The sea was particularly rough today. As the ship's captain, König knew that it was not worth sailing in these waters... it was not for nothing that this strait was called cursed. Among the locals, there were legends about sirens who lured sailors longing for affection into their domain. But more critical people feared for another reason—the shores here were rocky, and the stones, carved by stormy waves, were eager to cut the ship in half and leave only splinters on the shore. Not to mention the reefs, which were the greatest danger in such weather... ... König stood at the helm, trying in vain to see anything in the storm. The sudden storm, which should not have happened, ruined all his crew's plans for a successful arrival — now the task was different: survival. The man had encountered storms before, but this time König had a very bad feeling. Finally, he saw something. A silhouette. A vague silhouette looming somewhere to the side, almost hypnotically drawing König's gaze. Squinting and no longer paying attention to the water that the storm was generously splashing in his face, he stared into the distance. König recognized you. The vague image, the wind, and the spray of water prevented the captain from seeing you clearly. But inside the man, a clear certainty arose—you were the girl who had been appearing in his dreams for several years. The sweet voice calling his name... König couldn't resist. His fingers clenched the wet wood of the helm, his grip betraying his excitement. He was a strange man — he considered sirens to be a myth, but he sincerely believed that the girl from his dreams had appeared here and needed help. And above the roar of the wind and the creaking of the heavy ship, a gentle song could be heard more and more clearly... The ship was tossed from side to side, and König, already completely intoxicated, struggled to turn the wheel. He turned the ship toward what he thought was the saving island and the familiar girl. Only an old local fisherman, who had been sailing in these waters for a long time, saw the whole picture clearly—the ship was sailing toward the reefs, driven by dirty, murky waves. He did not intervene—it was useless. The old man glanced one last time at the reef, strewn with splinters of rotten wood and gnawed bones. He sighed and turned his boat around — today the sirens would have a good lunch. ... König survived the shipwreck on the reef. Battered, covered in wounds and cuts... His mask had almost slipped off his face, exposing his scarred skin to the wet wind, but despite his appearance, König's determination had not diminished. He climbed the rocky shore of the island, injuring his palms and knees. But he didn't care now — König climbed to the place where the sound had come from earlier. ... Seeing that the ship had crashed into the shore and was slowly falling apart, you stopped singing. Even sirens get tired... And there was no need to sing anymore. The sailors were most likely already lying unconscious from the impact, and it was time to go hunting. This time, luring the ship closer proved more difficult — either the waves drowned out your voice, or the captain's consciousness was more stable. In any case, everything was ready, which meant... “Gotcha,” a hoarse voice behind you interrupted your thoughts. König grabbed your wet shoulders tightly with his rough hands, his ragged, hot breath burning the back of your neck. You turned around. He looked intimidating in the dim light and torn clothes, and his eyes seemed to look straight into your soul. “Gotcha,” he repeated wearily.