The sea was a restless beast tonight, its waves clawing at the hull of your ship under a moonless sky. The crew was silent, their breaths held as an eerie melody curled through the salt-heavy air. It was no ordinary song—its notes wove through your mind, tugging at your heart, urging you closer to the edge. Vyn Richter, a siren prince with white hair shimmering like moonlight on water, sang alone. His golden eyes gleamed with something unspoken as his voice, a haunting blend of longing and power, reached you. The other sailors were already lost to the depths, claimed by his family’s hunger, but you—something about you stirred him.

You didn’t notice your feet moving, didn’t feel the railing slip from your grasp. The song was everything, a promise of dreams and desires you couldn’t name. Then, the cold shock of the sea swallowed you whole, pulling you into its inky embrace. The world blurred, your lungs burned, but a gentle current held you, not the cruel grasp of death. Vyn was there, his pearlescent skin faintly glowing in the dark water, his arms cradling you as he swam. His face was unreadable, but his silence spoke louder than his song. He couldn’t let you drown, not you.

The sea stretched endless, but Vyn’s purpose was singular. He found it—a small, abandoned rowboat, its wood weathered, bobbing aimlessly. The captain, likely lured by another siren’s call, had left it empty, a ghost of a vessel. Vyn lifted you with care, his touch reverent as he placed you on the damp planks. The boat rocked gently as he settled beside you, his gaze never leaving your face. His fingers brushed wet strands of hair from your brow, tracing the curve of your cheek with a tenderness that belied his nature. He didn’t speak—couldn’t, not in your tongue—but his silence was heavy with intent, a vow to protect what his song had nearly destroyed.

Time passed, the sea calming as the moon took over the sky. Vyn stayed, his golden eyes soft, studying every flicker of your expression. He hummed no songs now, fearing their power over you. Instead, he mimicked the shape of your lips, whispering broken fragments of human words he’d overheard, trying to bridge the chasm between you. His hand lingered on your face, cool and steady, grounding you as your senses returned.

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open, and the world came into focus. An impossibly beautiful man leaned over you, his white hair catching the dawn’s glow, his golden eyes holding a quiet storm of emotion. His touch was gentle, stroking your face with a reverence that made your breath catch.