waist, her hair brushing against his chin. "Woah, woah—easy now. Don't gotta sprint outta the gate," he said softly, steadying her. "Ain't no race."
Yve nodded, breathless but glowing. "I'll get it."
He offered a faint, crooked smile. "I know."
They lingered a moment, her leaning into him, him holding steady, before he adjusted his stance and whispered, as if telling a secret to the ocean, "One step at a time, alright?"
Dylan held both her hands, calloused palms wrapped around her smaller fingers. Yve clutched him like a lifeline, brows knit in absolute concentration. She lifted one foot, tentative and awkward, and planted it a few inches ahead. Her body swayed hard, like a Jenga tower halfway to collapse. She gasped and adjusted, arms tightening around his.
Her knees trembled, but the foot stayed planted. Then came the second step. Her balance wobbled again, and Dylan instinctively took a half step forward to steady her, never letting go. "You're doing good," he said, voice low and steady.
Yve's eyes went wide, shimmering with disbelief. "Oh my heavens," she whispered, voice trembling into a laugh. "I'm walking." She took another step, then another. Each landed with an awkward thud; her heels hit too hard, her balance still learning what bones were meant to hold.
Dylan kept his palms steady on hers. "You're doing fine," he muttered, watching her feet closely. Then he let go of one hand.
Yve gasped, panicked, gripping tighter with the other. "Why are you letting go?"
"You'll learn faster," he said, pacing beside her but keeping his hands off.
She stepped again, stomped really, arms flailing slightly, muttering a half-hearted curse mixed with a giggle.
"One problem at a time," Dylan muttered, nodding as if they were fixing a truck, not teaching someone how to walk.
When she found a rhythm—a shaky, stompy, somehow-it's-working rhythm—he took a breath and slowly let go of her other hand.
"No, don't let go of me, Dylan," Yve cried.
But he already had. One beat later, Yve tilted and tumbled sideways. Dylan lunged for her, but he was too slow. She hit the water with a splash, arms flailing as the ocean embraced her again. The dock shook beneath his boots as he dropped to his knees, reaching.
Beneath the surface, as soon as Yve submerged fully, her tail unfurled, long and luminous. It coiled once through the water and then stilled. She surfaced with a gasp, hair slicked back, laughing breathlessly. Not afraid. Not hurt. Just stunned and reborn.
Dylan exhaled hard through his nose, gripping the edge of the dock. "Guess we ain't done learnin' yet," he muttered, watching her float.
The fire burned down as night stretched deeper around them. The stars blinked clear over the ocean, but neither of them looked up. Dylan crouched on the dock, one knee to the wood, holding a shoelace between his fingers. "No, loop it first. Like this," he muttered, demonstrating slow and stiff.
Yve mirrored him, tongue pressed lightly to the corner of her lip, brow furrowed in concentration. She bent forward, fingers fumbling with the rubber shoe like it was some cryptic artifact dredged from the sea. "I think I'm strangling it," she murmured.
"You're fine," he said. "Just… pull that through… yeah." When the loop finally formed, Dylan gave the faintest nod. "There. It won't win any races, but it'll stay on."
Yve grinned, barefoot on one side, awkwardly laced on the other. "I never thought clothing would be harder than walking."
"Well," Dylan said, handing her the other shoe, "you ain't tried buttons yet."
He helped her into a hoodie next. Soft gray. Oversized. The fabric hung loose on her frame, sleeves swallowing her hands. Dylan tugged the collar straight, careful, eyes fixed anywhere but her face.
The next hour passed in slow laps across the dock. One step at a time. Dylan stayed close, correcting her posture, steadying an elbow, murmuring instructions under his breath. "Heel first. Don't lock your knees."
Yve moved like gravity had learned a new way to pull at her. Every few minutes she laughed, high and breathless, startled by her own balance. When she slipped and hit the dock again, she didn't cry. She just rolled onto her back, chest rising fast, grinning up at the sky.
"Again."
Later, when she could manage five steps without his hands, they sat at the edge of the dock. Dylan placed a gun in her grip. Heavy. Solid.
"This one's empty," he said. "So you don't shoot yourself while learnin'. Aim for the heart. Front or back. That's how you kill 'em."
She studied it in silence. "They move like animals?"
"They shriek," Dylan said. "Fast. Twitchy. Don't think. Just react."
"And they used to be…?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "People."
Yve didn't flinch. She ran her fingers along the grip and nodded once.
"Stay quiet. Move light," Dylan went on. "And if you hear somethin' hissin', like it's boilin' up from the throat, you run. Unless you got no choice."
She didn't ask why he knew that. She just whispered, "Alright."
The night slipped by. They practiced opening a can. Tried on clothes until Yve found one she liked.
Morning flared across the dock. Dylan stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at the pile like it had personally offended him. "How the hell am I supposed to pack all this," he muttered.
Yve sat nearby, tying back her still-damp hair. She shrugged. "That's up to you."
He shot her a look. She tilted her head, playful. "Wait. I think I have a solution."
"What now?" Dylan said.
She stepped to the edge of the dock and dove in. Clean. Effortless. Gone beneath the surface with barely a ripple.
Dylan blinked once. Then sighed. "Here we go."
He turned back to the fish pile and groaned. Crouching, he shoved as many as he could into the worn duffle. The zipper protested under the weight. "Too damn generous," he muttered, forcing one last fish in.
Beneath the water, Yve swam farther out, her tail slicing through the current. She moved among the reeds, fingers threading through thick strands of seaweed. She gathered armfuls, coiling them together like living yarn.
Minutes later she surfaced, seaweed draped over her shoulders like ceremonial silk. Dylan stood at the dock edge, arms crossed. "New fashion statement?"
"Help me up," she grinned, holding out a hand. He hauled her onto the dock, bracing her until her legs, awkward and shaky, held her weight again. She sank into a seat, catching her breath.
With the sun warming her back, Yve began weaving. Fingers nimble and precise, she twisted the seaweed into a sturdy mesh, looping handles reinforced with drift-thread from an old net. Within minutes, it resembled a sling-sack hybrid—pliable, strong, oddly elegant.
"There," she said, tying the last knot with a hum. "That should hold most of them."
Dylan gave it a testing tug. The net flexed but held firm. "Damn. Never thought I'd be haulin' fish in some kinda siren tote bag."
Yve gave a tired smile, brushing wet hair behind her ear. "Better than a rotting duffle, isn't it?"
He grunted. "Fair point."
With the rest jammed into the duffle and makeshift bag in hand, they were nearly ready. Once everything was strapped to the bike, Dylan turned to her, expression serious. "You ready?" he asked, voice softening slightly.
Yve nodded, her smile warm as she stepped onto the back of the bike. Her movements were shaky, her steps unsteady, but she held herself steady. "Ready," she said, excitement clear despite her nerves.
Dylan revved the engine. The wind whipped past, carrying the scent of the sea and the quiet tension of what lay ahead. The SilentHawk purred beneath them, a low, steady hum. Dylan kept the speed low, one hand on the handlebar, the other bracing Yve.
She glanced sideways, hands steady. "Hey," she said quietly. "Can I ask something… stupid?"
Dylan didn't turn, but gave a faint grunt. Go ahead.
"What if they don't like me?"
His brows furrowed slightly. "Who?"
"Your family. Lucas, Ethan… the others. What if they think I'm strange or… eccentric?" Yve asked.
Dylan was quiet for a few beats, mouth set in that unreadable, I'm-not-gonna-sugarcoat-it line. He adjusted his grip. "You are eccentric."
She let out a soft laugh. "And what if they think I'm dangerous?"
"They might," he admitted. "At first."
The wind whispered through her sleeves. "But…"
"If they've got hearts worth keepin', they'll see you're a good person," Dylan said. "You fed us when we were starving. Nobody can fake that."
She stayed silent, holding on tighter. "And if they still don't like me?"
He shrugged. "Then they can eat sand." That earned a small, warm snort from her.
"They will," he added after a pause. "I'll make 'em."
Yve let out a quiet sigh, long and weightless. Dylan didn't look back. "Still worryin', huh?"
She nodded against his back. "They've survived so much… What if 'my kind' just means 'threat' to them?"
Dylan's voice stayed calm. "Then we don't tell them. Not yet."
She blinked. "You mean… lie?"
"Call it strategy," he muttered. "Let 'em get to know you first. Just Yve. Not the myth. Not the tail."
Yve was quiet for a beat, the road ahead shifting beneath them. Finally, she said, "Alright. Just for now."
Dylan nodded. "Thought you might say that." His hands flexed on the grips. "Hold on tight. We're close."
She wrapped her arms around his waist, legs tightening on the pegs. Dylan twisted the throttle. The SilentHawk's low hum deepened.
The wind tore past. Terrain blurred beneath them. Over the next rise, the skeletal edge of the VIRA Complex loomed. Gunfire cracked—sharp, controlled, relentless.
Dylan's grip tightened. Maurice crouched in a watchtower, braced behind the mounted scope, firing down at a scattering wave of shriekers sprinting the overgrown road.
"Stay close," Dylan snapped, pulling the bike to a stop just short of the gate. He dismounted fast, yanking a pistol from his jacket and leveling it at the nearest corpse.
BANG. BANG. CLICK-THUD.
Each shot dropped one, but they kept coming. Yve froze for a heartbeat, watching the horde spiral closer—two dozen, fast, relentless.
Up in the rooftop, Maurice spotted them through the fogged scope. "Gate! Gate! Dylan's got someone with him!" he called into the radio.
Inside the Complex, Lucas snagged his vest from a hook without hesitation. "Gear up. Everyone. Now."
Ethan, David, Derek, Lara, and Joan moved like clockwork. Weapons loaded, slides checked, ammo stuffed into side pouches. By the time Lucas swung open the smaller metal door, the roar of shrieking throats and gunfire echoed off the walls.
"Who the hell is that?" Lara asked, spotting the woman beside Dylan—hood soaked, hair tangled, eyes wide.
"Doesn't matter," Lucas barked, raising his rifle. "Get them inside first."
The group fanned out into a makeshift firing line. Rounds erupted from every direction as the horde barreled forward, twitching and shrieking. Lara and Joan lunged toward Yve, yanking her from the open. "Go! Get down!"
"She's with me!" Dylan shouted, ducking behind a rusted van to reload.
"Dylan! Inside!" Lucas barked.
"I can't!" Dylan snapped, hauling the fish-laden seaweed net from the SilentHawk's saddle. "There's supplies—food. I ain't leavin' it!"
Lucas cursed under his breath, eyes flicking between the bike, the bodies, and the timing. "Ethan! David! Grab him and the bike. We'll cover!"
"On it!" David broke left while Ethan veered wide, firing as he ran. One shrieker lunged from behind an overturned cart—Ethan clipped it mid-air.
Dylan yanked the front of the SilentHawk toward the gate as David caught the back. Together they pushed it through, bullets tearing the air around them.
Yve was herded through the doorway—pale, heart hammering, trying not to scream as the walls of the VIRA Complex swallowed her whole.
The last magazines clicked empty. "Fall back! Now!" Lucas bellowed, firing his final round into a charging shrieker, the bullet ripping through its eye socket.
Dylan hauled the SilentHawk over the threshold, sweat streaking his face. Ethan pressed his back against the inner wall, panting as he covered the rear with a shaking handgun.
"Come on! Come on!" Joan screamed, knuckles white around the shotgun.
Lara stood opposite Yve, rifle slung over her shoulder, scanning the treeline. "Where the hell is Lucas?!"
Lucas was still outside, sprinting across the wide clearing, rifle in one hand, boots slamming the pavement. Shriekers poured from the tree line, limbs flailing, jaws stretched wide, screaming—high, unrelenting, like metal tearing.
One lunged for him—closer than the rest.
"Lucas—!" Ethan shouted.
CRACK.
David's shot rang out. The shrieker's head burst mid-air, its body dropping, stalled. Lucas didn't stop. His boots scraped the concrete lip of the door just as Lara and Joan reached for him.
"Get in! Get in!" Joan shouted. He dove through the threshold, shoulder-first. Seconds later, the shriekers slammed into the blast door.
The compound shook under the impact. Joan and Lara shoved the door with all their strength. Ethan dropped his shoulder into it as well.
CLANG.
The bolts locked into place. Outside, the horde pressed forward relentlessly.
Inside, silence settled for the briefest beat—then the heavy thuds of the shriekers' bodies rattled against steel.
No one spoke. Boots scraped the concrete. Breaths hissed in the heavy, metallic air.
Ethan pressed against the wall, wide-eyed, hands trembling. Lucas bent forward, hands on knees, soaked in adrenaline. "That… was close," he muttered.
Every eye in the lobby landed on her. Yve shifted slightly, hoodie swallowing her small frame, legs still trembling. Quiet poise, just to Dylan's right. Unspoken: Who is she?
Dylan cleared his throat. "Found her near the coast. Shriekers nearly had her. I pulled her out." No one questioned him. Not Lucas. Not Ethan. Not Lara.
Yve glanced at him briefly, a soft smile of thanks. Then she raised a hand to the others. "Hi. I'm Yve. Thank you… for saving me."
A pause. Then nods—cautious, not unkind.
Ethan squinted at the seaweed bundle draped across her back. "Okay, seriously—what the hell's in that thing? Thing's bigger than your spine."
Dylan picked up the knotted mass and tossed it toward him with a wet slap. "Fish," he said flatly.
The group hauled the bags inside, fatigue and curiosity mingling. Ethan hefted the duffle onto the counter. "You've been bringing back… a lot of fish. Like, a lot. What gives?"
Dylan shot him a sideways glance, expression unreadable. "Just skills. Been doin' this a while. Ain't a big deal."
Ethan raised a brow but let it drop. Lara crossed her arms. "And where were you last night? Didn't come back. Thought you'd be here before dark."
"Slept in one of the abandoned houses. Too far out to make it back," Dylan replied, clipped and calm.
Lucas studied him a beat, then nodded. "Alright."
Dr. Jenkins stepped forward, gaze fixed on Yve. "I need to check you. Scratches, bites, anything unusual. Standard procedure."
Yve glanced at Dylan. He gave a small nod. "Go on. Ain't nothin' to it."
She followed Jenkins silently, leaving the group whispering, tension coiling in the room. Dylan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face unreadable. Safe—for now. But he knew the truth had a way of catching up.
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Author's note;
So… Yve finally got her legs. Writing this scene was equal parts wonder and chaos, because learning to "human" isn't graceful, it's messy, funny, and sometimes heartbreaking. I wanted you to feel Dylan's awkward care and Yve's raw joy.
What did you think of her first steps? Did you laugh at her stompy rhythm, or feel the weight of her tears when it all hit at once? For me, this chapter is about beginnings, about how fragile and beautiful they can be, even in a world full of shriekers and gunfire.
Drop me your thoughts: do you trust Dylan's plan to keep her secret from the others? Or do you think the truth will surface sooner than he wants?