Loki stood at the center of the stage, motionless for a moment, then stepped forward, his pace slow, like the rolling of a deep ocean swell. Every movement flowed, smooth, almost silent. His silhouette swallowed the light, and when he stopped, it was as if time itself had paused. He slowly raised one arm, index finger extended, and pointed to two young figures lost amid the frozen rows.
The boy had a quiet demeanor, slightly soft in build—not unattractive, just undefined. The girl mirrored his quiet presence: delicate, with a peaceful face, nearly inert. The kind of couple one forgets by walking faster.
“You two. Come forward.”
The murmur in the crowd died. The boy pressed his lips together. The girl clutched his arm. Too late. Their legs were already moving of their own accord, carried by a magic they couldn’t resist. The steps unrolled before them and welcomed them. The lights rotated like curious eyes. They ascended. Loki watched them with the cruel tenderness of a predator who already knew what the prey would become.
He conjured the velvet sack. It bulged almost damply, vibrating with a pulse of its own. He held it out to the girl. She hesitated only for a heartbeat. Her fingers slipped inside, brushed against tightly rolled parchments, selected one. She handed it to Loki, head lowered.
He unrolled it and read aloud, like pronouncing a sacred sentence:
“Leatherback turtles. Imposing. Unshakable. Silent… and yet, singularly sensual. As for him—he’ll receive twice his natural dose of testosterone. Let’s see how far it goes.”
He snapped his fingers.
The boy staggered. He inhaled as if drawing breath for the first time, deeply, and his body leaned slightly forward, as though an invisible weight lodged between his shoulder blades. His spine arched. Vertebrae cracked one after the next as he straightened. His skin seemed to tighten, then darkened to a deep gray, scattered with irregular black speckles like ink splashes over slate.
His arms thickened. The texture of his skin changed—smooth, satin-like, like polished stone coated in a thin sheen of oil. His hands grew broad, powerful, fingers webbed, nails short and dense. His legs bulked up, calves expanding, thighs becoming solid, sinewy columns. A short, thick tail pushed from the base of his spine, covered in smooth, glossy dermis.
His shoulders rose, broadening, and a bony plastron surfaced across his chest, spreading under the skin like an internal shell. His upper back arched, and two elongated dorsal plates emerged, covered in a semi-rigid material—black, streaked, speckled with pale natural markings.
His neck thickened, jaw squared, facial features hardened but didn’t lose all humanity. His nose retracted slightly, nostrils widened, mouth grew broader, teeth more squared and strong. His eyes turned deep, like pools of ink, and his skin gleamed with a damp sheen.
Then the testosterone hit. His torso had already begun to rise. It swelled further. Pectorals widened—massive beneath that rugged skin. His abs rose in eight stone-carved ridges. Arms exploded in volume, thick veins winding over biceps and forearms. His neck outgrew his head. Trapezius muscles surged up. His thighs gained the mass of a stone-lifter, calves taut like drawn bows. His breath grew rough, thunderous. A dense, salty sweat poured from his skin—he smelled of living ocean, salt, and muscle.
His clothes reshaped to fit the transformation.
A woven fiber loincloth slid over his hips, held by thick cords of ochre- and black-dyed hemp, adorned with pendants of mother-of-pearl, shark teeth, and seashells. His chest remained bare, but white cloth bands wrapped diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip. A flowing **pareu** formed behind him, deep blue with lagoon-green geometric motifs, slit at the side for movement. Polished blackwood bracelets circled his wrists. Around his ankles, braided fiber rings decorated with small, shimmering nacre bells.
A headdress of short, rigid black and turquoise feathers settled atop his head, rising like a ceremonial crest but leaving his features clear. He looked like an oceanic demigod carved from salt—slow, massive, yet intensely magnetic.
Then it was the girl’s turn.
She bent gently, arms crossed over her stomach. Her back arched in a smooth curve. Her skin darkened to a soft gray, lighter than his. She looked sculpted from mineral mist. Pale markings bloomed across her shoulders, back, and upper thighs. Her spine rolled, legs elongated, feet reshaped into webbed, graceful limbs.
Her hips widened, waist hollowed deeper. Her chest blossomed—natural, full, firm. A thinner tail than his formed, smooth, mobile, swaying gently. Her arms grew graceful but strong. Her neck lengthened, jawline refined, mouth widened, lips plumped. Her eyes, dark as moonlit lagoons, filled with oceanic stillness.
Her garments formed around her—elemental, beautiful.
A top of fine white cotton tied behind her neck, leaving her back bare. A flowing skirt of **painted tapa** cloth hugged her hips, held in place by a braided belt decorated with bone beads, polished shell, and dark seeds. The fabric rippled around her legs, parting slightly with each step. Polished shells dangled from her ears. Around her right ankle, a beaded and feathered foot-jewel shimmered with each motion.
Her hair had thickened, blackened, gleaming like wet jet. It flowed across her shoulders, adorned with small white flowers and fragments of pink coral. A broad **puka shell** necklace draped across her collarbones.
She turned her head to him.
They faced each other—two forms born of the tides, vast, slow, sensual like the moonlit swell of the sea. They didn’t move. Their mere presence filled the space. Their eyes no longer held human depth. They had become something else. Something vast, immovable, magnificent.
And from the shadows, Loki lowered his eyes and whispered:
“The ocean has chosen its new children.”