Chapter Text
San had always been good at learning. Even as a child, with his father away at sea more often than not, he filled the void with learning. He had read through so many books, all his shelves were piled high with old naval manuals, and encyclopedias of maritime lore. His walls were constantly covered with detailed maps. He remembers how he would sit cross-legged on the wooden floor of their small cottage, tracing routes with his finger, imagining the vast, uncharted expanses where monsters and pirates were rumored to lurk. His father’s worn, sea-weathered hands would sometimes point out landmarks on the maps, saying, “That’s where I saw the water boil. Could’ve been steam from a fissure, could’ve been something else.” It always ended that way. That wonderful whimsical, slightly frightening way. With something else.
San never outgrew that itch to find out what the 'something else' was. It fueled him through his early education, where his curiosity often got him in trouble. His tutors called him distractible, unable to focus on anything for too long. But San didn’t see it that way. His thoughts just moved too fast for mundane things. Arithmetic was nothing but numbers boxed into neat columns. Grammar felt like trying to pin down a bird in flight. He wanted to learn about things that moved him, that breathed life, topics that pulled him in like a riptide and didn’t let go.
By the time he was old enough to think about a future, the path had already been paved for him. His father’s navy career was a point of pride in their household. And San, bright-eyed and eager to prove himself, didn’t question it. He applied to the maritime academy, passed the entrance exams with ease, and threw himself into the curriculum with a passion that was almost desperate.
His father’s letters came infrequently and in brief, hastily scrawled words that never failed to include some encouragement. “Be brave. Learn fast. One day, you’ll command a ship of your own.” San folded each one carefully, tucking them into the inside pocket of his coat. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his father’s approval was the only thing holding his ambitions in place, like an anchor keeping a ship from drifting out to sea.
The academy was a brutal place. San had expected discipline and structure, but he hadn’t anticipated the cold competitiveness, and endless drills under the sweltering sun, and the constant expectation to outdo his peers. He’d always been clever and quick with his hands but here, it wasn’t just about being bright. It was about endurance. Grit. His first year passed in a blur of blisters and bruises, lectures that stretched on into the evening, and quiet, stolen moments where he could finally immerse himself in his own thoughts.
Eventually he toughened up and got arms bigger than his father’s and hands that were more callus than skin, but in those moments where it was just him as he was, he found himself drawn to the library with sagging shelves that seemed forgotten by most of the other cadets. There, hidden among logs of naval expeditions and treatises on marine warfare, San found books that spoke to his restless curiosity. It was a book on old volumes recounting folklore of the sea, myths that refused to be fully disproven despite centuries of skepticism. He read them with an intensity that bordered on obsession, piecing together stories of phantom ships and ghostly figures wandering the shorelines.
But it wasn’t just the legends of cursed vessels or ill-fated voyages that caught his attention. There was something more elusive that seemed to hover on the edge of truth. Sirens. Sailors’ tales described them as seductive monsters, their melodies pulling ships toward jagged rocks, drowning entire crews for sport. Yet the accounts varied. Some were vague, cobbled together from hearsay, while others were painstakingly detailed. And almost reverent.
San couldn’t stop thinking about it. How could something that invoked so much fear also inspire such fascination? It gnawed at him during lectures on navigation and naval tactics, his thoughts slipping into the spaces between words. He started questioning the stories his father used to tell him where the ocean itself seemed alive, breathing with secrets that no map could chart. Maybe his father knew more than he ever let on. Maybe the navy knew, too, and just didn’t want to admit it.
His interest didn’t go unnoticed. A few of the senior cadets mocked him for his fixation on sea monsters, calling him a daydreamer and a fool. San didn’t mind. Let them scoff. They didn’t understand what it was like to be driven by the need to know. But as the months passed, he couldn’t ignore the fact that his passion for discovery clashed with the academy’s expectations. His instructors pushed for practical knowledge like how to calculate a ship’s position at sea, and how to maintain discipline among the crew. All of these things San had already passed tests for with flying colors, so there was no real mental stimulation.
Then, in his third year, something shifted. One of his instructors caught San scribbling notes about siren migration patterns in the margins of his workbook. Instead of punishment, the man just sighed and said, “You’d make a better naturalist than a sailor, boy.” It was meant as an insult, but San was almost grateful to hear it. He decided if he couldn’t fit into the navy’s mold, then he would find his own way.
The decision didn’t come easily. He knew leaving the academy would mean disappointing his father and abandoning a future that was already set in motion. But San couldn’t ignore the feeling clawing at his chest. He had this aching need to break away from tradition and to seek something more. So he left, abandoning his uniform and his father’s expectations.
Wandering the ports, he picked up odd jobs to sustain himself. Simple things like helping unload cargo,
and mapping out coastlines for local fishermen. He learned that in life, freedom tasted bittersweet. Yes it was liberating, but it was also tinged with uncertainty. Then he crossed paths with Hongjoong. The captain had heard about his skill with maps and his knack for identifying dangerous currents. In a portside tavern, after a long talk about both their pasts, Hongjoong offered him a place on his ship, promising not just steady work, but a chance to see the world without the suffocating structure of the navy.
San accepted, and just like that, he became part of something that didn’t ask him to be anyone but himself. Hongjoong was a leader who didn’t need every answer spelled out, who trusted instincts over rules. San found himself drawn into the rhythm of the ship’s life, his mind constantly buzzing with new possibilities.
And yet, through all the voyages, through storms and doldrums, through charting unmarked coastlines and navigating trade routes, nothing held his attention the way stories of sirens still did. Despite countless reports, despite testimonies from sailors who swore they heard haunting songs drifting over the waves, no one had ever provided concrete proof of a living siren, only scales. San remained skeptical, but intrigued. After all, absence of evidence wasn’t evidence of absence.
But there was one particular siren breed that ensnared his thoughts more than any other: Lumina sirens. The glowing ones. Most considered them myths within a myth. They were a breed so rare that even sailors who claimed to have seen sirens never spoke of glowing tails or softly pulsing light through veins. The idea of them fascinated San. They were supposed to be creatures that were so delicate they seemed almost otherworldly, as if their existence itself was meant to remain a secret.
And so, on this quiet night, San found himself hunched over his desk in his small, cramped study of the ship, surrounded by faded maps and weathered books. His fingers traced faded illustrations of those creatures, descriptions of translucent tails and soft, bioluminescent pulses. The lantern flickered above him, and his eyes burned from hours of reading.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been poring over the texts, tracing connections between reported sightings and migratory patterns. His back ached, and his hand had gone numb from gripping the quill. Despite everything he’d learned, despite all the stories and fragmented evidence, the Lumina sirens remained as elusive as ever.
San exhaled a long breath, letting his head droop forward, chin brushing against the brittle pages. It was absurd, really... devoting so much of his life to chasing stories that might not even be real. And yet, even with doubt gnawing at him, he couldn’t stop. Because something deep in his chest whispered that the truth was out there, pulsing faintly in the dark, just waiting to be found. Just a little more research, just one more page, one more hypothesis, and maybe he’d stumble upon the piece that tied it all together. Maybe he’d finally have something that proved Lumina sirens existed, something more than just a handful of fragmented accounts.
He rubbed his eyes, smearing ink on his cheek, and tried to refocus on the map in front of him that he’d drawn himself, crisscrossed with notes about supposed siren sightings and places where the water seemed to glow at night. He’d heard sailors muttering about it at different ports. There was always a story about a faint blue light on the surface, some drunken sailor swearing it wasn’t just bioluminescent algae, but something alive. Someone said they saw a figure silhouetted against the glow, something with long, flowing hair and eyes that shone like the moon. San traced the inked line with his fingertip, following the curve of a cave-filled coastline that had always seemed strange to him where the water was oddly warm despite the cold currents, where shipwrecks seemed more common than they should have been.
A loud crash nearly made him leap out of his skin, his hand knocking over an inkwell, black liquid splattering over the map. San whipped around, heart pounding, and found Mingi framed in the doorway, looking mildly sheepish, a beer sloshing in one hand.
“San!” Mingi bellowed, as if San were half a mile away rather than three feet. “Oh—” He glanced at the ink spreading over the desk. “Shit, did I scare you? My bad. I thought you’d be asleep or something. Didn’t mean to make you mess up your... whatever all that is.”
San swallowed his pulse back down his throat, setting the inkwell upright and grabbing a cloth to dab at the spreading stain. “It’s fine,” he muttered, capping the ink and wiping his hands on his shirt. “Just didn’t hear you coming.”
“Yeah, well, sorry. I was coming to find you.” Truthfully Mingi didn’t seem all that sorry as he leaned against the doorframe, tilting his beer to his lips and sloshing some on his shirt. “We’re playing Captain’s Dice on the deck, and it’s getting heated. Jongho already beat my ass, and Yunho’s acting like his little henchman, just standing behind him smug like he's the one who's winning. I swear, they’re both ganging up on me. I need someone to take that smug look off Jongho’s face. Thought you might be up for it.”
San raised an eyebrow. “You want me to play Captain’s Dice against Jongho? Mingi, I’m an even worse drinker than you are.” He didn’t move, but Mingi was grinning like it didn’t matter, like he’d already convinced himself San would go.
“It’s not just about drinking,” Mingi argued, waving the beer around like it proved his point. “It’s about luck, and you’ve got the best luck out of all of us. Plus, Jongho’s starting to get cocky. Yunho’s calling him a ‘dice master’ now, like that’s an actual title. And you’re good at strategy, come on, make him lose at least once.”
San sighed, though the irritation he tried to muster didn’t quite surface. Captain’s Dice was, in theory, a simple game. You started with five dice each, shaking them in a cup and rolling in secret. The goal was to bluff your way to the best hand without anyone calling you out, and if they did call you out, you had to drink if your hand was weaker than theirs. But there was a catch to even that. The loser after 5 rolls had to down whatever was in the communal jug, which was usually some foul mix of leftover spirits from the last port. Most of the time, it was barely drinkable, which made lying convincingly all the more important.
The problem was that Jongho didn’t lie. He didn’t have to. His luck with the dice was almost supernatural, and Yunho hyped him up every time, to the point where even the most confident player would second-guess themselves. San rubbed his temples. “You know I’ll just lose and make it worse, right?”
Mingi just shrugged. “Yeah, but if you’re playing, I don’t have to go against him again, and that’s a win for me. Plus, it’s funnier when you lose because you start swearing like a dockworker.”
San couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. He pushed his chair back, stretching out the stiffness in his shoulders, and reached for the lantern on his desk to turn it down. “Fine. But if I lose I'm just leaving. I’m not drinking whatever’s in the jug. Last time, I thought I was going to die.”
Mingi let out a triumphant whoop, already backing out of the doorway to let San through. “You won’t have to drink if you win!”
San followed, rolling his shoulders and trying to shake off the lingering tension from hours spent hunched over his desk. The cool night air hit his face as they stepped onto the deck, and he couldn’t help but breathe it in, clearing the stale scent of ink from his lungs. Yunho and Jongho had gathered around a makeshift table formed by two crates shoved together, lanterns hanging from the rigging casting some light. The ship creaked rhythmically, and the sound of waves lapping against the hull was almost soothing.
Yunho was leaning against the mast, arms crossed, grinning like a damn fox as Jongho gave the dice cup a practiced shake. When he caught sight of San approaching, he arched an eyebrow, lips quirking in a rare, almost taunting smile. That look had been growing more frequent lately like Jongho was finally coming to terms with the fact that he could be smug and no one would dare question it. San hated that he found it more endearing than irritating. It wasn’t like Jongho didn’t deserve it. The man was annoyingly good at dice, and no one had beaten him in weeks.
“About time you showed up,” Jongho drawled, shaking the cup with his usual rhythm. His hands were purposeful, like he was setting the dice into some secret pattern. “Thought your brain had melted from all that thinking you do.”
San huffed, giving a half-hearted glare. “If I hear another word about brains from the guy who thinks arithmetic’s a form of torture, I’m going back inside.”
Mingi snorted. “Nah, you’re not going back. You’re gonna sit your stubborn ass down, throw some dice, and lose spectacularly so I can finally see Jongho get knocked down a peg.”
San shot him a look. “You really think I’m the one to do that?”
“Better than Mingi,” Yunho interrupted, shrugging. “He was too busy squawking about his loss to think straight. I thought he was gonna throw himself overboard when Jongho beat him a third time.”
Mingi just groaned from the crate where he’d slumped, holding his beer like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. “I wasn’t that bad. He just got lucky.”
San couldn’t help the little grin that tugged at his mouth as he moved to sit opposite Jongho, his fingers automatically reaching for the dice cup. “Your problem, Mingi, is that you’re too obvious. Even when you’re bluffing, you can’t keep your mouth shut.”
Mingi huffed, but didn’t deny it, instead muttering something about dice being rigged as he took another swig of beer. San felt himself relaxing, settling into the rhythm of the crew’s banter. He gave the cup a cautious shake, the dice rattling inside. He’d lose. He knew he’d lose. But he liked the way the game pulled him out of his own head. The way it reminded him that sometimes it didn’t matter if he failed, as long as he was with people who’d just laugh about it afterward.
Jongho leaned forward, elbows on the crate, watching San’s grip on the cup with keen eyes. “You know, if you’re gonna do it that softly, might as well just admit I win now.”
San scoffed, shaking the cup harder just to spite him. He raised the cup to his ear, listening to the rattle, trying to gauge the weight of the dice. He was about to slam it down when something caught his eye over Jongho’s shoulder, past the edge of the deck.
He blinked, frowning. Just beyond the ship’s starboard side, rising out of the water was a jagged rocky patch. It was barely an island, just a small, craggy outcrop with slick, sharp stones glinting faintly from the water. At first, he thought it was just some debris from a passing ship since sometimes they came across bits of wreckage, or seabirds clustering around something washed up. But then he saw a shape sprawled out along the rocks, pale and unmoving.
San squinted, leaning forward, and the dice cup slipped from his fingers, rolling across the crate with a dull thud. Jongho barely glanced at it, his attention drawn by San’s change in posture. “What’s up with you?”
But San didn’t answer. His heart had started pounding in his ears, like it knew something his mind hadn’t caught up with yet. He stood up, and then took a step closer to the railing, eyes fixed on the shape on the rocks. It was definitely a body... he could see the curve of a shoulder, the long line of a back, but something was wrong. It wasn’t shaped like a person… at least not entirely. San’s pulse quickened as his brain finally processed the glint of wet, membranous skin, the curve of a tail where legs should be, but... no scales like how a siren would have. Just smooth, soft-looking flesh, almost translucent. And then, faintly, like a dying ember struggling to stay lit, the tail pulsed with a dim, bluish glow.
A Lumina.
San’s breath hitched, and his hands gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. No. It couldn’t be. He’d read about them his entire life on the sea, traced their supposed migration patterns, collected the scattered, half-mad accounts of sailors who swore they saw the soft, glowing figures slipping between waves. He’d wanted to believe it, but he’d never seen it. Never thought he actually would.
Yunho’s voice cut through his haze. “San? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He couldn’t tear his eyes away, couldn’t even blink. “There’s... something on that rock.”
Mingi glanced over while squinting. “Just a bird or something. Maybe a seal.”
But San shook his head. “No. It’s-” He couldn’t say it, couldn’t risk the crew dismissing it before he could get a closer look. He was already moving, grabbing at Mingi’s sleeve. “Get Hongjoong. We need to check it out. Now.”
Jongho, finally noticing San’s intensity, straightened, his gaze turning serious. “You sure it’s worth it? We’re moving fast, we’ll pass it soon.”
“I’m sure,” San insisted with urgency in his voice. His mind was spinning, a thousand thoughts colliding. What if it was injured? What if it wasn’t a Lumina, just some poor soul who got stranded, or worse, a corpse tangled in seaweed? But no, he couldn’t dismiss that glow. That faint, almost heartbeat-like pulse.
He needed it.
San’s hands were shaking as Mingi hurried off to find the captain. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the rocky patch, terrified that if he looked away for even a second, it would vanish. Like maybe it was just another illusion crafted by his overworked brain, maybe he was starting to see things again like he used to when he overworked himself. He remembered nights spent hunched over his desk, eyelids heavy and burning, convinced that if he just read one more line, traced one more map, he’d find something he’d missed. Sometimes he’d think he saw shapes moving in the corner of his eye, shadows stretching where they shouldn’t. He’d blamed it on exhaustion back then. This felt the same. Like something on the edge of reason.
It didn’t move. It stayed there bathed in the eerie glow of the moonlight, and San’s heart ached with something too complicated to name. And it could only be described in a long worded slew of a mix of wonder and desperation and a deep, unyielding need to understand. He didn’t know if he wanted to save it, study it, protect it, or just know for sure that it was real. Maybe it was all those things tangled up together, but the idea of losing it, and letting the ship sail past and leaving that delicate, glowing body to the mercy of the rocks and the waves, made something twist violently inside his chest.
The ship was moving. Already the rocky patch was slipping further away, and the silhouette on the stones was becoming smaller, the glow dimming with distance. San’s hands started moving without his permission as he crossed the deck to where the rowboat was chained, the old wood creaking slightly as it swayed against the side of the ship. He barely registered Jongho and Yunho calling his name, just the echo of their voices like muffled warnings.
“San! Wait–what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer, didn’t even look back. His mind was running too fast, the roar of it drowning out everything else, leaving only the single, irrefutable truth pulsing like a drumbeat in his head: I need it. I need it. He couldn’t let it go, not now. All his instincts were screaming at him to move, to get closer, to claim the thing that had slipped into his reach after years of searching.
He started unhooking the rowboat, lowering it with quick motions. The chain clanked against the metal, the noise sharp and grating, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that they’d think he was losing it. Maybe he was. Maybe this obsession had finally cracked something in his head and it really was just a seal. But the thought of doing nothing made him feel sick.
Jongho was suddenly at his side, hand gripping his shoulder. “San. Slow down. We’re getting Hongjoong—he’ll figure it out.”
San shook him off, eyes still locked on the water. “No time,” he mumbled, his voice rough and distant. “It’s drifting away. We’ll lose it.”
Yunho came up behind them, brow furrowed with worry. “San, at least wait until we’ve got the ship turned. You can’t just row out there alone—”
But San was already climbing into the boat, grabbing the chain and releasing the last catch. The rowboat shuddered, then began its descent, the ropes creaking. Jongho leaned over the edge, trying to grab the line, but San pulled it free before he could reach it. He could hear them both yelling at him, telling him to stop, and to think, but he didn’t have the time. The boat hit the water with a jolt, and San nearly fell backward, catching himself just in time to unhook the chain that would’ve kept it from floating away, and grabbed the oars.
As he started rowing, he felt the resistance in his muscles, the boat cutting through the eerily calm water. The night seemed to wrap around him, still and unnaturally quiet, as if the sea itself wanted him to have this. He knew Hongjoong wouldn’t leave him. The captain was stubborn and pragmatic, but he wouldn’t just sail off without San. He’d turn the ship, even if he thought San was losing his mind. San could always row back. But he couldn’t come back to this. Whatever that creature was, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
The rocky patch loomed closer, and San gritted his teeth, pushing through the ache in his shoulders. His heart thudded in his chest, and sweat slicked his palms despite the cool air. He could hear his own rough breaths. He wasn’t sure what he’d find when he got there or if it would even still be alive. Part of him was terrified that the glow would vanish before he reached it, that he’d climb onto the rocks only to find a cold pale corpse.
When the rowboat bumped against the rocks, he quickly looped the rope around a jagged protrusion, tying it off with shaking hands. He almost slipped as he climbed out, his boots scraping against the wet, uneven stones. He cursed softly, pulling himself up, and took a few cautious steps closer.
The figure hadn’t moved. The glow pulsed faintly and as San approached, he saw the source of the light more clearly: a long sleek and smooth rather than scaled tail, shimmering with a faint, bluish hue. It looked fragile, the skin almost translucent, with a matte texture that seemed to emit the light from within.
San knelt, reaching out but stopping just short of touching. The creature’s torso was slim, bare skin catching the moonlight, and as San leaned closer, he could see the shallow rise and fall of its chest. It was still breathing, but barely. He sucked in a breath, his gaze darting over the figure’s neck, where a dark, wet wound was, still oozing blood and some other kind of fluid sluggishly. The mystery fluid was something thinner than blood, almost iridescent. The gash was jagged, raw, and still leaking, and the sight of it made San’s stomach twist.
His first instinct was to press his hand over it to stop the bleeding, but instead, he fumbled with his own shirt, pulling the loose button-up from his shoulders and bunching it up in his hands. The night air hit his bare skin, and he barely noticed, too focused on the faint pulse of the creature’s throat as he gently pressed the wadded fabric to the wound. His hands were shaking, knuckles brushing the damp, cool skin, and for a moment, he just stayed like that, crouched beside the Lumina, heart pounding in his ears.
The Lumina didn’t move, didn’t even twitch at the touch. San bit back a curse, eyes skimming over the rest of its body, trying to assess the damage. The tail was long, the flesh matte and slick-looking, a strange sac-like texture that seemed almost soft to the touch. It wasn’t like the scaled sirens he’d read about. Just a smooth, almost delicate layer of skin, tinted faintly blue from the glow that pulsed under the surface. He’d never imagined anything like it, never thought that the stories might have actually downplayed how ethereal Luminas could look.
San adjusted his grip on the cloth, trying not to jostle the Lumina too much. He glanced up at the face which was young, unmarked by scars except for a red blotch on it’s temple, lips parted as if mid-sigh. Dark brown hair, soaked through with seawater, clung to the pale skin of his forehead. The eyes were closed, thick lashes brushing the curve of his cheekbones. San found himself staring, noting the subtle curve of the jaw, the sharp but delicate lines of the face. He didn’t look like a creature of the sea... he looked almost human, but too graceful, too unearthly, like someone had taken a boy from a seaside village and sculpted him into something meant to belong to the water.
He swallowed hard, keeping his hand pressed firmly against the neck wound. As he shifted slightly, his knee brushed the creature’s hand, and he glanced down, squinting in the dim light. The fingers were long and slender, almost like a pianist’s, but between each digit was a faintly translucent membrane of webbing that stretched taut when the fingers splayed. San lifted the hand carefully, studying it, and noted the faint bioluminescent streaks running through the webs, glowing faintly in rhythm with the pulse at his throat. The fingers twitched weakly when he shifted them, and San almost dropped the hand in surprise.
He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to focus, cataloging the details. Flat chest... no visible breasts. That didn’t necessarily mean male, but it leaned that way. The skin was smooth, cool under his palm, and when San adjusted his grip, pressing a little harder to staunch the bleeding, he noticed the faint ripple of muscle under the skin. The Lumina was toned, but not particularly strong-looking. More streamlined than powerful like it’s built for speed rather than force.
He hesitated, his gaze slipping lower. The wound was his priority. But... no. He needed to know for sure. His research had always pointed out one specific feature of male Lumina which is what this one is seeming like it’ll be, it was something that set them apart from the more commonly depicted sirens. He needed to confirm it.
San shifted his position, moving carefully so he didn’t disturb the bleeding neck, and glanced down the length of the Lumina’s torso. His eyes traced the flat stomach, pale and smooth, before moving further down. Just below the curve of the abdomen, where the tail joined the body, there should be...
He’d spent years reading every scrap of lore he could find, and every account that mentioned male Lumina anatomy had hinted at the same thing which differed from a male siren. It was a small slit just at the base of the torso, barely noticeable unless looked for, which concealed a male’s cock until aroused, then it would finally begin to poke out for mating. His fingers hovered uncertainly above the spot.
Carefully, he brushed his fingers over the smooth skin, then gently pressed his thumb and forefinger on either side of the area where the slit should be. He pressed lightly, then a bit more firmly, spreading the skin just enough to see. At first, he thought he’d been wrong since he only saw smooth, unmarked flesh. But as he shifted his grip, the slit parted slightly, revealing a narrow, faint opening. There it was. Just as the texts had described so small it was nearly invisible unless coaxed open. A male.
He carefully pulled his hand back. He glanced up at the Lumina’s face, half-expecting the creature to snap awake, but he remained still, only the faint, weak glow under his skin showing that he was still alive.
San’s mind raced with possibilities, but the main thing was that he couldn’t let this Lumina die. If he bled out before San got him back to the ship, it would be a loss too unbearable to stand. His own heartbeat seemed almost deafening, and he glanced over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of the ship.
It was farther away now, but he could see it turning, the sails adjusting to slow the vessel down. Hongjoong would anchor the ship if he had to, keep it close until San made his way back. It was a relief to know he had a safety net, but he wasn’t thinking about himself right now. All he could think about was the fragile body under his hands, the faint pulse that seemed to slow with each passing minute.
He adjusted his grip on the shirt, still holding it against the Lumina’s neck, and whispered, almost like he thought the creature might hear him, “I’ll take care of you. I promise.” All the while his mind raced with plans of how to keep him alive, how to study him without hurting him, how to ensure that he didn’t lose the one discovery he’d been chasing for so long. He didn’t know if it was selfish to think of keeping him. If he survived, maybe San would have to let him go. That thought made his chest ache, but he’d deal with that when the time came.
For now, he just needed to get him back to the ship, get the wound cleaned and covered. If he could save him, he’d figure out the rest later. His hands were steadier now, more sure of what needed to be done. The Lumina stirred faintly, head shifting toward San’s chest, and he thought he heard a soft, almost pained trill. It tugged at something deep inside him, made him want to press his forehead to the Lumina’s and whisper that it would be okay.
Carefully, San gathered the Lumina in his arms, trying not to jostle the wound. The body was lighter than expected, almost fragile, and he felt a surge of protectiveness. It was a small thing, by breed the Lumina was the smallest siren type and even with it's tail this Lumina laying down even next to Hongjoong might be an inch or two smaller. As he stood, the creature’s tail brushed his leg, the glow pulsing faintly against his skin. It was so beautiful.
Turning toward the rowboat, San whispered, “I’m not losing you. Not now. Not after I finally found you.”
—
San wasn’t entirely sure how he’d managed to get back to the ship without capsizing the rowboat. His memory of the return was a blur of frantic paddling, heart pounding too loud to hear much else, and the Lumina’s faint breaths feathering against his neck. What he did remember vividly and uncomfortably clear was the moment he bumped the boat against the ship’s side and saw Hongjoong leaning over the railing, glaring down at him like he’d personally ruined the captain’s entire night.
He hadn’t even gotten the rope tied before Hongjoong was shouting. “San, are you out of your goddamn mind? What the hell are you thinking?!” The anger had cracked through the night air like a gunshot, and San, too exhausted to think of anything to say, just waved his arm in a vague, tired motion.
Jongho and Yunho had already been lowering the ropes, and as they hoisted the rowboat up while San reclipped the chains, the crew’s collective outrage became more apparent. Mingi was the loudest, cursing and running his hands through his hair like he couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or furious. Yunho kept muttering under his breath, something like “Can’t believe he actually did that.”
When San had finally climbed back on deck, soaking wet and holding a half-conscious, bleeding creature in his arms, the entire crew went silent. Hongjoong had frozen mid-rant, eyes widening, and for a moment. And then Mingi blurted out, “What the fuck is that?” and suddenly everyone was talking at once.
It didn’t help that as soon as San set the Lumina down on the deck, the glow from its tail had intensified. Yunho had gasped, stumbling back a step. Jongho just stared, mouth set in a tight line, like he was trying to process what he was looking at.
Hongjoong’s shock had been the most unnerving. No one was used to seeing the captain without his usual confident, calculating expression. Instead, Hongjoong had looked almost afraid, his mouth opening and closing before he managed to say, “San... tell me you didn’t just drag a siren on board.”
San had just stared back, trying to find the right words, but nothing coherent came out. His voice cracked when he finally managed, “It’s a Lumina. A male Lumina. I... I couldn’t leave him there.”
Jongho had muttered, “He’s lost it.” Hongjoong had just sighed, rubbing his temples like he was on the verge of throttling someone, and then snapped his fingers, ordering the rest of the crew to clear out. San didn’t know how much time had passed before they finally managed to get the Lumina inside, or how many times Hongjoong had warned him about the dangers of dragging an injured mythical creature on board. He didn’t remember much after that, just his own insistence that it was worth it, that he couldn’t let the creature die, that he’d take responsibility no matter what.
And it was worth it.
Last night, after the initial chaos had settled and Hongjoong had reluctantly let San take the Lumina below deck, he’d cleared out his study, shoving books and scattered maps off his long desk to make space. He laid the Lumina out on the heavy wooden table, careful not to tug at the wound at its neck, and draped his worn, threadbare blanket over its lower half to preserve whatever sense of dignity he could. He’d been up for hours after that, moving between tending the wound and taking hurried, half-legible notes, the adrenaline still pumping too hard to let him sleep.
Now it was morning, and San was slumped in his chair, arms aching, fingers smudged with dried blood he didn't get around to washing off and ink. He’d scribbled down everything he could remember from the moment he found the Lumina on the rocks. The glow, the webbed fingers, the fragile, almost membranous quality of the tail. He wasn’t even sure how much of his notes made sense, but he couldn’t stop himself from writing. It was like his mind needed to get it all out before it collapsed under the weight of the night’s events.
The Lumina was still lying on the table, but something had changed overnight. San could see it from where he sat, one hand curled loosely around his pen. The sac-like texture of the tail had deflated, the outer layer almost shrunken, clinging tightly to the limbs underneath. He’d been watching it happen, slowly but surely, as the soft, flexible skin pulled back, almost like it was drying out. He’d noted it as best he could, writing: Sac appears to tighten around limbs as it loses moisture. Possibly a defensive mechanism or a transitional stage between aquatic and terrestrial forms.
He’d checked the tail more thoroughly earlier by lifting it just enough to see how the skin had started to pull apart at the edges, revealing faint glimpses of what looked like legs underneath. He’d tried to be gentle, but the Lumina had twitched at the touch, his brow creasing like he was in pain, and San had immediately backed off, whispering reassurances even though he knew the creature was unconscious.
The sight of the sac peeling back had been fascinating and unnerving at the same time. In the dim light, San could see where it had begun to crack, the tight, drying membrane pulling away from the skin beneath. It reminded him of the way a snake’s skin peeled after shedding, or the way some amphibians seemed to molt in layers. He wondered if it hurt. If the Lumina’s body was struggling to adapt to the dry air.
San had tried to keep the room humid, setting a bowl of warm water near the table and wiping the creature down with a damp cloth. He’d read once that amphibious creatures could suffer from rapid dehydration when exposed to air for too long, and he didn’t want to take any risks.
Now, as he watched, the Lumina shifted slightly, his head turning just a fraction, the dark hair sliding over his forehead. San froze, half expecting him to wake, but the Lumina stayed silent, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. The glow in his tail had faded significantly, and San couldn’t tell if that was a good sign or a bad one. He just knew that if he didn’t keep checking something could go wrong before he had the chance to make sense of it all.
He glanced down at his notes again, forcing his hand to keep moving, writing almost mechanically: Rate of sac deflation increased by the hour—possible correlation with moisture loss. Will need to rehydrate skin. Maintain humid environment.
San exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as he set the pen down. He knew the crew thought he was insane for bringing a mythical creature aboard, risking their safety for the sake of his obsession. He’d caught Mingi staring at him earlier this morning when he grabbed a roll for breakfast, wide-eyed and wary like San had brought a curse on board. He didn’t blame them. He didn’t know how to explain why it mattered so much, why he couldn’t just leave the Lumina to die. It wasn’t just curiosity... it was something deeper.
His legs ached as he finally pushed himself up from the chair, muscles stiff from too many hours hunched over his notes. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled between his shoulder blades. The morning light seeped through the small porthole, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the air.
San crossed the small room slowly, rubbing his back as he did so. The Lumina lay sprawled on the table, still unconscious while the blanket San had draped over him had slipped partway off, revealing one bare shoulder, pale and freckled with faint, bioluminescent specks that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
With a soft breath, San reached for the edge of the blanket, folding it back just enough to get a better look. He was careful not to disturb the Lumina’s position. He took a moment to look at the gash on it’s neck, the flesh around the gash was raw, tinged a sickly bluish-purple, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore now just crusted. San’s eyes traced the line of the Lumina’s throat, cataloging every detail, the fragile collarbones and the shallow dip between them.
He removed the blanket completely and then turned away, crossing to the small bucket of water he’d set up on the other side of the room. The cloth inside was still damp, and he pulled it free, squeezing it out to keep it from dripping. The water was brackish now, tinged faintly pink from previous cleanings. He made a mental note to change it soon since he couldn’t risk infection setting in. As he turned back toward the table, cloth in hand, he heard a distressed trill that made his heart stutter in his chest. He froze, eyes snapping to the table. The Lumina’s eyes were open barely, just thin slits of glassy brown peering out from under heavy lids. They were wide and wet, darting around the room as if trying to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings.
San dropped the cloth, the damp fabric slapping against the floorboards, but he didn’t notice. His entire focus was on the Lumina, who blinked slowly, pupils dilating as he registered the movement. San swallowed, raising his hands instinctively to show they were empty. He didn’t dare move closer, didn’t dare speak too loud, afraid that any sudden noise would startle the creature further.
“It’s alright,” he whispered. “You’re safe. You’re... on a ship. I found you on the rocks. You’re hurt, but I’m not going to-”
The Lumina’s breathing quickened, shallow pants that made his chest shudder. He tried to sit up, his hands scrabbling against the wooden surface for stability, but his limbs were trembling, barely holding his weight. His head swiveled frantically, eyes darting from San to the walls, to the lanterns swaying gently with the ship’s motion. A low, unsteady whimper broke from his throat, and his tail, or the part that hadn’t dried yet, twitched weakly.
San took a cautious step closer. “Hey—don’t move too fast. You’re hurt. Just... breathe, okay?”
The Lumina didn’t seem to hear him, his focus shifting instead to his own body. He looked down at his tail now half-dried, the sac-like skin pulling taut around his legs, cracking at the edges. His eyes went wide, panic flashing across his face. He clawed at the skin, trying to peel it away, but his hands shook too badly, the webbing between his fingers catching on the drying membrane. San moved forward, but stopped when the Lumina let out another high, keening trill, more desperate this time.
“It’s okay,” San tried again, softer. “Your tail—it’s... changing. I think it’s normal. You’re not in the water anymore, so it’s-”
But the Lumina wasn’t listening. His mouth opened, lips trembling, and before San could brace himself, a scream ripped from his throat that was so piercing that it made San’s vision blur. He slapped his hands to his ears, wincing at the immediate throb of pain. The sound reverberated through the hold, rattling glass vials on the shelves. One of the smaller containers shattered, shards skittering across the floor, and San swore while his ears continued ringing.
He felt something warm trickling down his neck and wiped at it absently, only to pull his hand back and see blood streaked across his palm. The scream had made his ears literally bleed and yet he barely registered it, too caught up in the scene unfolding in front of him.
The Lumina thrashed, his hands still clawing at his tail, and when he moved too far, his balance gave out. He rolled off the edge of the table, hitting the floor with a muffled thud. San’s heart jumped into his throat, and he rushed forward, but the Lumina was already dragging himself backward, using his elbows to push himself across the floor. His dried tail dragged behind him, peeling at the edges, and every movement made him whimper, the trills coming out shaky and weak like sobs.
San dropped to his knees, keeping a few feet of distance, trying not to crowd him. “Hey... hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”
The Lumina didn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on the floor, body trembling violently. He pressed himself against the wall, chest heaving as if he couldn’t get enough air. San could see the terror etched into his face and the way his fingers scraped at the wood, trying to find something solid to cling to. He whispered soothingly, trying to push down his own panic, “You’re safe. You’re on a ship. I found you—saved you from the rocks. You’re not in danger here, I promise.”
The Lumina finally looked at him, with glossy wide eyes, but his body was still tensed, muscles coiled like he’d bolt if he could manage it. San stayed on his knees, hands splayed open on the floor to show he wasn’t a threat. His ears were still ringing from the scream, a dull ache pounding in his skull, but he kept his focus on the Lumina, willing his own heart to slow down.
When the Lumina opened his mouth again, it was just a broken, hesitant whine. San’s chest tightened, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, reassure him that he wasn’t in danger. But he couldn’t risk it, not when the Lumina was so close to snapping again. The creature’s wide, glassy eyes darted around the room, tracking every flicker of shadow, every creak of wood, like he couldn’t make sense of where he was or how he’d gotten here. His breathing came in rapid, shallow bursts, chest heaving with the effort, and San knew that even the softest touch might send him spiraling into another panic.
He whispered softly, trying to keep his voice steady and low, “It’s alright. You’re safe. You don’t have to-”
Before he could finish, the door to the hold slammed open, and a rush of noise followed. There was heavy footsteps, muffled curses, the scrape of metal against the floor. San twisted around just in time to see Hongjoong barreling in, Mingi and Yunho right behind him, all of them armed. Mingi had his cutlass drawn, while Yunho carried a gaff hook, the sharp point raised as if expecting an attack. Hongjoong was holding a long knife, his stance low and ready, eyes darting over the room as if searching for a threat.
The Lumina’s body went rigid, eyes going wide with terror, and a high, shrill trill ripped from his throat. It wasn’t as loud as the earlier scream, but it pierced the air all the same, making San wince as his ears throbbed, he dragged his hands up to his head and when they left his ears he felt a droplet of warmth run down the side of his jaw. The sound cut off almost as soon as it started, leaving behind a strained whimper, and the Lumina pressed himself harder against the wall, fingers clawing at the wood..
Hongjoong’s eyes landed on the Lumina, and his posture shifted, shoulders dropping slightly as he took in the scene. His gaze moved from the cowering creature to San, still crouched on the floor, hands outstretched in a placating gesture. He hesitated, then made a quick signal to the others, lowering his own weapon first, the others following suit a beat later. Mingi looked bewildered, his grip on the cutlass loosening but not relaxing entirely.
“What the hell happened?” Hongjoong’s voice was firm but quieter than usual, his eyes never leaving the Lumina.
San swallowed hard, not daring to turn fully away from the creature. “He woke up,” he murmured, keeping his tone soft, almost like he was afraid to shatter the tentative calm that had settled. “I didn’t... I didn’t expect him to wake up so soon. He’s harmless just... just scared.”
Mingi scoffed, muttering under his breath, "Scared and probably more trouble than he’s worth.”
San shot him a warning look, and Mingi, for once, didn’t argue back, just shifted his weight from foot to foot. Yunho, on the other hand, kept his distance, his usually easygoing expression hardened into something cautious, his eyes never straying far from the Lumina.
The Lumina’s gaze flitted between them, as if trying to track all the movement at once. His breaths were still coming out in uneven little gasps that made his whole body shudder. San could see the strain in his limbs, how the drying tail was wrapped tightly around his legs, the skin peeling and cracking with every twitch. The way the Lumina’s fingers clawed at the wood left faint, pale scratches.
San murmured gently, “No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.” He knew it wouldn’t be enough, not with those three strangers towering over him, all armed and tense. He kept his hands visible, palms open and low to the ground, hoping that some instinct might recognize the non-threatening posture.
The Lumina’s lips parted, and for a second, San thought he was going to make that broken, whimpering sound again, but instead, a shaky, breathless whisper slipped out, “Youngie... Seongie... where?”
The words were so faint San almost didn’t catch them, but he saw the way the Lumina’s face crumpled after, eyes filling with fresh tears. His head drooped, chin nearly touching his chest, and a shudder went through him, as if saying the names had exhausted what little strength he had left. He must be thinking of his podmates.
San’s heart twisted painfully, and he whispered back, “Your friends aren’t here... but you’re safe. I promise.” The Lumina didn’t respond, just let out a soft, keening sound, more like a sigh than a cry. His shoulders trembled, and he curled in on himself, drawing his tail closer.
Hongjoong took a cautious step closer, but San shot him a quick, desperate look, “Please, give him space. He’s terrified.”
Hongjoong hesitated, but he didn’t press, just gestured for Mingi and Yunho to stay back. Mingi muttered something else under his breath, but this time Yunho nudged him in the side, a silent warning to drop it.
San swallowed back the knot in his throat, inching closer to the Lumina. “Hey,” he whispered, “You’re okay. I mean it. No one’s going to hurt you.” He risked it and reached out slowly, hand brushing against the Lumina’s shoulder. The touch made the creature flinch, but he didn’t pull away, just trembled under San’s fingers.
The Lumina’s skin was still cold, but there was a faint warmth seeping through now, a sign that his circulation was stabilizing. San rubbed small, gentle circles into his shoulder, murmuring quiet reassurances.
Suddenly, a wet, cracking sound broke the quiet, and San glanced down, eyes widening. The sac-like texture of the Lumina’s tail had continued to shrink, the outer layer pulling tighter and tighter until the skin finally split down the middle. The Lumina cried out, more in surprise than pain, and San froze, unsure whether to help or stay back. The tail split further, tearing along natural seams, and as it pulled away, two slender, pale legs emerged from underneath, curled and trembling.
The Lumina made a choked, pained sound, and his hands flew to his thighs, as if trying to cover the exposed skin. His face flushed, cheeks turning a faint pink, and his fingers trembled as they fumbled to shield his groin as well. The remnants of the tail hung loosely, draped over his calves, but it was clear that his body had shifted, the transformation pulling his legs free from their confinement.
San forced himself to breathe, barely daring to move. The Lumina’s legs were long and thin, not particularly muscular, but smooth and delicately shaped, they weren’t made for standing. The skin was so pale it almost looked translucent, faint veins visible under the surface. The sight of them made something in San’s chest tighten in an unexpected pang of awe.
Mingi edged closer, squinting at the newly revealed legs. “Didn’t know they could look that... human,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
San ignored him, reaching for the discarded blanket and draping it over the Lumina’s lap. The creature’s hands gripped the fabric immediately, clutching it to his chest as he pressed his knees together, hiding as much of himself as he could. His breath was still quick, eyes flicking between the crew, but he didn’t scream again, just made a soft, hiccupping sound as his shoulders hunched.
San murmured softly, brushing a thumb over his knuckles, “It’s alright... just take your time.”
The Lumina didn’t answer, just curled in on himself, his legs shifting against the wood as he tried to fold into the smallest space possible. San could see the way his hands shook, the way his eyes kept welling with tears, gathering in the corners but never quite falling. The remnants of the sac-like tail clung to his calves, pieces flaking off like dried mud.
San stayed still, trying to keep his own breathing steady, not wanting to make any sudden movements. The Lumina didn’t look at him, just stared at the floor.
Hongjoong, still tense but visibly less combative, gave San a hard look. He didn’t say anything at first, just tilted his head, waiting for San to explain what he planned to do now. When San didn’t immediately speak, Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, and he shifted his weight, finally breaking the silence.
“San...” Hongjoong started.
San didn’t turn to look at him, just kept his focus on the Lumina. “I need you to leave,” he said softly, though his tone was firm. “All of you.”
Mingi made a sound halfway between a scoff and a sigh, but Yunho nudged him, signaling to hold back. Hongjoong hesitated, clearly not liking the idea, his hand still resting on the hilt of his knife. “San,” he repeated, more insistently, as if he thought saying the name again might snap San out of whatever trance he seemed to be in. “Are you sure about this? You don’t know what it’s capable of. It nearly shattered your eardrums just screaming. You really think staying alone with it is safe?”
San finally glanced back, just enough to meet Hongjoong’s eyes. “He’s not a threat,” he insisted, “He’s just... terrified. Having you all here with weapons drawn isn’t helping. Just give me time to calm him down.”
Hongjoong looked at the Lumina again, eyes narrowing slightly. After a moment, he let out a sharp breath through his nose and gestured for the others to follow. “Fine,” he muttered, “But if anything happens—if he so much as scratches you—then shout. We’re not risking our lives for a damn siren.”
San gave a tight nod, and without another word, the crew filed out. Mingi muttered something about San losing his mind, and Yunho shot a wary glance over his shoulder as they left, but none of them argued. The door closed behind them, and the silence that settled afterward felt thick and heavy.
He exhaled slowly, trying to release some of the tension that had been building since the moment the Lumina woke up. He glanced back at the creature, still curled up on the floor, the faint glow along his shoulders flickering unevenly. San shrugged off his own jacket, moving slowly so as not to startle him, and draped it carefully over the Lumina’s lap, adding an extra layer of fabric between his bare skin and the cool air. The Lumina flinched at the touch, his hands twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to grab the jacket along with the blanket or push it away.
San kept his voice soft, “Here... just to keep you warm.”
The Lumina’s hands moved hesitantly to clutch the edges of the jacket. His fingers shook, and as he tightened his grip, San noticed the webbing between them cracking, thin lines splitting through the delicate membranes. The dried skin of the webbing flaked off in small, translucent pieces, revealing smooth, unmarked human-like fingers underneath.
San couldn’t help but watch, fascinated despite himself. The transformation was happening faster than he’d expected, the remnants of the tail slowly disintegrating, peeling back to expose the rest of the slim, pale legs underneath. He noticed, with a slight pang of guilt, that some of the skin around the knees looked red and raw, as if the process had been painful.
The Lumina’s knuckles were tight around the jacket, and San carefully moved to sit on the floor, keeping his movements unthreatening. As he settled, he noticed a faint pattern of blue veins spidering across the Lumina’s arms and throat, pulsing faintly under the skin. San leaned forward, curiosity briefly overtaking his caution. He’d read once that Lumina sirens could show bioluminescent patterns when agitated or distressed, the glow brightening to signal fear. He’d thought it was just speculation, but now he was seeing it firsthand.
“Hey,” he said softly, trying to keep his voice quiet, “It’s okay. Just breathe. I’m really not going to hurt you.”
The Lumina didn’t respond, but his breathing slowed just a fraction, the tense line of his shoulders loosening. San bit his lip, unsure how to proceed. He knew that names could be grounding and helpful since they were something simple to hold onto. He pointed to himself, tapping his chest lightly, “San,” he said clearly, “My name is San.”
The Lumina’s eyes flicked toward him, but didn’t linger. San repeated it, softer this time. “San.” He pointed to himself again, then gestured gently toward the Lumina, waiting for some kind of response.
The Lumina’s brow furrowed, his mouth opening slightly as if trying to mimic the sound. Nothing came out. San tried again, repeating his name with the same gesture, then pointed once more.
After a moment, the Lumina whispered something so faint it was almost swallowed by the creaking of the ship. San leaned closer, eyes widening as the sound came again as barely a breath, but there, “...Yeosang.”
San’s chest tightened, relief flooding through him. It was small but it was something. He nodded slowly, giving a gentle smile. “Yeosang,” he repeated, letting the name roll off his tongue, “That’s your name?”
Yeosang didn’t acknowledge it, just tightened his grip on the jacket, his shoulders still hunched like he expected a blow to come at any moment. San kept his distance, wanting to give him time to process. He spoke again, “I found you on the rocks. You were hurt… bleeding. I didn’t want to leave you there. So I brought you back to the ship. You’re safe now.”
Yeosang’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes finally lifted to meet San’s again for just a second. They were glassy and San couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked like the transformation had sapped what little strength he had left.
San swallowed back the urge to reach out again, reminding himself that patience was key. “No one’s going to hurt you,” he repeated, “You’re safe.”
Yeosang’s lips trembled, his head drooping forward, and he let out a long, shaky breath. San wasn’t sure if he believed the words, but at least he wasn’t screaming anymore. The glow along his veins softened, the light pulsing slower, almost in time with his breathing.
San stayed where he was, careful not to break the fragile calm. The reality of what had just happened settled over him slowly. His siren, Yeosang, is awake and responsive, giving his name. It was more than San had hoped for when he saw him the night before.
—
“His name’s Yeosang,” San said, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he spoke. He hadn’t meant to sound so proud, but the way the name fit in his mouth made something in his chest warm up, like he’d done something right by learning it. The rest of the crew was gathered around the long, battered wooden table in the small mess hall of the ship.
Jongho raised an eyebrow as he ladled more stew into his bow.. “Yeosang?”
San nodded, still smiling as he tore a piece of bread from his portion. “Yeah. I managed to get him to say it earlier. He was... hesitant, but it came out eventually. Almost like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to tell me.”
Mingi, usually the loudest and most eager of the group, just frowned down at his bowl, his spoon scraping the bottom. “And you’re sure it wasn’t just a sound? Maybe sirens make noises that sound like names.”
San shot him a look, trying not to sound defensive. “No, I’m sure. He said it twice. Once after I said my name and then again later when I asked him directly. I think he knows that’s what he’s called. Or the translation of it from trills to words.”
Jongho gave a small nod, chewing thoughtfully. Yunho just grinned, glancing at San with a spark of interest. “That’s pretty incredible. You’ve only had him for a day, and he’s already talking to you? Must mean he trusts you at least a little.”
San’s smile grew a bit more confident at that. “Yeah... I think he’s still scared, but he didn’t scream again after earlier. I managed to get him to eat something, too.”
Hongjoong, who had been hunched over a pile of navigation charts and trade records at the end of the table, glanced up briefly. “What did you feed him?”
“Crab legs,” San replied, rubbing his thumb against his bandaged finger without thinking. “The ones Jongho was going to throw overboard because they were starting to go bad.”
Jongho frowned, finally noticing the makeshift bandage wrapped around San’s finger. “What happened there?”
San looked down at his hand, almost surprised to find the wrappings still there. “Oh, this?” He gave a small, sheepish smile. “That’s... Yeosang.”
Mingi’s frown deepened. “He bit you?”
San shrugged, not quite able to suppress his grin. “Yeah, but not on purpose. He was just... too excited. I think he hadn’t eaten in a while, and I didn’t realize how fast he was going to go for it. I was holding the crab leg too close to his mouth, and he just—” He made a little chomping motion with his hand. “Got my finger instead. As soon as he realized, he looked horrified. Kept trying to pull back and hide.”
Yunho snorted softly, half-amused. “Did it hurt?”
San glanced at the bandage while shrugging. “A little. His teeth are sharper than they look. But he didn’t break the skin too bad—just a nip. I think he was more upset about it than I was. He wouldn’t take the rest of the food after that, just sat there, hunched over like he was waiting for me to hit him or something.”
That made Yunho’s smile falter, and even Jongho’s neutral expression softened. Mingi just muttered something under his breath, clearly not convinced that the siren wasn’t a threat. San couldn’t blame him. Even with Yeosang’s smaller build and fragile demeanor, there was something unsettling about how quickly the mood could change. How a small sound like a trill from this morning could turn into an ear-piercing scream that had made San's left ear bleed, and how a curious bite could draw blood.
But San couldn’t shake the memory of Yeosang’s wide, regretful eyes after it happened, how his hands had trembled as he pressed himself back into the corner of the cabin, afraid to even look at San. It had taken a lot of quiet coaxing just to get him to relax again, and even then, he hadn’t touched the food. In the end, San had just set the bowl down and backed off, watching from a distance as Yeosang eventually crept forward and picked at the crab legs with his fingers, chewing cautiously like he thought it might be a trick.
Jongho leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “If he’s eating, that’s good. Means he’s not too panicked.”
San nodded. “And his neck wound from last night is already scabbing over. I cleaned it again earlier… he didn’t like it, but he didn’t try to bite me. Just... sat there and let me do it. I think he’s still too weak to fight back.”
Yunho’s curiosity seemed to be growing with the conversation, and he glanced between San and Hongjoong. “Can we see him? I mean, if he’s calm now.”
San hesitated, glancing at Hongjoong. The captain hadn’t really given his thoughts on the matter, just kept his attention on the maps, occasionally making notes with a charcoal pencil. After a moment, the oldest looked up, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Let’s not overwhelm him. One of you can go with San and then another tomorrow. If he panics, back off. Last thing we need is another screaming fit.”
Yunho grinned, already nudging Jongho. “I’ll go first. I’m good with animals.”
San gave him a flat look. “He’s not an animal.”
Yunho raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Right, right. Just saying—I’m good at being gentle. He might not see me as a threat.”
Mingi didn’t look convinced, poking at his stew with his spoon. “Or he’ll take one look at your tall ass and start shrilling again. You’re not exactly approachable to small things.”
Yunho just shrugged, clearly not bothered by the jab. San leaned back in his seat, still feeling the residual tension from the day. He didn’t know why it mattered so much that the others understood and that they saw Yeosang the way he did. Not as a threat, not as some wild creature that needed taming, but as something so interesting and so endearing and so important to San already. Yeosang, his kind, have been important to San since San was still in that academy wasting away in the library.
Hongjoong was back to marking the map, his brow furrowed. “We’ll be docking at the next port soon,” he said, not looking up. “Might want to get him settled before then. Last thing we need is him shrilling and then getting a rumor about keeping a captive on board. You know how fast word spreads.”
San tensed, the thought of strangers seeing Yeosang making his stomach twist. “Alright. I’ll keep him in the study. It’s quiet there. He’s still too weak to move much, anyway.”
Hongjoong nodded without argument. Mingi finally set his spoon down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just... be careful, alright? I know you think he’s harmless, but sirens aren’t exactly known for being friendly. We’ve all heard stories.”
San didn’t reply, just glanced at his bandaged finger and smiled faintly. It was strange how one little moment had changed how San saw the possibility of Yeosang actually being a danger. Seeing Yeosang look so remorseful after biting him... it was like seeing a frightened child rather than a dangerous creature. Something about that fragility made it impossible for San to feel angry. Instead, he just wanted to make sure Yeosang knew he wasn’t in trouble.
He picked up his bowl of stew, finding that his appetite had mostly faded, but he still managed a few more bites. The warmth of the broth soothed the tension in his throat, and he glanced at Jongho, who was reaching for more bread. San nudged his own plate toward him, the remaining piece of bread sitting untouched. “Here,” he murmured.
Jongho didn’t argue, just gave a small nod of thanks and tore the bread in half, passing a piece to Yunho, who accepted it with a grin. San reached out, giving Yunho’s shoulder a light pat. “Let’s go see him,” he said.
Yunho didn’t hesitate, shoving the last piece of bread into his mouth and wiping his hands on his pants. He looked almost eager with that spark of curiosity lighting up his face. Jongho gave the taller an envious smile while Mingi was still frowning at his bowl.
San led the way, keeping his pace steady, though his mind raced ahead, imagining how Yeosang might react to seeing Yunho after this morning. But he knew Yeosang would eventually have to adjust to more than just San’s presence.
He pushed open the door to his study slowly, glancing inside to make sure Yeosang hadn’t moved. The makeshift bed he’d set up in the corner was just as he’d left it with his own blankets and pillows piled into a loose nest, with one of his worn shirts draped over the edge, a familiar object that might make the space feel less foreign. Yeosang was curled up on his side, legs drawn close, his face half-hidden by his tangled dark hair.
When San stepped inside, Yeosang stirred, his eyes fluttering open. As soon as he spotted Yunho, his body went rigid, and that faint blue glow pulsed along his veins, flickering like a warning.
San held up a hand, giving Yeosang a gentle smile. “It’s okay. This is Yunho. He’s a friend.”
Yunho, catching the hint, offered a small wave. “Hi,” he said softly. His voice was quieter than usual, lacking the usual bravado, and San appreciated the effort.
Yeosang didn’t respond, just looked back and forth between them with wide wary eyes as if San was sacrificing Yeosang to Yunho rather than introducing him. The glow around his throat brightened, and he curled his fingers into the blanket, pulling it closer. San stepped forward, careful to keep his movements slow. “Hey... Yunho’s not going to hurt you.”
Yeosang’s lips parted, a faint, trembling sound escaping before he clamped his mouth shut again, clearly unsure. San knelt beside him, setting the bowl of soup down gently on the floor, and gestured for Yunho to sit as well. Yunho moved cautiously, lowering himself onto the floor with a soft thud while making sure not to come too close.
San reached for the bowl, lifting it carefully. The steam rose in soft curls, and he stirred it once with the spoon. “You must be hungry again,” he murmured. He dipped the spoon in and brought it to Yeosang’s lips, but Yeosang just stared at it, confused, his nose twitching as he sniffed at the broth. San hesitated, realizing he hadn’t considered that Yeosang might not know how to eat soup.
“Here,” San said gently, tipping the spoon a little closer. “It’s food. Edible. Like the crab. It’s safe.”
Yeosang didn’t open his mouth, just leaned forward and sniffed again, looking perplexed. San couldn’t help the soft chuckle that slipped out. He set the spoon back in the bowl, then took a small sip himself, making sure Yeosang was watching. “See? You just drink it.”
The Lumina’s eyes tracked his movements intently, and after a moment, he leaned closer, curiosity overcoming his fear. San offered the spoon and Yeosang tentatively licked at it, the taste making his eyes widen. San couldn’t help but smile. “Good,” he praised softly.
Yunho, sitting cross-legged, glanced between them, his curiosity only growing. “He’s... quieter than I expected,” Yunho remarked. “I always thought sirens were more... I don’t know, talkative. Outspoken.”
San didn’t take his eyes off Yeosang, still offering small spoonfuls. “That’s the common perception,” he said quietly. “But that’s because most stories about sirens come from interactions with the more dominant breeds. The ones who actively lure humans and can mimic speech almost perfectly. But Yeosang... he’s a Lumina.”
Yunho raised an eyebrow. “And that means...?”
San glanced at him, trying to find the right words. “Lumina sirens are the lowest in a pod’s hierarchy. They’re smaller, weaker, and more skittish. They don’t hunt like other sirens do. They’re usually just... tolerated. Protected sometimes, but never sent out to scout or mimic humans. They don’t develop the same speech patterns because they’re never trained to use them. They don’t need to learn human words because they aren’t the ones luring sailors.”
Understanding dawned in Yunho’s expression. “So... that’s why he doesn’t talk much?”
San nodded. “He’s probably never been this close to humans before. He wasn’t taught to mimic. Whatever words he does know are probably ones he picked up by accident either in the past or even right now hearing us talk. He understands a lot, but it's working the vocal cords thats the hard part.”
Yeosang’s eyes flicked to Yunho, and his mouth opened slightly. “...Yunho,” he whispered, almost like testing the sound. Then he pointed at himself, his voice softer. “...Yeosang.”
Yunho’s smile was gentle, almost cautious. “That’s right.”
Then, to San’s surprise, Yeosang pointed at him, brow furrowing as if he wasn’t sure he was right. “...San.”
A warmth spread through San’s chest, and he reached out, lightly taking Yeosang’s hand. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s me.” Yeosang didn’t pull away, just stared at the way their hands connected, his own fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure how to respond. San could feel the slight tremor in the smaller’s palm, the way his fingertips curled almost instinctively but never quite closed around San’s own. It was like he was afraid of reciprocating the touch wrong.
San let his thumb brush over the back of his hand.
Yeosang blinked slowly, his eyes flicking back to their joined hands, his brow furrowing in concentration. It was almost like he was trying to memorize the way it felt, the warmth of San’s skin against his own. San couldn’t help but smile at the tiny, cautious way Yeosang’s fingers finally pressed down, as if testing how much pressure was safe.
Yunho shifted beside them, careful not to break the fragile calm. “You think he’ll be able to walk soon?” he asked quietly, glancing down at Yeosang’s bare, pale legs, loosely covered by some sort of fabric.
San hummed thoughtfully, his gaze dropping to the way Yeosang’s legs stretched out awkwardly, the muscles twitching now and then. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He’s never had to before. And the way his tail split wasn’t gentle. The sac was dry and cracking when it peeled away, like dead skin. I’m worried that moving might still hurt.”
Yunho nodded slowly. “But he has legs now. He should be able to stand eventually, right?”
“That’s the hope,” San murmured, still absently stroking Yeosang’s hand. “But it’s going to take time. His muscles probably aren’t used to supporting his weight, and the joints... they might be too stiff from being in one position for so long. I think I need to help him stretch, see how much mobility he has.”
Yeosang seemed to be listening, his head tilting slightly at the low murmur of San’s voice. His lips parted looked to be repeating whatever lip movement San made as a way of studying or practicing. But nothing came out, just a faint exhale, like he was testing the sound. San glanced at him, noting the way his eyes had softened in focus.
Yunho leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out with a quiet sigh. “That’s going to be a process,” he muttered. “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s you.”
San huffed a quiet laugh. “I’ve got a lot of reading to do,” he admitted. “I’ve barely touched half the old journals I brought on board. A lot of them are just theories and speculations from explorers who never actually saw a Lumina, just heard stories. But maybe there’s something useful in there. I just... never thought I’d actually need that information.”
Yeosang’s gaze shifted to San’s face, as if drawn to the sound of his voice. The way his lips moved, the gentle cadence of his words… it seemed to soothe him. San looked at him, feeling a soft tug in his chest at how intently Yeosang watched him, like he was trying to absorb every word.
He reached for the bowl again, scooping another spoonful of soup and holding it out. Yeosang hesitated but leaned forward, sipping cautiously. This time, he didn’t shy away after tasting it, just blinked slowly and glanced at San as if for approval. San gave a small nod, his smile unwavering.
Yunho chuckled softly. “You’ve got him eating practically out of your palm, at least. He trusts you.”
San couldn’t help but agree. “Yeah... he’s still wary, but I think he’s learning that we’re not a threat. I just have to take it slow. There’s so much I still don’t know like how to care for him, how to make sure he’s comfortable. I don’t want to do something wrong and scare him off.”
Yunho nodded, understanding. “It’s strange seeing him so... timid. I guess I thought sirens would be more—”
“Assertive?” San finished. He sighed softly. “Most are. But Yeosang's kind doesn’t dominate the way the others do. They’re built for hiding, for blending in. Being loud and aggressive would draw too much attention. He glows when he’s upset—his tail did—so in a pod in the sea that’s not safe since it could attract others, so he's probably used to being overlooked and kept in the background.”
Yeosang shifted slightly, his legs moving against the floor. His brows furrowed as he tried to stretch one out, but his knee didn’t quite straighten. The muscles quivered, and he made a small, frustrated sound, his face tightening. San reached out and pressed a hand to the smaller’s knee, “It’s okay. Slow down,” he murmured. “Don’t push too hard.”
Yeosang looked at him with something close to a pout, his lips pressed together like he was holding back another sound. San couldn’t help but smile at the way his brow furrowed as he couldn’t understand why his body wasn’t cooperating. He tried to move his other leg, but it only twitched slightly, and he slumped back with a soft whine.
“He’s probably never had to use them,” San explained, glancing at Yunho. “Swimming is different since propulsion comes from the tailbone, not the legs. Now that he’s got separate limbs, it must feel completely unnatural.”
Yunho gave a sympathetic hum. “Like learning to walk for the first time,” he mused. “Must be frustrating.”
San just nodded, his focus still on Yeosang. The siren’s hands were still clutching the jacket, but one had slipped free, fingers twitching as if trying to mimic San’s earlier touch. San reached out slowly, brushing his fingers against Yeosang’s knuckles, and the Lumina froze.
Yeosang didn’t pull away, just let his fingers rest against San’s. His eyes were still wide, but they’d softened from their earlier panic.
A soft, almost kittenish sound slipped from the smaller’s mouth, and San blinked, unsure if it was a word or just a noise. He noticed the way Yeosang’s brow furrowed, as if trying to figure out how to replicate that noise again. Gently, San offered another spoonful of stew. Yeosang glanced at it, then at San’s face, as if waiting for permission again. San gave an encouraging nod.
With a bit more confidence, Yeosang leaned forward, lips brushing the edge of the spoon before he took the small mouthful. He made a little noise, something between a hum and a sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he tasted the warmth. San couldn’t help but smile. He knew it must be overwhelming with new food, and unfamiliar textures but Yeosang seemed willing to try, which was more than he could have hoped for.
San dipped the spoon back into the bowl, lifting another bit of stew to Yeosang’s mouth. This time, Yeosang didn’t hesitate as much, his lips parting almost instinctively. The soup seemed to soothe him, and San wiped a stray bit from the corner of his mouth. “That’s good,” he murmured.
San kept feeding him in small, careful bites, waiting between each one to make sure Yeosang didn’t feel rushed. The bowl was almost empty when he noticed the way the smaller’s eyelids were starting to droop, his head dipping forward before jerking upright again.
San set the bowl aside, keeping his voice soft. “Hey... it’s alright. You can rest.”
Yeosang looked at him, eyes hazy with sleep, and let out a faint, contented hum. San reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, his fingers lingering for just a moment as he nestled deeper into the makeshift bed.
Yunho, who had been watching quietly, nudged San with his elbow, offering a knowing smile. “Looks like he’s about to pass out,” he whispered.
San hesitated, still watching as the smaller shifted, trying to get comfortable despite the awkward angle of his legs. “Yeah... he hasn’t really rested since waking up. He’s probably exhausted.”
Yunho glanced at San, his smile softening. “You didn’t sleep last night, or all day either. You look like you’re about to keel over yourself.”
San huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine. Just... don’t want to leave him alone.”
“You’ll be more useful to him if you’re not dead on your feet,” Yunho pointed out gently.
San knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to walk away. Still, he couldn’t ignore the heaviness in his own limbs, the way his thoughts felt thick and sluggish. Reluctantly, he leaned forward, making sure the blanket was snug around Yeosang’s shoulders. He placed a half-filled bowl of water just within Yeosang’s reach, just in case he woke up thirsty.
“Goodnight,” San whispered, almost to himself. He didn’t expect a response, but just as he pulled back, Yeosang’s eyes cracked open, tracking his movements. For a moment, San thought he’d made a mistake and that Yeosang wouldn't want to be left alone. But the siren just hummed softly, a sound almost like acknowledgment, before his eyes closed again, this time for good.
San felt a small ache in his chest between relief and fondness. As he stood, he glanced at Yunho, who was still watching with a quiet, almost fond expression. They slipped out of the room, closing the door gently behind them.
As they walked down the hall, San couldn’t help but keep glancing back, half-expecting to hear Yeosang calling out. But the ship remained quiet, save for the creak of wood and the soft murmurs from the galley. Yunho matched his pace, staying close, and after a moment, San spoke, his voice softer than usual, “He seems... calm.”
Yunho nodded. “Yeah. Honestly, I was expecting more of a fight. But he’s just... quiet. A little sad, maybe?”
San pressed his lips together, thinking back to the way Yeosang had looked at him like he was trying to figure out what San wanted from him. “I think he’s confused. Doesn’t know why he’s here or what we’re going to do with him. I’ve got a lot more reading to do... there might be something about how Lumina adjust to new environments. I really... didn’t think he’d be so docile.”
Yunho gave him a nudge, smiling. “Maybe he just likes you. You’ve got that soft touch. Even the ship’s cats follow you around like you’re their mother.”
San just huffed a laugh.
They reached San’s quarters, and Yunho gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Get some rest. If you’re too tired tomorrow, I’ll check on him for you.”
San shook his head. “I’ll be alright. Just need a few hours of sleep.”
Yunho didn’t push, just gave him an easy grin and headed back toward the galley. San slipped into his room, letting out a slow breath as he took in the space. It felt strange and almost unwelcoming without his bedding, just the thin mattress stretched across the cot. He sat down heavily, running his hands through his hair.
His body ached, muscles protesting after hours of being on edge. He lay back, folding his hands behind his head and staring at the cracked ceiling. His thoughts wouldn’t stop spinning.
San turned onto his side, drawing his knees up slightly. His mind kept circling back to Yeosang.
The bed felt cold without the blankets, and San pulled his shirt tighter around himself, letting the rhythm of the ship’s sway try to lull him into sleep. As his eyes closed, he thought about how Yeosang’s lashes had fluttered against his cheeks before drifting off, his lips parting in a soft, weary breath. San hoped he’d sleep through the night, that he wouldn’t wake up frightened and alone.
Just as his mind began to blur into dreams as he fell into a deeper sleep, San thought he heard a faint, sad trill, like a mourning dove calling in the night. His heart squeezed, the sound tugging at something deep in his chest, but exhaustion kept him pinned down, his body too heavy to move. He let his eyes drift shut again, convincing himself it was just his imagination, just the ship settling in the water, the wind catching the rigging.
But then it grew louder. San jolted upright, his heart pounding. For a moment, he just sat there, blinking against the dark, trying to make sense of the noise. It wasn’t just a creak or a groan… it was a voice, fragile and trembling, wavering like a song that had been crushed into a whimper.
He pushed himself upright, the ache in his body forgotten, and slipped out of bed. The floorboards felt cold against his bare feet, but he didn’t stop, barely pausing to grab his coat as he moved toward the door. Just as he reached the threshold, he heard it again.
As he stepped into the hallway, he found other crew members peeking out from their quarters, confusion etched on their faces. Jongho was rubbing his eyes, clearly just dragged out of sleep, while Mingi squinted into the dim light.
San didn’t stop, his steps quick and purposeful, but he barely made it a few paces before a shirtless Hongjoong appeared at the end of the hall, his expression hard and alert, shoulders tense as he scanned the corridor. “San,” he called sharply, “What the hell is going on?”
San didn’t answer right away, too focused on the sound. He knew it wasn’t just in his head anymore. He took a sharp breath, eyes fixed ahead. “It’s Yeosang,” he managed. “I think... he’s calling for someone.”
Hongjoong didn’t look convinced with his tight jaw. “You need to calm that down before he attracts other sirens. And before the others get paranoid.”
San just nodded his head, his feet already moving again, not waiting for further questions. He heard footsteps behind him but his focus stayed on the door at the end of the hall. He reached it faster than he thought possible, yanking it open without bothering to knock.
There, huddled in the corner of the makeshift bed, was Yeosang. His head was tilted back, lips parted as the sad, warbling sound spilled from his throat, his eyes wide and glassy. The blanket had slipped from his shoulders, pooling around his waist.
San’s heart ached at the sight. Yeosang’s whole body seemed tense, his shoulders drawn up, the faint glow in his veins pulsing erratically. San moved slowly, trying not to crowd him, and knelt beside the makeshift bed. “Yeosang?” he rasped
The sound from the siren tapered off, breaking into a thin, shaky whimper as Yeosang turned his head, blinking as if just noticing San’s presence. His breathing was shallow, his chest trembling with the effort of calling out. His eyes were wet, though no tears fell, and his mouth remained slightly open, as if he couldn’t quite decide whether to keep singing or just collapse in his own sorrow.
San reached out, his hand hovering just above Yeosang’s shoulder before he finally let it settle, fingers brushing the cool skin. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, his voice tender and careful. “Are you hurt?”
Yeosang didn’t respond, just made another soft, choked trill, looking past San at the dark porthole, his gaze distant and unfocused. San could see the way his hands gripped the blanket harder, knuckles pale, and it finally clicked.
Yeosang wasn’t calling out because he was hurt. He wasn’t calling out because he was scared. He was calling out for someone.
“You’re... calling for your pod, aren’t you?”
Yeosang didn’t answer, but his lips quivered, and another faint, distressed sound escaped him. He leaned into San’s touch, almost instinctively. San moved closer, his other hand coming up to rest against the smaller’s arm, rubbing small, soothing circles.
A soft knock on the door made San glance back, and Yunho stepped inside cautiously, his face a mix of concern and curiosity. Behind him, Hongjoong lingered in the hall, his mouth set in a grim line, clearly trying to assess the situation.
“It’s okay,” San said softly, just loud enough for them to hear. “He’s... he’s just looking for his pod. He’s calling for them.”
Yunho’s eyes softened, and he crouched down, keeping his distance. “Poor thing,” he murmured. “He must feel so lost.”
Yeosang made another sound, this one softer, like a breathless sigh. His head dipped forward, and he let himself lean against San, his trembling starting to ease as San continued to murmur reassurances. San didn’t know if Yeosang understood the words, but the tone seemed to help.
Hongjoong cleared his throat from the doorway, “If he keeps making that noise, Mingi's gonna start thinking he’s luring us to our deaths.”
San shot him a tired, almost pleading look. “He’s not trying to lure anyone. He’s just... sad. He’s mourning. I don’t think he understands that they’re not here.”
Hongjoong just exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Fine. Just... keep him quiet. I don’t want to deal with a full-blown panic.”
San nodded, watching as Hongjoong stepped back into the hall, calling out quiet reassurances to the other crew members. Yunho gave a small, sympathetic smile before retreating as well, leaving San alone with Yeosang again.
The room fell back into a softer silence. San shifted to sit more comfortably, letting Yeosang lean into his side, and whispered, “They’re not here, Yeosang. I’m sorry. But... I’m here. I’ll stay with you.”
Yeosang didn’t respond, but the glow in his veins started to fade, his breathing slowing as he leaned against San’s shoulder. His fingers, still wrapped in the blanket, loosened just a little, and San felt a pang of guilt twist inside him. He hadn’t thought about how much Yeosang would miss his own kind… about how terrifying it must be to wake up in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, without a single voice he recognized.
He whispered soft, meaningless reassurances, letting Yeosang soak up the warmth of his touch. When Yeosang finally went quiet, his head drooping against San’s shoulder, San didn’t move, afraid to break the fragile calm. He just sat there, keeping his hands steady, hoping that maybe it would be enough to convince Yeosang that he wasn’t entirely alone.
—
Journal Entry: Day After Finding Yeosang
It's been just over a day since I found Yeosang on the rocks, and I still can't wrap my head around it. I thought I was ready for something like this since I spent years convincing myself that one day I might actually meet a siren, especially a Lumina. But none of my reading prepared me for the real thing. The books never mentioned how small they look when they’re scared, or how they make these soft, uncertain sounds when they’re trying to figure you out. They definitely didn’t mention how the glow in their veins flares up when they're overwhelmed. It’s like his whole body is just... reacting. I didn’t expect it to feel so human.
He’s quieter than I thought he’d be. I guess I expected thrashing and biting and all that, but most of the time, Yeosang just... curls up and makes himself as small as possible. He’s not what I pictured when I thought of a siren. I know he’s scared of me but he’s not violent. He’s cautious, mostly, like he’s waiting to see if I’m going to hurt him. I hate that he’s already thinking like that. Makes me wonder what life in his pod was actually like. Maybe he’s just used to being looked after and protected by stronger sirens. I can’t shake the feeling that he’s not used to making decisions for himself.
Earlier, he bit me. Not out of aggression. Just hunger. Jongho had some leftover crab legs he was going to toss, and I figured I’d see if Yeosang would eat. I guess I held it too close to his mouth. As soon as he realized he’d caught my finger instead of the food, his whole face just fell. He looked so horrified, like he thought I was going to hit him. It wasn’t even a bad bite, just a little nip, but he wouldn’t touch the food again until I backed off. Makes me think he’s used to being punished for mistakes... or for being too eager. I don’t know. I should’ve thought it through better.
Tonight was hard. I thought he’d be too tired to make a fuss, but he woke the whole damn ship with those calls. It wasn’t just noise, either, it was... sad. Lonely. I didn’t put it together at first, but now I’m sure he was calling for his pod. Makes sense, right? Waking up in a strange place, surrounded by people he doesn’t know. He probably thought they’d come for him. I couldn’t figure out how to tell him that they’re not here. That they might not even know where he is. I’m worried about what will happen if he keeps calling out like that. Hongjoong’s right. The crew’s gonna start getting paranoid if it keeps up. But how am I supposed to tell him to stop calling for his own kind? It feels wrong.
Yunho spent some time with us today. Yeosang didn’t freak out, which is a good sign. Yunho’s got that way about him. It’s easy to forget how tall he is when he’s sitting on the floor, just talking softly. Yeosang repeated his name, even pointed at me like he was making sure Yunho knew who I was. It was almost... cute. He’s trying to make sense of things, even if he’s still scared. I think having someone other than me around might help him get used to the ship. Yunho’s been good about giving him space, which I appreciate. I can’t say the same for Mingi. I know he means well, but he keeps muttering about curses and bad omens. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t push his luck around Yeosang. I don’t want to risk another scream episode.
His legs are giving him trouble. I didn’t think about how hard it would be for him to adjust. His tail when it split was like shedding dead skin. Like a snake. I can see his muscles twitch when he tries to move them, like they’re talking back to him. I’ll have to help him stretch them out before we can get him walking. Even though Luminas are the only breed of siren that can use their legs, it's clear he’s not built for walking on land. Not yet, anyway. Maybe I can work with him tomorrow, just some basic movements to keep the stiffness down. Don’t want to push him too hard, though.
I’m realizing how little I actually know. The stories I’ve read... they don’t fit Yeosang. All the tales about predatory sirens luring men to drown just don’t match up with this soft, skittish guy who hums when he’s nervous and tries to make himself as small as possible. I thought I knew what to expect, but it’s like all that knowledge was just guessing. I’ve got to dig through my old notes, see if there’s anything useful. Maybe I missed something that would explain his behavior, or at least give me an idea of how to help him settle in.
It’s quiet now. He’s finally asleep. I didn’t think I’d feel this... protective. I mean, he’s just a Lumina... Granted something I’ve been chasing after for years, never expecting to actually find. But seeing him like this, I can’t help but want to keep him safe. I think about how he must feel, waking up without his pod, and it just... it doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t know if he’ll ever get used to life here, but I’m going to do my best to make sure he doesn’t feel like a prisoner. He deserves better than that. It's only been a day, I might be being dramatic with all these thoughts for the future.
It’s late. I should sleep, but I can’t stop thinking about what happens when he realizes his pod’s not coming for him. I’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, I just hope he stays calm through the night. Maybe if I’m close by when he wakes up, he won’t feel so alone.
— San