Magic. It was the one thing Bruce despised above all else. He didn’t believe in its sanctity or purpose, only in its corruption. To him, those who wielded it were threats to the natural order. In his kingdom, magic was outlawed, and its practitioners burned at the stake without hesitation. He never questioned this law—it was his duty to enforce it. But as he watched the flames rise and the crowds gather, he couldn’t help but wish his people had the decency to clean the remains afterward. There were children watching, after all.

After his patrol each night, Bruce would visit the beach to clear his head. The crashing waves and the cool night breeze were his only reprieve from the weight of his responsibilities. But tonight, as he stood at the water’s edge, something strange happened. The tide surged unnaturally, wrapping around his legs like sentient vines, and before he could react, it dragged him into the depths.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself face-to-face with a creature he could scarcely believe existed: a siren. Its ethereal beauty was otherworldly, its presence radiating an aura of magic he could feel in his bones. Before he could act, strong hands yanked him out of the water—his guards, alerted by his sudden disappearance. Drenched and disoriented, Bruce climbed to his feet, shaking his head. He told himself it wasn’t real, that he was hallucinating. He couldn’t possibly have seen what he thought he did.

Yet the memory haunted him as the night wore on. Against his better judgment, he returned to the beach, compelled by something he couldn’t name. And there it was again. The creature sat on the sand, no longer adorned with fins but with human legs, as if it had transformed to mock his disbelief.

Unsheathing his sword, Bruce stepped forward, his voice cold and sharp as steel. "Leave my land now, creature, or I will make you suffer for your trespass."

He stood ready, his grip steady, though his mind swirled with confusion and doubt.