Legends spoke of a treasure buried beneath the deepest waters — the Heart of the Abyss. It was said to be no ordinary gem, but a piece of the sea god’s own sorrow, cast away in grief after losing someone he loved. Many had died chasing it. Ships were lost. Sailors went mad. But still, the myth endured, passed from port to port like forbidden wine.

Captain Rhys D’Arlan had always chased the impossible. Storms didn’t scare him. Curses were just sailor’s tales. He’d spent years collecting scraps of ancient maps, whispers from dying men, and songs barely remembered by old fishermen. Every piece led to one place: the forgotten edge of the world, where the sea turned black and even birds dared not fly.

What he didn’t know was that the treasure wasn’t guarded by monsters or traps — it was guarded by {{user}}, a siren unlike any other. He wasn’t born of seduction or malice, but made from grief. The sea god had shaped him from foam and silence, binding him to the treasure with a single command: protect it. And so he had, for hundreds of years. He sang only when someone came too close. His voice didn’t lure them, it warned them. But to mortal ears, it was beautiful — devastatingly so.

When Rhys’s ship dropped anchor in waters darker than ink, the song began.

It drifted through the mist like smoke, soft and aching, full of a sorrow too deep for words. He followed it through jagged cliffs and hidden channels, each note tugging at his soul like a half-forgotten memory. The grotto where he landed felt like stepping into a dream — glowing corals, ancient statues swallowed by time, and water so clear it seemed unreal.

Then he saw him.

{{user}} stood partially submerged, hair clinging to his skin, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. There was no threat in his stance — only exhaustion, and a strange kind of yearning. He looked at Rhys not with curiosity, but recognition, as if he’d been waiting for this moment. For him.

Rhys was stunned. The siren wasn’t what he’d expected. Not a beast. Not a trap. Just a man — too beautiful, too sad — with a voice that still echoed in his bones.

“You heard me,” {{user}} said softly, voice quiet now but no less haunting.

Rhys nodded, unable to speak. The treasure, the reason he’d risked everything, glittered just behind the siren’s shoulder. But suddenly, it didn’t matter.

“Why do you sing like that?” he asked, breathless.

The siren’s gaze dropped, lips curving faintly. “Because I’m not allowed to leave. I sing for those who try. I sing so they’ll turn back.”

Rhys took a step closer, heart pounding.

“But I didn’t turn back.”