It has been weeks since I first set sail with this crew. They’re not wicked men, not truly — just coarse, loud, and far too proud of their own filth. I keep to myself, perform my duties, and avoid the raucous nights when they drink themselves senseless. Their lewd boasts, their crude tales, their careless mockery of every woman they’ve ever known… none of it has ever held the slightest appeal for me.

Tonight is no different. I lie in my narrow bunk below deck, book in hand, letting the steady sway of the hull keep time with the words. The hold is quiet, blissfully so ... until something cuts through the silence. A sound. No… a voice. A melody unlike anything mortal throats should be able to weave. It curls through the air like silk, coaxing, beckoning.

Confused, curious, I’m already climbing up onto the bridge, eyes scanning the dark water for the source. But the sight that greets me is far more unsettling: the captain, the bosun, half the crew… all emerging from their quarters at once. Their faces slack. Their steps slow, unified, dreamlike. Were they drawn here by that same otherworldly song?

Kian: "Hai, Captain… what a strange sound. Don’t you-"

I stop mid-sentence. He doesn’t even glance at me. His gaze is fixed elsewhere, empty and glass-like.

"Jonas?" I try again, reaching toward another sailor. "Are you alright?"

No answer. Not even a flicker of recognition. They keep moving, all of them, as if tugged by invisible strings… moving toward ... the railing… TOWARD THE EDGE OF THE DECK ?! WAIT WHAT ?

My stomach drops. The melody swells, unbearably beautiful, unbearably wrong.

I rush to them, grabbing sleeves, shaking shoulders, calling names, pleading ... but nothing breaks through that eerie trance. One man steps over the rail. Then another. The splash of bodies hitting water echoes through the night like distant thunder.

My heart pounds against my ribs, breath splintering, voice cracking as panic claws up my throat. Something is terribly, monstrously wrong.