"Help!"
"Chief— it's too fast!"
"ARGH—!"
The voices collide—layered, tearing through each other. Screams. Orders. Pleas. The deep itself seems to howl.
Bodies drop. One. Then another. Then too many to count.
Blood blooms in the water—thick, choking, everywhere.
The village fractures into chaos.
Children screaming. The wounded gasping. The vulnerable trying to flee but there's nowhere to go—nowhere fast enough.
"DEFENSE LINE—!"
"Chief, we need orders!"
"Flank it—no, it's already—!"
"Sir, strategy—what's the plan?!"
"Protect the rear—PROTECT THE—!"
Voices pile on top of each other. Commanders. Soldiers. Sirens trained for war—all of them breaking, demanding, reaching for direction that doesn't come fast enough.
Too fast.
It's all too fast.
Another scream—cut short.
Silence—
—
The Chief bolts upright.
A raw, fractured shout rips out of him as he wakes, chest heaving, breath sharp and uneven. His grip is tight—too tight.
Sword already drawn. Eyes wide. Wild. Searching. Sweat clings to his skin, cold despite the water.
For a moment—he's still there.
Still hearing them. Still seeing it.
The Chief's scream tore through the ward.
Patients jolted awake—startled gasps, frantic movement, bodies pulling back in instinctive fear.
Ysa moved first. Slow. Careful. "Chief… what happened?" she said, voice low, steady, as she swam closer.
He didn't answer. His chest rose and fell too fast. Eyes wide. Unfocused. His sword already in his hand.
"Chief…" Ysa reached him, gently lowering his arm, easing the blade downward. "It's just a dream."
No response.
Just breath—sharp, uneven.
She tried to loosen his grip, careful, patient—
And then—
He moved.
Fast.
Instinct. Reflex. His strength surged without control—his arm snapping forward—
Ysa was thrown across the room.
She hit the shelf hard—her breath knocked out of her as she dropped, coughing, disoriented.
The room froze.
Silence—then whispers. Fear. Shock.
The Chief blinked. Once. Twice.
Reality hit.
He saw her. Saw what he'd done. His grip slackened, the sword lowering slightly as the haze broke—horror settling in its place.
A siren rushed past him, straight to Ysa. "Oh dear—are you okay?" she said, quickly helping her up, checking her over.
Ysa coughed again, still catching her breath, one hand braced against the shelf as the room stayed tense—every eye on the Chief.
The Chief's grip loosened, guilt crashing in all at once. "I—I'm so sorry…"
He tried to move toward Ysa—barely two strokes before his body gave out. His damaged tail fin failed him, balance breaking as he dropped, catching himself with his hands.
He crawled instead. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
Ysa pushed herself up, still wincing, then swam to him quickly. "Chief, it's alright… don't strain yourself."
Together, she and the other siren lifted him—careful, steady—guiding him back to his bed.
"I'm really sorry," he said again, voice unsteady. "I don't know what happened."
Ysa adjusted him gently. "No… it's alright. I understand."
The other siren turned, heading off to retrieve medicine—
—and froze.
The Chief's sword hovered in the water.
Pointed directly at her eyes.
Closer. Too close. She let out a startled cry, recoiling.
Ysa turned sharply. "Chief… your sword."
He followed her gaze—eyes locking onto it. "Oh— I am really sorry, I don—"
The blade dissolved. Edges softening, form collapsing—melting back into water as if it had never been solid.
The Chief sagged slightly, breath heavy, exhausted.
Ysa watched him for a moment, then softened her voice. "I'll bring you your food and medicines later… rest for a while, alright?"
He nodded faintly.
Ysa took the other siren by the arm. "Come with me."
~~~
They entered a private ward.
The door closed behind them, muting the distant sounds. "That was… kind of scary," the other siren whispered.
Ysa exhaled, long and heavy. "I know… I know… it's just…" she hesitated, jaw tightening. "He's getting kind of dangerous."
"Yeah, but he's just traumatized…"
"I know—but what if he accidentally harms the other patients? Or the visitors?"
"I don't think he'd do that."
Ysa turned to her, sharp. "Really? Because he just threw me across the room—and he almost killed you with his sword. He's not stable… he needs to be isolated."
The other siren's expression hardened. "Are you insane? You can't do that. It'll worsen his mental state. You know we can't be isolated for long."
"I know—but not for long. Just until he stabilizes."
"That's like putting him in another prison inside his own prison. He's been through enough, don't you think?"
Ysa looked away, tension building in her shoulders. "I know… I'm just… really worried. He might've controlled himself now—but what happens when he goes full predator mode?"
A pause.
A quiet sigh. "We'll deal with that once we get there…"
Ysa nodded once. Then, more resolved: "Fine… just… let's move his bed. Move him to his own home. House calls. We can't put the other patients at risk."
The other siren considered, then gave a small nod. "Fine. I agree with you. But if we'd just healed them, we wouldn't have patients now."
Ysa's gaze dropped slightly. "We cured them, Haira… physically. But we can't cure their mental and emotional wounds."
Haira crossed her arms. "It's possible. If we use my sister Maira's help… and do a little memory distortion."
Ysa's head snapped up. "Now you're the one insane. That is forbidden—and you know it."
Haira didn't flinch. "I don't care… as long as it cures our patients."
~~~
Late that afternoon, in the corner chamber of the Grand Hall, the council gathered. The water felt still. Heavy.
The Chieftess stood at the front—back straight, her gaze a physical weight as it swept across her comrades and councilors.
Chalisse spoke. "We are at war. Not with a rival village. Not with an old enemy. We are at war with a ghost."
A quiet ripple moved through the room.
"This… *thing*… has slaughtered one of our villages. We have no knowledge of it. No face to put to the slaughter. We do not know if it is revenge, madness, or something far worse."
Silence tightened.
"The Chief of the Harborville village failed. His family is dead. More than a hundred of our kin are gone."
A few heads lowered.
"In my reign, I have never seen such cruelty. Our ancestors waged wars, yes—but there was honor. There was treaty. There was peace." Her voice hardened, turning sharp as flint. "And now, that peace is a corpse in the water. And it is our duty to find out who killed it."
She let that settle. "And it is our duty to stop it."
A pause.
Then—
"As Chieftess, I will not wait for this ghost to find a second village. In line with that duty…" her chin lifted, resolve sharpening, "I shall go to the Confluence Realm. I will petition His Grace directly."
Shock broke the stillness. Murmurs. Movement. Disbelief.
Councilor Kael, a broad-shouldered siren with scars webbing his neck, stood abruptly. "That is not a plan. It is a suicide note," he said, his voice a low growl. "You would abandon your post? Leave us leaderless? The treaty is clear. The moment you cross into the Confluence without sanction, you are a traitor. You will be stripped of your title and exiled."
The words hung, heavy and final.
Chalisse did not flinch. "I understand the treaty, Kael." Her voice remained steady. Certain. "But I care more about the lives of our people than the ink on a dead scroll."
She stepped forward—just enough to anchor every eye on her. "I took an oath to protect this village. Not to protect my title."
A beat.
"If going to His Grace is the price of that oath… then so shall it be."
Master Mercedius rose slowly, the movement measured, deliberate. Age showed—but so did presence. "Chalisse…" His voice carried quiet weight. "Have you fully considered what you are asking? What you are risking?"
The Chieftess met his gaze without hesitation. "I have, Master Mercedius." A brief pause—then, more deliberate: "And I would ask something of you."
A shift in the room.
"I want you to come with me."
Murmurs flickered like dying embers.
"You once served His Grace—as bookkeeper, as advisor. You knew his court when few of us did. If there is anyone here whose presence would not be dismissed outright…" her tone softened, just slightly, "it would be yours."
Mercedius exhaled, slow. "Dear child…" he said, almost weary. "That was a lifetime ago. The man who served that court is dust. The currents of the Confluence are not forgiving. They do not care for old loyalties. I doubt I would survive the passage."
Chalisse swam closer—not pressing, but firm. "Then I will make sure you do."
He frowned, studying her.
"I'll have a transport built," she continued. "Reinforced. Stable. You will not face the currents alone."
A longer pause this time. The old master's shoulders eased—just a fraction. "…Then I suppose I have little excuse left," he said quietly. "Very well. I will go."
A faint, distant smile touched him—more memory than expression. "It has been… half a millennium since I last stood before His Grace. I would not arrive unprepared."
Behind them, the council began to stir—whispers threading through the chamber.
"This is madness…"
"If she doesn't return, we are leaderless…"
"Kael is right. It is treason."
Kael stood again, his eyes like chips of obsidian. "You speak of oaths, Chalisse, but you forget the most important one: the oath to *govern*. If both of you leave, who holds this village together? Who will answer when the ghost comes for us?"
That gave Chalisse pause. A measured exhale. "I have an Under-Chieftain," she said, her gaze cutting to the side. "Arcenaux."
All eyes turned, including Kael's.
Arcenaux stiffened. "What? No— I'm not ready for this."
Chalisse's gaze sharpened to a point. "Then perhaps," she said evenly, "you should consider stepping down. Make room for someone who is."
A flicker of offense crossed his face. He scoffed. "I said I'm not ready, not that I won't do it." His chin lifted. "And I am more than capable."
"Good," Chalisse replied, cold and immediate. "Because you will not be alone."
Her eyes swept across the council, lingering on Kael. "You have advisors. Veterans. Leaders who have held this village together through floods and famines. Their wisdom is your shield."
A beat.
"And if they fail to guide you," she said, her voice dropping—sharp as a blade, "if they cannot support the one they helped appoint… then perhaps they should reconsider their positions as well."
Silence followed.
Not uncertain.
Tight. Controlled.
The kind that comes when authority has been made unmistakably clear, and the price of dissent has just been laid bare for all to see.
~~~
As the sun dipped low, gold bleeding into the water, Yve moved around the table with practiced ease.
Three plates.
Mackerel laid neatly. Staghorn coral set to the side.
Simple. Clean.
"Dinner, everyone!"
Her voice carried, echoing outward.
Ysa arrived first, sliding into her seat without ceremony. Chalisse followed—measured, composed, but quieter than usual.
They began to eat.
For a moment, it was just the sound of it—small, ordinary.
Then Chalisse spoke. "I'll be leaving soon," she said. "For the Confluence Realm."
Both daughters froze.
Yve's head snapped up. "You're serious?" A beat—then, immediate: "Can I come?"
Ysa leaned forward, eyes lighting. "Wait—yeah, me too. I want to see it."
Chalisse didn't even hesitate. "No."
Flat. Final.
"You're both still fragile," she continued, voice calm but firm. "The currents there don't bend. They tear. Flesh, bone—layer by layer if you're not built for it."
Silence settled for a second.
Yve frowned slightly. "So when can we go?"
"When you've lived long enough to survive it," Chalisse replied. "Five hundred years. Minimum."
Ysa leaned back with a long sigh. "That's… what—two hundred sixty more years?" She glanced at Yve. "We'll be ancient."
Yve let out a quiet breath, gaze dropping to her plate. "If we even make it that far…" she muttered. "This rogue thing out there—whatever's doing this… I don't like it."
A brief pause.
Then Ysa shifted. "Speaking of rogue … Mother, I need your advice."
Chalisse's attention sharpened instantly. "Go on."
"The Chief," Ysa said, more serious now. "He almost killed Haira earlier. And he—" she gestured lightly to herself, "—threw me across the room."
Chalisse went still. "What?" Her voice lowered. Controlled. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Ysa waved it off quickly. "I hit a volite shelf though, so my back feels like a sponge right now."
Yve perked up immediately. "Ohhh, volite?" A grin crept in. "Yeah, that definitely stings."
Before Ysa could react—tap.
Right on her back.
Ysa flinched. "Hey—!"
"That's just mean," she hissed, wincing.
Yve laughed under her breath. "I wish I saw it. Would've been fun watching you get thrown like that."
"Will you stop?" Ysa shot back. "I'm being serious."
"Yeah, yeah…" Yve waved her off, still smirking. "Go on, crybaby."
Chalisse cut in, tone steady again. "Why wasn't it treated properly?"
"It was," Ysa said. "Haira fixed my tailbone. I'm functional." A small shrug. "I just didn't want her to finish the rest."
Chalisse's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why not?"
Ysa leaned back, casual—almost too casual. "What's life without a little pain? It reminds you you're still alive."
A beat.
Yve nodded, like that was the most profound thing she'd ever heard. "Yeah… I get that." Then she leaned over and tapped Ysa right on the sore spot.
Ysa jerked. "—Will you stop doing that?!
Yve just grinned, unbothered. "Just checking if you were still alive."
Chalisse ignored them, her gaze fixed on Ysa. "So what's your solution?"
Ysa's playful demeanor vanished. "I'm thinking… of placing the Chief in an isolated ward. Just until he stabilizes. It's the only way to guarantee everyone else's safety."
"No." Chalisse's voice was flat, immediate. "Absolutely not."
"Mother, he's a danger. He's like a Nierven in his early days—wild, reactive… chaos waiting to happen."
Yve's head lifted at that. "Hey—don't go dragging Nierven like that. He's a good serpent."
"I'm not dragging him," Ysa shot back. "I'm reminding you how he started. Or did you forget when he nearly strangled you?"
Yve paused. "…Fair point."
"Then you will find another way," Chalisse said. "Isolation for a siren is a death sentence. It will break his mind long before it heals it. You will not do it."
Ysa opened her mouth to argue, but Yve cut in, leaning forward with a glint in her eye. "I have an idea."
Both of them turned to her.
"What if we get him out of here?" Yve said. "Completely out of his element. What if we let him live on land… with my human family?"
The air changed instantly. Chalisse's eyes narrowed—sharp, instinctive, almost predatory. An old, buried rage surfaced in her expression. "Absolutely not."
"Mother, just listen—"
"No," Chalisse repeated, her voice like ice. "You are not to surface. You know what Callista said. Your energy is… unpredictable. You could be put in grave danger."
"That was months ago!" Yve shot back, her voice rising. "I feel fine! And this isn't about me—well, not just about me. This is about him! Everything here reminds him of what he lost. The village, the community, us. What if a total change of scenery is the only thing that can save him? A world where he's the only one of his kind. No expectations."
Ysa tilted her head, considering it. "She's not wrong. A new environment could be therapeutic. But the surface? Isn't the mortal surface filled with stinking corpses right now?"
"He'd be a siren living with humans, I lived with them." Yve pressed. "What's the bigger risk? That he's killed in a shrieker ambush which is unlikely, or that he accidentally kills one of us during a nightmare?"
That landed. The room went quiet.
Chalisse stared at her oldest daughter, her expression unreadable. She was weighing two impossible risks. The risk of sending a broken, unstable siren to the fragile, dangerous surface world… versus the certainty of him breaking if he stayed.
Finally, she spoke, her voice low and heavy. "The logistics would be a nightmare. He couldn't survive on land for long without water."
"Don't worry about that," Yve said instantly, already prepared. "My family's home has a thing they call swimming pool, it holds a huge amount of water and I love it. It's perfect!"
Chalisse was silent for a long time, her fingers steepled. "This is madness," she murmured, but the fight was gone from her voice.
Yve pressed her advantage, her tone softening. "Mother, I want what's best for him. And for us. And… yes, I want to see my other family. Please. Let me help. Let me do this."
Chalisse let out a long, slow sigh, a sound of deep resignation. "I will… consider it."
Yve's face split into a wide grin. "Yes! Thank you, Mother!"
She stood, grabbing her plate. "And remember," she added over her shoulder as she swam away, "if you say no, I'll be so depressed my energy will plummet, and then I really will be in grave danger. Just saying."
Chalisse watched her go, a flicker of a weary smile touching her lips. "Was that a threat?"
Yve's voice echoed back from the hall. "No. It was a responsible notification of potential side effects. Love you!"