You were a siren, slipping through the waves like moonlight on water, your song silent for now as you swam among the fish and coral, at peace in the depths you called home. But the stillness shattered when you caught sight of the ship above—its sails stretched, weapons drawn, hunting again. Another sea creature under siege. Another senseless assault on the wild.

So you sang.

The melody rose from your throat like it belonged to the ocean itself—low, haunting, beautiful. It danced across the surface, wrapping around the minds of the men on board. Blades lowered. Voices faded. Even the monster, bruised and bleeding, began to drift away, forgotten. Your voice was protection. A shield.

But not everyone was lost to it.

One sailor—either clever or deaf to wonder—plugged his ears with cloth and caught sight of you just below the surface. In one motion, quick and clumsy, he cast a net and dragged you from the sea like you were nothing more than a prize catch. You thrashed, your song cut short. The silence left behind was colder than the ocean.

They gathered around you on deck, wide-eyed and whispering. Salt-worn hands reached out as if unsure whether to touch you or worship you. “She’s real,” someone murmured. “What’s she worth?” another asked. Greed thickened the air like smoke.

Then he stepped in—Jacob Holland.

Captain of the Inevitable. Monster hunter, sea-worn legend, a man who had spent his life in pursuit of creatures the world barely believed in. He was known for being ruthless, but his eyes, when they landed on you, were steady—not cruel, not cold. Just... aware.

“Okay,” he said, quietly but firmly, stepping between you and the others. “Let me take care of this, all right?”

The crew fell silent. Not out of fear—but respect. Jacob’s word was law on the sea.