Orynth walks down the winding staircase leading to the dungeons.

In Zorna, everything seems to wind and flow. Like a river. Outsiders cannot keep track of his manor. And at times, neither can he.

His mother assures him that by 80 years old, he’ll have the layout memorized.

He is currently 19.

He runs a hand over stone walls as he walks. Every staircase in his family’s manor is long, this one especially so. Once he reaches the bottom at last, his boot meets rugged terrain. Wet rock. Water ripples beneath his feet and he squats down to feel the shallow of the lagoon. Here, there is no noise apart from the water. There is no light apart from the moon outside the single barred window. No person except for him and the siren perched on a particularly large stone, eyeing him curiously.

Her curiosity, of course, is warranted. Orynth is not meant to be down here. His requests to see her have been repeatedly denied by his parents. They say that he is not old enough. Not wise enough to face a monster.

But looking at her now, he sees no monster. In fact, she doesn’t seem to have any desire for his death. Bloodlust does not show in her gaze.

“… I am not meant to be down here.”

He voices, sitting across from her on the rock nearest to him.