King of the Seven Seas (EMH) Chapter 31: 2nd piece of the puzzle

[Third Person Pov]

Arthur was walking through Atlanta’s Art Museum with Mera looped comfortably around his arm, the two of them weaving through the grand entrance hall while taking in the sights. For a brief moment they admired the towering marble pillars and the soft golden lighting that illuminated each exhibit with a gentle glow. Then Mera tilted her head thoughtfully and suggested, “Why don’t you use the map as a compass? Surely when we get near, the two pieces should react to one another.”

“Good thinking,” Arthur said as he reached into his back pocket—only to pause. He blinked, then patted himself down in quick succession.

Mera’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you lost the map,” she asked incredulously, stepping away from him as if giving space would somehow help. Her face went pale, and she watched him with the kind of dread that only Arthur Curry could inspire.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you,” Arthur snorted, finally pulling the first piece of the ancient map from his pocket. He wiggled it between his fingers like a trophy. Mera exhaled so deeply she nearly folded.

“Can’t you be more serious?” she muttered, fixing him with a flat stare that communicated every ounce of judgment she possessed.

“Sorry, sorry—I’ll behave. I just needed some payback after all that teasing earlier.” Arthur’s voice softened as he glanced at the map again. His usual carefree expression slowly shifted into something sharper, something focused. The air around him seemed to tighten as the weight of the mission settled back onto his shoulders.

“I guess we don’t have much choice except to walk around and hope this thing reacts.” Arthur began walking again, holding the fragment of the map carefully. Mera’s annoyance faded, replaced with resolve as she stepped up beside him.

They wandered into a gallery lined with framed pieces of abstract art—splashes of color, jagged strokes, chaotic shapes. A small group gathered nearby around a tour guide, who was passionately explaining the origins and techniques of the featured artist. A few guests had to do a double take when Arthur casually lifted the map piece in the air and started waving it over the paintings like he was scanning for hidden treasure.

He leaned in close to each frame, moving the map piece up and down with the seriousness of someone operating advanced Atlantean technology… even though to everyone else, he looked like a confused man trying to get better Wi-Fi with a piece of paper.

Mera facepalmed so hard she nearly hurt herself. She closed her eyes, shook her head in disbelief, and marched over to him. “Arthur, please—you're embarrassing us,” she whispered urgently, sounding absolutely mortified.

“What other choice do we have?” Arthur sighed, glancing around for the next potential test subject. He was already eyeing a sculpture.

“Perhaps,” Mera said slowly, “we could use our critical-thinking skills. Look—there’s a map of the museum right over there.” She gently grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a mounted directory. “We can search for anything ocean-related. Something inspired by ancient myths, maritime history, underwater archaeology—anything that even remotely ties to Atlantis.”

Arthur nodded. “Good thinking. We might not find anything, but at least we’ll be checking places that make more sense than modern art—”

“Please… It hurts… make it end…”

Arthur froze mid-step. His breath hitched, and his posture stiffened before he suddenly grabbed his temple.

“Arthur?” Mera’s voice turned sharp with concern as she stepped toward him.

“It’s that voice again…” he murmured, eyes squeezing shut. “I heard it. Clearer than before, but still faint. It was… it was in pain.”

“Can you locate—” Mera began, but Arthur raised a hand toward her, silencing her instantly.

“Wait a minute,” he said, inhaling deeply. “I’m going to try something…”

He straightened his spine, grounded his feet, and focused. The museum’s chatter faded into the background. The shuffling of visitors, the distant echoing footsteps, the hum of the air vents—all of it blurred away as Arthur concentrated solely on the lingering echo of that anguished voice.

Arthur’s breathing steadied.

He emptied his mind.

And listened.

To Arthur, his concentration ran so deep that the world around him dissolved. It felt as though he stood alone in an endless darkness where water pooled at his feet. Every sound—every step, every shifting breath, every flicker of emotion from the people around him—created ripples across the surface. Each ripple brushed against him, overlapping and distorting until it became impossible to distinguish one from another.

So he began filtering them out.

One ripple at a time, he quieted the noise. He pushed away the museum chatter, the echoing footsteps, the distant conversations, the movement of tourists admiring paintings. He even muted the warm and familiar presence of Mera. The water stilled. The darkness stilled. And for the first time since the voice had first whispered into his mind, Arthur achieved perfect silence.

Once he reached the peak of his focus, he gently released a droplet of thought into the vast ocean surrounding him. His mental voice echoed outward, calm yet filled with intent:

“I can hear you. I don’t know if you can hear me back—please confirm.”

His thought rippled outward, expanding far into the psychic ocean until all returned quiet again.

Arthur waited—seconds stretching thin.

Just when doubt began creeping in, a soft ripple brushed against the water at his feet. A trembling voice—small, frantic, barely threading through the distance—broke the silence:

‘I hear you! I can hear you! Thank the gods!’

A boy’s voice—cracking with desperate relief.

Arthur’s eyes snapped open slightly, though his gaze remained unfocused as he turned his body in the direction the ripple had come from. When the sensation faded, he sent another pulse of thought out like sonar.

“Who are you? And why can I hear your thoughts?”

“Wha—Arthur?” Mera’s startled voice cut through from behind him. She watched in alarm as Arthur began walking away with slow, deliberate steps, his expression still locked in deep concentration. She hurried after him, glancing around at patrons who were starting to stare.

But Arthur didn’t hear any of them.

What came back to him wasn’t an answer—it was more crying. The cries of a young boy in pain, and yet overflowing with gratitude that someone—finally someone—had heard him.

‘Thank you… thank you. You have no idea how many times I’ve sent my thoughts out—hoping someone would listen.’

Arthur slowed, his brows drawing together. The boy’s voice was weak, strained, but unmistakably sincere. Arthur projected his next thought with soft reassurance, his intent wrapping around the boy like a stabilizing hand.

“My name is Arthur Curry. I want to help you. But I can’t help if I don’t know what’s happening.”

The boy inhaled sharply, gathering himself.

‘My name is—’

“Arthur, look!” Mera’s urgent shout snapped his attention.

She held the map fragment in her hands, and it was glowing—brightly. Magical energy shimmered across its surface like liquid gold, reacting violently to the presence of its missing counterpart.

“Where—?” Arthur turned quickly, scanning the exhibit. Each direction he turned caused the map to dim or brighten, like a compass needle deciding where to point.

Together, he and Mera followed the pulses of light until it led them out of the gallery and into a small rotunda. They halted instantly.

It wasn’t a painting. It wasn’t a sculpture in a display case.

It was a water fountain.

Resting atop it was a porcelain figure of a serene woman holding a clam in one hand and a trident in the other. The water beneath her cascaded with a soft, melodic trickle—and the map piece reacted like it was screaming.

Arthur and Mera exchanged a look of triumph and relief. For a moment, they allowed themselves a brief celebration—Yay, real progress.

But then Arthur remembered the voice.

His expression sharpened again. He closed his eyes, tuning back in.

“I’m sorry,” he projected gently. “Can you repeat what you said? I didn’t hear you fully.”

The boy hesitated, his voice trembling with fear this time—not just relief.

‘Of course… My name is… Garth. And I am from the city of Atlantis. And right now—I’m being held captive by men calling themselves Hydra.’

Arthur froze.

Slowly, the excitement of finding the next map piece drained from his face. Mera saw the color leave his expression and felt a cold chill of dread settle in her chest.

Hydra.