Yve dragged the weight of three massive great white carcasses through the darkening currents, their pale bodies suspended by a reinforced pulley line. Two Pegacampus strained ahead of her, hooves slicing through water as they pulled in steady rhythm. Blood unraveled behind them in slow crimson ribbons, dissolving into the vast blue.
By the time the front gates of Reefville loomed into view, her shoulders burned.
At the base of the outer archway, Nierven stirred.
The colossal sea-beast lifted his head from where he had been coiled, plated ridges shifting with a low scrape against stone. His eyes opened—ancient, aware.
Yve exhaled sharply, rolling her neck.
"Alright… time to eat," she muttered, breath thin with fatigue. "Here's your food, boy. That was exhausting."
Nierven's massive head dipped slightly toward her voice. A low rumble vibrated through his chest—something between acknowledgment and hunger.
Yve swam forward and pressed her palm gently against the side of his snout. His skin was cool, armored, yet warm beneath the surface where life pulsed strong.
"Easy," she murmured.
She unlatched the carriage brace. The pulley slackened, and the first great white dropped against the stone with a dull, heavy thud.
Nierven leaned forward and inhaled.
The water shifted as he opened his jaws. Rows of crushing teeth came down once.
The shark disappeared in a single violent crunch.
Bone splintered. Cartilage snapped. The second followed just as easily—torn, chewed, swallowed. The third lasted seconds longer before vanishing the same way, blood clouding thick around him.
Yve stepped back to avoid the churn.
Nierven finished and lowered his head again, content, massive tail coiling around the gate's foundation like an anchored serpent.
"Don't guard too hard," she said lightly, already turning away. "You're not the only terrifying thing here."
She guided the Pegacampus away from the front gate, patting their damp necks in gratitude as they trotted beside her. The stables glowed faintly ahead, lantern coral casting soft amber halos in the water.
Behind her, Nierven remained at his post—silent, fed, and watching.
When Yve returned from the stables, the water near the gate still shimmered faintly red. Nierven was finishing the last of the third carcass, jaws working slowly now, more content than ravenous. Bits of bone cracked softly between his teeth as he swallowed the final pieces.
Yve drifted closer, folding her arms as she watched him chew.
"Alright," she said, practical as ever. "Inspection time."
She tapped lightly against his snout. "Open your mouth for me."
Nierven obeyed immediately.
His jaws parted wide, revealing rows upon rows of massive teeth, each one curved and polished like carved ivory. The faint current carried the scent of salt and blood outward as Yve leaned in without hesitation.
She examined carefully, moving from one side to the other, eyes narrowing in focus.
"Hold still," she murmured.
Her fingers reached between two teeth and tugged free a stubborn strip of flesh wedged deep in the gap.
"Oohh—" she grimaced, pulling it loose. "Wouldn't want that to decay in your tooth. That'd be one hell of a painful dental problem."
She flicked the chunk away and gave a satisfied nod after one last check.
"Alright. Clean enough."
Nierven slowly closed his mouth, lowering his head closer to her level.
Yve rested a hand against his snout. "You need anything else?"
The great beast answered with a low, rumbling growl—not threatening, but soft. His enormous eyes tilted upward, wide and oddly plaintive.
Yve blinked.
"…Oh no," she sighed, instantly understanding. "You're doing the sad eyes again."
Nierven exhaled slowly, a warm current brushing past her hair as he nudged slightly closer.
She laughed under her breath. "I'd like to play with you too, but I've got things to do first. I'm kind of busy… I'm sorry."
The creature released another long breath, the sound almost disappointed, before lowering his head toward the stone.
Yve softened immediately. She rubbed the side of his face in slow circles.
"Ohhh, don't be sad now," she coaxed gently. "I'll play with you later. I promise."
Nierven hesitated, then slowly coiled back into his resting position beside the gate. His massive body wrapped protectively around the entrance as his eyes slid shut again, content enough to wait.
Yve watched him settle, hands on her hips.
"…Wow," she muttered with a small smile. "Don't know where you got that attitude."
Before Yve could turn away, a deep siren horn rolled across the reef — long, resonant, unmistakable. The sound vibrated through the water and stone alike, echoing between coral towers and distant arches.
Yve froze.
Her head snapped toward the horizon.
In the distance, silhouettes emerged through the shifting blue — a convoy moving in formation, banners trailing like flowing fins behind them. As they drew closer, the figures became clear: armored sirens, Pegacampus riders, escort formations cutting clean paths through the water.
Recognition struck instantly.
Her face lit up.
"Oh heavens— they're back!"
She spun toward the guardhouse and seized the bell rope, ringing it loudly. The alarm chimed across the settlement, sharp metallic notes rippling outward as villagers began gathering near the entrance.
Yve hurried to the gate mechanism, hauling the heavy pulley downward. Chains groaned as the massive gates slowly parted, opening wide to welcome the returning convoy.
Nierven stirred beside the entrance, lifting his massive head. His eyes followed the approaching figures calmly at first, watching in silence.
The convoy passed through the gates as villagers gathered, murmuring with relief and excitement.
Then Nierven growled.
The sound was low but immediate.
He shifted forward, massive coils sliding across the stone until his body blocked the path entirely. His frills flared slightly as he hissed, sensing something unfamiliar in the water.
The Pegacampus faltered.
Yve rushed forward. "Whoa—whoa—whoa. What is it, boy?"
From the front of the convoy, Chalisse raised a hand calmly. "Yve, calm him down."
Yve glanced between Nierven and the arriving group, realization dawning. "Do you have someone new with you?" she asked. "He's relentless… he'd never let you in unless he makes sure they're safe."
Chalisse looked toward the rear of the convoy, then exchanged a brief glance with General Velaric beside her. She gave a small nod.
The General lifted one hand.
Two Pegacampus riders advanced slowly, each carrying two sirens seated behind them. Their movements were careful, deliberate.
The General's voice carried with disciplined authority. "Chief, announce your presence."
One of the riders shifted uneasily. "Alright… well—is this beast safe?"
Nierven's response was immediate.
A sharp hiss burst from him, jaws parting just enough to reveal rows of crushing teeth. The Pegacampus recoiled, hooves scraping nervously against stone.
Yve shot the speaker a glare. "Don't call him a beast. He doesn't like that."
The Chief stiffened. "…Alright. Apologies."
Yve stepped closer to Nierven, resting a steadying hand against his side before addressing the newcomers again.
"Just let him smell you," she instructed. "Don't make sudden moves… or he'll devour you whole."
The Chief lifted his hands slowly, palms outward in a gesture of surrender, allowing Nierven to approach. The massive creature leaned forward, nose twitching, and inhaled deeply. He didn't just take in the Chief's scent—he traced his aura, reading intent, danger, and the quiet strength behind it. Nierven's gaze flicked up to meet the Chief's eyes; a low, rumbling growl rolled from deep within his chest.
Satisfied, Nierven moved past the Chief toward the little boy. One careful glance, measuring innocence and fear, was all it took. Then, just as quickly, he stepped back, giving way to the convoy. With a low hiss, he receded to his previous position, closing his eyes and settling down.
Yve crouched beside him, running a hand along his side. "You did good, thank you… just guard the gates a little longer while we finish up here, alright?" Nierven responded with a slow, soft hiss, curling slightly as if acknowledging her command before letting his eyes close fully.
Chalisse swam down from the Pegacampus, gliding gracefully through the water to Yve. She wrapped her arms around her daughter in a tight, watery embrace.
"I'm so glad you are safe," Yve said, her voice muffled slightly by the water between them.
Chalisse's eyes searched Yve's face, worry still lingering beneath relief. "My dear daughter… uhmmm… where is your sister?"
Yve shook her head gently. "Oh, she's sleeping. She stayed up all night worrying about you."
Chalisse's expression softened, though concern remained. "Oh… well, we better finish up here quickly so we can go home."
The courtyard slowly filled with motion as the convoy settled. Sirens dismounted, voices overlapping with relief and quiet celebration as families reunited near the gates.
Chalisse straightened, her presence shifting from mother to Chieftess in a single breath.
"Take the Chief and Eren to the Care Home," she commanded calmly. "They shall be assisted and given a room to their satisfaction. Have the Chief's tail investigated—see if it can ever be regenerated. And as for the rest of you… you may go home."
The sirens bowed their heads in acknowledgment before dispersing. Some rushed into waiting embraces; others lingered, exchanging grateful words before swimming toward their dwellings. The tension that had followed the convoy began to dissolve into warmth and familiarity.
Chalisse then turned toward the General beside her. "General, the Resonance Scanner."
Without hesitation, General Velaric opened a small pack fastened to his side and carefully retrieved a compact crystalline device. Its surface shimmered faintly, runes etched along its frame catching the ambient glow of the reef. He handed it to the Chieftess with both hands.
Chalisse turned to Yve. "Daughter, I have here a—"
"A Resonance Scanner," Yve interrupted gently, already recognizing it. She tilted her head, studying the device with curiosity. "These things are quite hard to make. Our village only has one of these."
Chalisse nodded approvingly. "Yes. Study the records there and do report back to me."
Yve accepted the device carefully, holding it with unexpected seriousness. "Will do, Mother." She hesitated a moment before asking, "Will you be home for dinner?"
Chalisse's expression softened, though fatigue lingered behind her eyes. "I don't think so, dear. I have much work to do… the meeting will take hours. I'll drop by before it begins to say hello to your sister."
Yve nodded slowly. "Alright. Just… don't overwork yourself."
A small smile touched Chalisse's lips at that. She reached out briefly, brushing Yve's cheek before turning away. With practiced grace, she and General Velaric mounted their Pegacampus. The creatures surged forward, fins cutting cleanly through the water as they ascended toward the distant spires of the Grand Hall.
Yve had just turned her thoughts toward the quiet comfort of her home when a voice, slick with unearned confidence, cut through the water.
"Celestia."
She didn't need to look. The name itself—an affectation he refused to drop despite her countless corrections—was enough. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, drawing a slow, steadying breath before turning. "What is it, Arcenaux?"
He glided closer, his posture radiating a self-importance that made the water feel thick. "Have you given my proposal any further thought?" he asked, as if it were a matter of state and not a persistent annoyance.
"Yeah," Yve said, her voice flat. "No."
A short, sharp laugh escaped him, devoid of any real humor. "No? Just... no? You do realize every maiden in Reefville is vying for my attention. You should be honored I'm offering you my name."
Yve shook her head, a slow, weary motion. "Let me be clearer. No, I will not marry you. No, we will not be together. Not in this life, not in your wildest dreams. Not now, not ever."
His charming facade thinned, revealing the entitlement beneath. "The joining of our houses would be a powerful alliance. Why must you be so selfish?"
"I will not be a pawn in your political fantasy," she shot back, her patience finally snapping. "If I ever marry, it will be for love. And I am telling you, for the last time, I feel nothing for you. Leave me alone."
His hand shot out, his fingers clamping around her wrist like a manacle. "Is this about that mortal?" he hissed, the words laced with venom. "Is that why you refuse me?"
The words were a spark to dry tinder. Yve's jaw tightened, and with a sharp, violent twist, she ripped her wrist from his grasp. "Do not," she seethed, "ever speak of my family."
Arcenaux recoiled, more from shock than pain. He stared at his empty hand, then back at her, a sneer twisting his features. "You mock my ambitions while you cling to a pathetic fantasy. Mark my words, Celestia. Your mortal will wither and die in five cycles, maybe less. And you will still be here. I'll be waiting to see who's laughing then."
With a final, contemptuous scoff, he turned. He didn't just swim away; he powered off, a sharp, aggressive flick of his tail sending a small, spiteful wave of water that slammed into Yve, forcing her to brace herself against the sudden jolt. She watched him disappear into the currents, the unwelcome disturbance slowly settling in the water around her.
Yve steadied herself against the lingering current, but Arcenaux's words clung to her like oil. Your mortal will wither and die.
Frustration, sharp and hot, flared in her chest. She snatched a flat, palm-sized stone from the seabed. Without thinking, she hurled it. It didn't drift or tumble. It shot through the water like a crossbow bolt, a silent, streaking missile that vanished into the blue haze, defying the physics that should have governed it.
The violence of the act left her shaking. She sank onto a nearby stone bench, the fight draining out of her as quickly as it had come. The water around her felt suddenly heavy, pressing in. Her thoughts, unbidden, drifted past the village, past the coral reefs, to a sun-drenched shore she only knew in memories.
Before she realized she was speaking, a name escaped her lips, barely a whisper against the current.
"…Dylan."
A heavy sigh followed, and she looked down, her grip tightening on the smooth, cool casing of the Resonance Scanner in her hand. It was a piece of her world, a tool of logic and science, but right now, it felt like an anchor holding her to a reality she desperately wanted to escape.
~~~
The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt of the manor's driveway, turning the air to shimmering waves. Ethan tilted his head back, draining the last of the lukewarm, boiled water from his bottle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and peered down at the grease-stained legs of the old car.
"Dylan," he called out. "Need anything?"
A muffled clang echoed from under the chassis. "No. Not now."
"Alright. Gonna go boil more. That was the last of it," Ethan said, already walking toward the house.
"Alright," came the grunted reply.
A few minutes of scraping and wrenching passed before Dylan slid out from under the car on a creeper, his face and arms streaked with black grease. He wiped his hands on a rag, got into the driver's seat, and turned the key. The engine sputtered, caught with a promising growl, then coughed and died with a final, shuddering groan.
"Son of a bitch," Dylan snarled, slamming the heel of his palm against the steering wheel. "What is your problem!" He shoved the door open and got out, disappearing back under the car with a frustrated sigh.
Just then, Lucas walked toward the car, squinting in the sun. "Dyl..."
The sharp, rhythmic clink of metal on metal swallowed his voice. He tried again, louder. "Dylan." He nudged Dylan's boot with the toe of his own work boot.
Dylan slid out again, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the glare. "What?"
"Jenkins wants to see you."
Dylan lowered his hand, his expression already souring. "What does he want now?"
"How should I know? Just go. And let go of the car," Lucas said, gesturing vaguely at the dead machine. "It's only sucking up more resources."
Dylan pushed himself to his feet, wiping a smear of grease from his cheek with the back of his wrist. "Not a chance. Ain't givin' up on this beauty."
Lucas just shrugged. "Suit yourself." He nodded toward the large, corrugated-metal shed at the side of the mansion. "He's in the lab."
~~~
Dylan knocked twice and pushed the door halfway open , stopping when he heard voices inside.
The lab smelled of iron, antiseptic, and burnt wiring.
Jenkins was speaking, his tone measured, distracted — already halfway inside his own thoughts.
"Thank you for your cooperation. Your observations are… extremely valuable. They will contribute significantly to our research."
David chuckled dryly.
"Yeah, well. Happy to help science save the world and all that."
Papers shuffled. Pencil scratching followed.
Jenkins was speaking, his tone measured, distracted — already halfway inside his own thoughts.
"Thank you for your cooperation. Your observations are… extremely valuable. They will contribute significantly to our research."
David chuckled dryly.
"Yeah, well. Happy to help science save the world and all that."
Papers shuffled. Pencil scratching followed.
Dylan stepped fully into the doorway then, arms folded.
Jenkins noticed him first. He looked up, adjusting his glasses slightly.
"Ah — Dylan. Good timing." He gestured politely with his pencil. "If you could wait just a moment while I finish documenting this."
David glanced over his shoulder at Dylan and smirked before heading out.
"Careful, man. Once he starts askin' questions, you ain't leavin' for an hour."
Dylan grunted softly in acknowledgment and sat on the chair, waiting.
Jenkins had already returned to writing, mumbling quietly as he finalized his notes.
A few moments passed before Jenkins closed his previous notebook and set it aside. He pulled a fresh, blank pad toward him, aligning it carefully with the edge of the table. The scratching of his pen filled the brief silence.
He finally looked up.
Dylan shifted in his chair. "So… what d'you need?"
Jenkins folded his hands together, choosing his words with deliberate care.
"Among everyone here, you possess the most direct and sustained exposure to Yve," he began. "Your interactions with her are not observational — they are relational. That makes your testimony uniquely valuable."
He paused, adjusting his glasses.
"Ava helped me confront something I have resisted for quite some time," he continued. "The realization that the framework of science I have relied upon is… incomplete. Not incorrect, but limited. What we once categorized as myth or fantasy appears to operate under rules we simply have not discovered yet."
Dylan watched him silently.
"I suspect my refusal to accept that possibility earlier may be one reason my attempts at developing a cure have stagnated," Jenkins admitted, voice quieter now. "However, it also places us in a remarkable position. We are witnessing phenomena previously undocumented by modern science. From a research standpoint…" he allowed himself a small, incredulous breath, "…it is extraordinary."
He straightened slightly, returning to professional composure.
"Because of your bond with Yve, I would like to ask you a series of questions — extensive ones. Some may feel personal or uncomfortable. That is not my intention, nor is it driven by curiosity for its own sake."
His pen hovered over the page.
"My objective is understanding. Biological, cultural, and metaphysical understanding. If we are to develop a cure — or even coexist safely — I must gather accurate data."
He met Dylan's eyes directly.
"Are you willing to proceed?"
Dylan leaned back slightly, considering him.
Dylan scratched the side of his neck, shifting in the chair.
"Could've just said that from the start," he muttered. "Ain't much for long speeches. You know that."
Jenkins allowed himself a small chuckle, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.
"Yes," he said mildly. "I am becoming increasingly aware of your preference for brevity."
He glanced down, pen ready, posture immediately returning to professional focus.
"Very well. I will proceed directly."
A brief pause — clinical, deliberate.
"Do you possess any knowledge regarding siren reproduction?"
Dylan blinked once.
Then his face tightened slowly, like the question physically pained him.
"…You serious right now?"
"Yes."
Dylan leaned back, dragging a hand down his face. "Man… you pick the strangest damn topics."
"Well," Jenkins continued carefully, "given your proximity to Yve, I considered the possibility you may have observed—or participated in—reproductive behavior."
Dylan immediately stood. "Nope." He pointed once toward Jenkins. "Never."
Jenkins wrote steadily, the scratch of pen against paper filling the quiet between them.
"Did she ever recount," he asked carefully, "any cultural or biological explanations regarding how sirens reproduce? From a biological standpoint, their anatomy does not appear compatible with human reproductive structures… or at least, that was my initial assumption. At present, assumptions are liabilities. I require verifiable information."
Dylan shrugged lightly. "She didn't," he said. "Never talked about it."
Jenkins nodded once, accepting the limitation without frustration. "Very well. Let us shift focus." He glanced up. "When you first brought Yve to the settlement, you claimed you had just rescued her. Was that account entirely accurate?"
Dylan shook his head. "No," he said plainly. "Wasn't the first time I seen her."
Jenkins' pen paused mid-stroke. "I see… Then, if you are willing, I would like you to recount the circumstances of your first encounter. From the beginning."
Dylan leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "From the start, huh…" He rubbed his jaw. "Alright."
He stared past Jenkins for a moment, eyes unfocused — not looking at the lab anymore.
"You remember that time I came back bleedin' bad?"
Jenkins didn't even look up. "You will need to be more specific," he replied dryly. "Statistically speaking, you return injured after most scavenging excursions."
A faint smirk tugged at Dylan's mouth. "Not with the team. When I went solo."
That made Jenkins think. His brows drew together.
"…Ah," he said slowly. "The incident involving a lateral stab wound. Right side of the abdomen."
Dylan nodded. "Yeah. That one."
Jenkins resumed writing, faster now. "Continue."
"Ran into a stranger at the docks," Dylan said. "Tried stealin' my haul. He jumped me… fight got messy. I went over the edge. Fell straight into the ocean."
He shrugged slightly. "Don't remember much after that. Just bits. Everything kinda went dark."
Jenkins listened intently, pen moving nonstop.
"When I woke again," Dylan continued, "I was already on the shore. Thought I just got lucky."
He huffed quietly. "Went back to the dock for my gear. That's when I saw her."
His voice softened without him noticing. "Head just… pokin' outta the water. Watchin' me."
Jenkins glanced up briefly. "And your reaction?"
"Pointed my weapon at her," Dylan said immediately. "Figured she was another scavenger messin' with me."
A short pause.
"Then I blacked out again. Fell right back into the water."
He shook his head faintly. "Next thing I know, I'm back on the shore. Alive. Somehow."
Jenkins tapped the pen against the page, thinking. "If you had been an ordinary civilian," he said analytically, "you would not have survived that degree of blood loss. Your military conditioning likely prolonged consciousness through sheer physiological resilience."
Dylan gave a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe."
Jenkins' eyes narrowed slightly as another memory surfaced. "However," he continued, "there remains an unresolved detail."
Dylan looked up. "What detail?"
"When I treated your wound," Jenkins said, leaning forward slightly, "there was a foreign substance covering the injury. A viscous, mucus-like compound sealing the stab wound."
Dylan frowned. "I had what?"
"Yes," Jenkins said. "It had already slowed the bleeding significantly. At the time, I assumed you had applied some form of field dressing."
Dylan shook his head. "Wasn't me."
Jenkins's expression sharpened with quiet excitement. "The substance emitted a faint floral scent," he continued. "Quite incongruous with its appearance. I regret not preserving a sample. Resources were… limited."
Dylan stared at the floor for a moment, piecing it together. "You think she did that?"
Jenkins nodded slowly. "I consider it highly probable."
Silence settled between them.
Dylan leaned back, a small smile forming despite himself — quiet, private, grateful.
"…Yeah," he murmured. "Sounds like her."
Jenkins adjusted his posture, pen already poised above the page. "Tell me more," he said, voice steady but unmistakably eager.
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck, thinking where to start. "After I patched up," he began, "I kept goin' back to the dock. Didn't even know why at first. Just… kept endin' up there."
He gave a small breath through his nose.
"First few times with her were rough. Awkward. Lotta silence. Didn't trust each other much."
Jenkins nodded faintly, encouraging continuation.
"But after a while," Dylan continued, "it kinda turned into somethin' I looked forward to. World's fallin' apart, monsters everywhere… then there's this one quiet place where things felt almost normal."
He leaned back slightly. "We talked. Mostly about before all this mess. I told her about cities, roads, stupid stuff people used to complain about." A faint smirk. "She couldn't believe traffic jams were real."
Jenkins allowed himself a brief amused exhale while writing.
"And she told me about her home," Dylan added. "Village called Reefville."
That made Jenkins stop writing. He straightened slowly, interest sharpening. "…A structured civilization beneath the ocean," he murmured. "Remarkable."
"Yeah," Dylan said. "Didn't fully buy it at first. Thought maybe I was hallucinating from blood loss or dehydration."
He shook his head slightly.
"Every time I sat there with her, felt like a dream. The stuff she talked about… traditions, creatures, cities underwater—" he paused, searching for words, "—it's just… bigger than how humans think. Hard to wrap your head around."
Jenkins nodded quietly.
"Oh, I understand that sensation intimately," he said. "My entire scientific framework has been undergoing… forced expansion as of late. Please, continue."
Dylan scratched his arm absentmindedly.
"Half the stories were about her training," he said. "How sirens grow up learnin' control, discipline… responsibilities and all that."
He hesitated briefly.
"She kept sayin' she was different. Only one in her village maybe the entire realm without a gift."
Jenkins's pen froze again.
"…Without one?" he repeated carefully.
"Yeah," Dylan said. "Didn't really get what that meant back then. Just sounded like some cultural thing."
He glanced toward the organized shelf before continuing.
"But after seein' what her sister did… healin' David like that…" he shook his head slowly. "I think I get it now."
Jenkins leaned forward, eyes bright with analytical curiosity.
"Then enlighten me," he said calmly. "Describe precisely what you understand a 'gift' to be."
Dylan continued, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to pull the memories into order.
"I do remember her telling me every siren is born with a gift… that it is used to protect, nourish, defend, and unite one another. She said there are different kinds of gifts. She did tell me her sister can heal—thought it was just another fancy cultural thing for a doctor… never imagined it was literal healing." He let out a quiet breath. "If her sister has that kind of power, imagine what the others can do…"
Jenkins' brows lifted slightly, interest sharpening behind his glasses.
"Extraordinary," he murmured, leaning forward. "A society structured around specialized biological abilities… not hierarchy, but function."
Dylan shrugged faintly. "Didn't sound like hierarchy to her. More like… everyone had a role."
Jenkins nodded slowly, absorbing every word. "Protection, nourishment, defense, unity… those categories imply ecological balance. Their abilities may not be random but adaptive responses to environmental pressures."
Dylan gave him a sideways look. "You turning her stories into a textbook already?"
Jenkins allowed himself a small chuckle. "Occupational hazard."
He straightened in his chair, tone sharpening again. "And this healing—did she describe limitations? Duration? Physical contact required?"
Dylan thought for a moment. "She said her sister could close wounds, ease pain… pull sickness out like it was poison in water. Didn't go into details. Back then I didn't think to ask."
"Of course," Jenkins said softly. "One rarely interrogates miracles during casual conversation."
Dylan huffed quietly at that.
"But she talked about it like it was normal," he added. "Like humans breathing. No big speeches, no showing off. Just… part of life down there."
Jenkins' pen moved quickly across the page.
"A biologically integrated capability normalized through culture," he muttered. "Remarkable."
Dylan leaned back, gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the room.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Remarkable's one word for it."
Jenkins adjusted his glasses, pen hovering above his notebook. "Well," he said, thoughtful, "how come she believes she doesn't possess a gift?"
Dylan scratched at his beard, shifting in his seat. "Think it's tied to her… tail thing."
Jenkins blinked. "Huh."
Dylan shrugged. "She told me all sirens get their legs at two hundred. Like… that's when they're fully grown or somethin'. She didn't get hers 'til she was two-forty."
Jenkins froze.
His jaw slowly dropped. "She's that old? Is that another… cultural interpretation of age?"
Dylan shook his head once. "No. Biological. She's two hundred forty years old." He paused, eyes softening at the memory. "Day I brought her in? Night before was her birthday. First night she had legs." A faint, disbelieving huff escaped him. "Was… somethin' else."
Jenkins stared at him, momentarily speechless, before recovering and flipping a page in his notes. "I find myself accumulating an alarming number of questions," he admitted.
Dylan gave a dry half-smile. "Yeah. You and me both."
Silence settled briefly between them. Dylan exhaled, long and tired, then glanced over.
"Why didn't you just ask her all that when she was here?" he muttered. "Woulda saved us both time."
Jenkins' expression tightened slightly. "I was… preoccupied," he said carefully. "At the time, my entire cognitive bandwidth was directed toward one objective—the cure. I failed to engage with her as an individual." He paused, voice quieter. "I was blinded by the discovery that her blood actively hunts and destroys the shrieker virus."
Dylan nodded slowly. "Yeah… lotta things happened."
Jenkins tapped the end of his pen against the paper.
"What about what her sister said," he continued. "That they are half a soul. Do you possess any interpretation of that statement?"
Dylan shook his head. "No clue."
Jenkins frowned, thinking aloud. "You mentioned they are twins. Perhaps that is the meaning—shared gestation, symbolic unity?"
Dylan lifted one shoulder. "Maybe. Maybe not. Don't really know."
"They are dizygotic twins," Jenkins said suddenly.
Dylan squinted at him. "Dizy what?"
"Fraternal twins," Jenkins clarified. "Two separate ova fertilized by two different sperm cells. Genetically, they share approximately fifty percent of their DNA—equivalent to ordinary siblings."
Dylan nodded slowly. "Oh."
Jenkins waved a hand lightly. "In any case… please continue."
And so Dylan did.
Hours slipped by without either of them noticing. Jenkins' notebook filled page after page as Dylan recounted everything he remembered—her stories of the sea, her confusion over human customs, the way she spoke about her people like they were currents moving together instead of individuals standing apart.
Normally, Dylan hated talking. Conversations felt like work, words dragged out of him one at a time.
But when it came to Yve, the memories came easy.
He didn't run out of things to say.
Didn't even come close.
~~~
Night settled heavy over the compound, the sky clouded and moonless, the air carrying the distant groans of the ruined world beyond their fences.
Dylan crouched beside the campfire and tossed another piece of firewood into the flames. Sparks leapt upward, crackling as warmth spread through the small circle of survivors gathered outside the manor. Metal cups clinked softly. Someone laughed at the far end of the group. The smell of boiled roots and preserved meat lingered in the air.
Ethan sat cross-legged nearby, carefully sipping hot water. David leaned back against an overturned crate, eating slowly while listening to one of the scavengers exaggerate a story that grew more heroic with every retelling. Lucas stood slightly apart, arms crossed, keeping quiet watch over the perimeter even while resting.
Dylan settled onto a low wooden stump. For a moment he just stared into the fire.
Then he reached into his worn canvas bag.
His fingers closed around something small.
Careful.
He pulled out the music box.
The metal edges were scratched, paint faded from years of handling, but he wiped a thumb across it anyway before turning the small key at its side.
Click… click… click…
The lid opened.
A tiny carved siren rose and began to spin slowly, dancing as the melody drifted into the night—soft, fragile notes floating above the crackle of flames and distant wind.
Conversation around the fire gradually quieted.
The tune carried something warm… something untouched by ruin.
Dylan watched the little figure turn.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He remembered her face the first time he'd shown it to Yve—eyes wide like a kid seeing snow for the first time, fingers hovering like she was afraid touching it might break the magic.
"It sings…" she had whispered back then, completely mesmerized.
He'd shrugged, pretending it was nothing.
But she'd laughed—bright, curious, amazed by something humans once considered ordinary.
The memory lingered longer than the music itself.