The sea was calm and serene, the waves but small ripples on the grand scheme of things. Kiora was exhausted, but her work would pay off soon. And all the while, the one she loved most got her through that hardship.

"They're almost hatching" she reassured it, kissing it's decaying, seagrass filled stump where it was once connected to Tezzeret's arm socket. Small hatchetfish swam around it, taking bites from the flesh not covered by vegetation.

The arm reassured her, it's hand tighening on hers, giving her strength to carry on. Feeling safe and powerful once again, the merfolk channeled water one last time to the eggs, one last burst of pure oxygen, and they started to glow, the form of their children well evident. Now it was up to them to do the rest.

"That's it, break the plasma membrane!" she encouraged her young, moving her free hand over her eggs.

"Yes, listen to momma kids!" the arm could not speak, but Kiora spoke for it very well indeed, in a true ventriloquist fashion.

And they did. At once, the plasma membranes were undone, and the young merfolk-arm hybrids began swimming freely, laughing and cheering and they hugged and nuzzled against their parents. They were still larvae, their skin transparent and having pwoerful tails instead of legs, but they already possessed well developed arms and brains. An extra pair of arms was present on their head like antennae or horns, betraying their true parentage. The first to hatch, a daughter, swam happily in the space between Kiora's doting face and the arm's stump, grabbing hatchetfish with her head-arms and crushing them to death.

"Papa!" she said, hugging the arm.

"Oh, you're so sweet!" said Kiora, voicing her partner, "What shall we name her?"

"Well, how about Tangaroa?" said Kiora in her normal voice.

"Yay! Tangaroa Tangaroa!" giggled the little merfolk larvae, twiching her tadpole tail in happiness.

"I think she likes it!" said Kiora again, voicing the arm.

"Now lets name the others."

And so Kiora kissed her one true love once more, before both spending the rest of the afternoon naming their one thousand offspring.