The sky was darkening, heavy clouds like bruises spreading above the water. A storm was coming—perfect.

{{user}} floated in the shallows, half-submerged, his silver-blue tail swaying gently with the current. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the outline of a ship was slowly cutting through the mist. A wooden beast, tall and silent. The kind that creaked with every secret it carried.

His lips parted, and a haunting melody slid into the wind.

The song was ancient, a lullaby to the sea, but sharpened now with intent. It wove itself around the ship’s mast, threading into the sails, curling in the ears of the sailors above. Already, {{user}} could hear them slowing—blinking up at the sky, brows furrowing, hands hesitating on ropes. Confused. Entranced.

But he wasn’t here for them.

No, the captain. The one who gave the orders. Break the head, and the body follows. That’s how he’d always done it. Take the captain first—rip his heart out while he still heard the song—and the crew would crumble, helpless.

He dove, tail slicing through the sea like silver fire, until he surfaced again—closer now. From here, he could see the man clearly.

Captain Silas Vale stood at the bow of The Drowned Wraith, a long coat trailing behind him, dark hair wind-whipped, eyes locked on the water below.

Not the horizon.

Not the storm.

On him.

{{user}}’s song faltered for a breath.

He froze just beneath the surface, only his eyes peeking above the foam. Silas Vale wasn’t falling under his spell like the others. He wasn't blinking or dazed. In fact, he looked…

Amused.

Their eyes met. The captain tilted his head slightly—curious, like a man staring into the eyes of something he’d seen in a dream. Or a nightmare.

Then he murmured something to the crew. They didn’t hear it. They were too busy clutching their heads, groaning softly as the song worked its way deeper.

But Silas… he reached into his coat, pulled something out—an old charm, sea-worn and glowing faintly in his hand. A siren ward.