Sirens Love - When legends are slander

by Stay_marvel_fan

Summary:

Old tales say: flee from the voice of the sea, from the song of beings of the deep. Do not listen to their words, for they will drag you to the bottom, and their claws and teeth will tear your skin to shreds. Sirens had always been the embodiment of evil and greed.

Notes:

This is my first work here, and english is not my first language so I am so sorry for every single mistake I could make while writing it

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Old tales say: flee from the voice of the sea, from the song of beings of the deep. Do not listen to their words, for they will drag you to the bottom, and their claws and teeth will tear your skin to shreds. Sirens had always been the embodiment of evil and greed. People feared the waters of oceans and seas because of the detailed and dark legends told by old fishermen. All over the world, where waters surrounded the land, man fled from the sea, venturing into its depths only when necessary, to avoid the snares of bloodthirsty beasts.

Yet despite so many words of warning, a young Spaniard named Carlos Alcaraz did not fear the sea. For as long as he could remember, he would escape his parents and splash in the salty water, while the servants struggled with the restless prince. During the years he spent in the castle, he learned much about the geography of the world, met people whose titles were higher than their wit, and in the breaks from princely life he would secretly sneak away to the house of a talented ship’s captain who served in the royal fleet – Rafael Nadal. It was this man who taught him everything about sailing: how to swim, what a mast, a hull, or a deck was, how to raise the sails – but most of all, he passed on to him love. Love for the sea, for the creatures living within it, for the beautiful and colorful fish darting among the waves, for the coral reefs that sheltered ocean life, for everything connected with the ocean. He never frightened the young prince with tales of wicked sirens or other sea monsters, stories that in the sailor’s world multiplied constantly, though often untrue. Of course, he warned the boy of real dangers, such as strong sea currents, treacherous seabeds, or uncertain weather. Yet he never threatened him with hopelessness, but rather taught him how to react and what to focus on when facing challenges at sea.

When the dark-haired boy turned eighteen, he set out for the first time on a voyage alone, in secret from the king and queen, who were far more concerned with choosing their son’s future bride than with what might happen to him at that moment. Three years had passed since that first journey; his parents had not truly seen their son in a long time. He returned only briefly to the kingdom to regain his strength, then once more departed in search of adventure. By then, the royal couple had abandoned their attempts to find a worthy woman who would meet all the king’s conditions.
The day of another departure came. He packed all the necessary things into his leather bag, a gift from a kindly fisherman in the village. He took geographical books, compasses – better to have several, in case one broke – maps, and all notes about the place he intended to reach. With a smile on his face he was about to leave his chamber and slip unnoticed onto the royal ship, but fate had another plan.

“Won’t you even say goodbye?” – came the low, rasping voice of a tall man.

“Father, I don’t want to listen to your complaints again, so let me go to the ship in peace. You know very well your words won’t change my mind,” muttered the irritated youth, meeting only the cold gaze of the ruler. “Don’t look at me like that,” he added, and stormed toward the door.

“Remember – if something happens to you, you will no longer be welcome in my kingdom!” shouted the prince’s father. Seeing Carlos stop for a moment, he smiled proudly, for he could not stand his son’s rebellious spirit.

“You never wanted me here,” replied the boy without turning around. “Besides, in the port there’s plenty worth looking at,” he added, and without listening to further scolding, left the castle. Breathing in the fresh air, he caught the pungent scent of fish. Oh, how he loved the sea…

With new energy, he boarded the ship White Abyss. If you ask why such a strange name – you would have to ask the old madman from the port who had built that “wooden curse.” But that would now be impossible, for the old man had been dead for years. The prince, however, had his own theory as to why the ship bore that name: the sails were white, with no crest or mark upon them, while the deck itself was of dark wood. To Carlos, it resembled a white abyss.
“Hey, Álvaro!” he shouted to his close friend, clasping his hand. They had known each other since they were nine, for Álvaro too had been a student of Rafael Nadal. Together they had spent countless hours misbehaving in the cargo hold or the captain’s cabin.

“Welcome, Carlos,” answered the blond youth, shorter than Alcaraz, his eyes the color of warm cinnamon. “Is something troubling you?”

“No use talking about another pointless quarrel with my father,” Carlos sighed and grimaced. He could not understand why his parents hated the sea and its creatures so much. Legends were legends – not truth, but tales of madmen meant to frighten children.

“The most important thing is that you’re here,” smiled the boy. “Come, I’ll show you the route you’ve chosen as your goal,” he added, and together they stepped onto the deck of the White Abyss. Carlos cast one last glance at the castle towers, at the sunlit windows and walls. He would not miss that place. It was no home – only a building. Home was Nadal’s cottage, where he had spent the happiest moments of his life, the place of his warmest memories. The cold palace chambers reminded him only of confinement, of endless quarrels and shouting. The castle was but a dark memory.

***

The sky mirrored upon the surface of the salty water, stirred by a strong but gentle wind. Seagulls shrieked above, while fish darted through the waves in search of food. On the seabed, buried in sand, lay mysterious objects – more and more appearing with time. The wrecks of lost ships frightened off seahorses, octopuses, and other dwellers of the ocean’s depths. For myths had long said: come not near the two-legged, who will not grant you freedom, whose hearts are filled only with greed. They cast their nets and kill without hesitation. Their iron claws pierce through your flesh and bone. Within the sea itself there was peace, a natural order: all creatures lived without disturbing one another, especially avoiding the mysterious beings of the land. Whenever they found objects from the human world, they immediately swam away, watching them with dread.
And so this picturesque vision of water and sun, mountains and clouds welcomed newcomers to the bay. And down in the depths – nothing strange seemed to happen…

But if, dear reader, you believed those words, then your imagination must be stirred a little more.

So let us move to the wreck of an old ship, from which all kept their distance – all but one youth with hair the color of a setting sun, eyes in shades of stone covered in moss, and skin as pale as sand sprinkled with stardust. Scales adorned his cheeks, arms, and stomach. His tail shimmered greenish-blue, its fin gliding like silk through the water. His name was Jannik Sinner, and he was known for his cold demeanor. Many creatures saw him as an oddity, a heartless merman thrown into these waters by strangers from the north. Yet Jannik cared little for the sidelong glances of others. He devoted himself to his close friend, Andrey Rublev, who bore an uncanny resemblance to him. The only differences were their accents, the color of Andrey’s eyes, and his origin – for Andrey hailed from the northern coasts of Russia, from the Atlantic Ocean. How he ended up in the Adriatic Sea is another story altogether. The boys bonded not only over their resemblance but also their contrasts in character. Freckled Jannik was calm, while blue-eyed Rublev – whose gaze shone like opal in the sun – was far more volatile. But what united them was their care for one another, and, sadly, their low self-esteem.
The shipwreck was hidden behind a great rock, which barred the way for most, but not for the young Triton. He wanted to discover the world of humans, to know them not through myths, not through dark stories, but because deep inside he believed mankind could not be wholly evil. That they must care not only for themselves but for others as well. After all, the mysterious objects left upon the seabed – that was art. Something extraordinary and beautiful. How could beauty be evil?

Jannik swam inside the wreck and searched for new wonders. He moved from place to place, yet nothing had yet caught his delicate hands. “It must be a very old wreck,” he thought, seeing that most things had been taken or destroyed by time. Then, as he passed through the captain’s cabin once more, his eyes fell upon something unusual: a wooden circle with a needle and letters at its center, all covered by a glass surface. He grabbed the object and rushed to show it to his friend, proud of his new discovery.
As he swam, a sudden shadow loomed over him, heavy and vast. Intrigued, he surfaced and saw a magnificent ship, adorned with ornaments and sails. But what captured his gaze was beyond imagining…

On the deck stood someone – a man with hair dark as an orca’s skin, his complexion bronzed like stones warmed on the beach. Jannik did not know why, but suddenly his heart began to beat faster, his cheeks flushed, and they burned with heat. What was happening to him?

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Notes:

Thank you for your kundos it's literally means everything to me ❤️

Sorry for short chapter this time but I'm preparing longer one 🤫

Carlos, together with his companions, went to a large table in the cabin, upon which lay a map of Europe. Marked upon it in red ink were the places the young prince wished to discover and explore. At present, they were heading toward the southern coast of the Adriatic Sea, which partly belonged to the territory of Italy. The dark-haired youth had never been to that part of the world before, though he had already managed to see a fair share of the planet. On one of his journeys he had met a charming woman while replenishing food supplies in Poland. She was slightly older than him, her name was Iga Świątek, and she had helped the crew pack provisions into the hold. She had light hair and eyes the color of the Baltic Sea. Energetic and well-adapted to port life, even though she was not from a coastal region, she was kind and empathetic, always eager to help the prince’s crew. Carlos befriended the older girl and promised that one day he would take her with him to discover new lands. During his long and exciting voyages, the Spaniard and the Polish woman exchanged thoughts and stories in letters, keeping in constant contact.

“We are sailing toward the Adriatic Sea,” the captain’s voice broke through Carlos’s daydreams. “When we reach it, we shall land upon the Italian shores. We will remain there for a month, perhaps two. The voyage itself will be long, so let us pray to Poseidon that he bless the winds and waters.”

Hours, days, and weeks passed until they finally reached the bay marked by the prince. Along the journey they endured many hardships: storms, unfavorable winds – yet when at last they crossed into the chosen waters, joy spread across the ship. The sailors celebrated the discovery of a “new land” – of course, one long known to others, but they wished to see it with their own eyes. Exhausted but exhilarated, Alcaraz stepped to the rail of the ship and looked down into the breathtakingly clear water. From the deck, the bottom of the bay could be seen… None had expected such a view, one that stole the breath from their lungs. Carlos had never regretted a single journey taken with his friends.

What a pity he did not notice the slender figure of a mermaid watching the arrival of the new ship in the harbor. Jannik observed the strangers intently, from a safe distance, hidden behind a large rock that jutted from the sea. From there he saw countless strange and unfamiliar things – so strange they were almost beyond description…

The sun dipped lower, preparing to vanish behind the horizon. So focused was Jannik on observing the ship, that he did not notice someone approaching the very rock he had chosen as his hiding place. And yes, dear reader, as you may already have guessed, it was none other than Carlos Alcaraz himself. He climbed onto the uneven, water-worn stone to admire the view, and as he glanced down at his footing, he saw something he had never seen before… And no, it was not Jannik – for we cannot end our tale of love so swiftly – for the young merboy was at that very moment pulled underwater by his tail.

“What were you thinking?!” cried his worried friend, glaring at the younger one with grave eyes. “You weren’t thinking at all – you put yourself in danger!” His voice trembled with such anger that his cheeks flushed red. He loved his friend, treated him as a brother, and could not allow harm to come to him.

“Andrey, don’t exaggerate! Nothing would have happened…” Jannik answered meekly, seeing the tears glistening in the corners of the elder’s eyes.

“Nothing would have happened?! He nearly saw you! Have you forgotten what happened to Novak?!” Andrey burst out, and immediately covered his mouth with his hands… He was supposed to stay calm, to be good, to control himself… But there was no calm within him – not after what had happened. “Jannik, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” he began to explain, not even allowing the freckled boy to answer. But Jannik did not grow angry; he only drew the Russian into an embrace and let him rest against his shoulder. Rublev was loving, caring, though sometimes overcome by his emotions. Sinner knew this. He understood him, because he was well aware of his friend’s past.

“Hey, it’s all right, nothing happened. Thank you for worrying about me, brother,” he whispered, stroking the blue-eyed boy’s hair as they drifted into the depths of the sea. “I love you, little brother,” he added, as calm slowly washed over him.

And now, back to our young prince – he had noticed an old, broken compass resting upon a fragment of rock. A single question formed in his mind: Who could have left it here?

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Notes:

Bonus chapter I hope you'll enjoy this one, and if you want to know more about Janniks language tell me 😉

Carlos had made many irresponsible decisions in his life—like his first time with a port courtesan, or running away from an important family gathering where he was supposed to learn about his duties after inheriting the crown from his father. Yet the most foolish thing he ever did was to sail into the middle of the sea without anyone by his side. After all, that old fart called Nadal had always warned his students against, quoting: “idiotic, dangerous, suicidal, crazy decisions—you will never tame the waters of this world, you fools”, and when he finished his speech, he usually smacked his apprentices with an old map. But Carlitos could never sit still. Those sights, those new waters, all of it—he couldn’t wait.
So, the very next day after arriving in Italy, he took the essentials, loaded them onto a wooden boat, and, without caring about the approaching storm clouds, untied it and rowed out into the bay.

Meanwhile, the freckled boy was sitting on a rock, searching for the mysterious lost object. After long and tiring attempts, he gave up and slipped back into the cool waters. He swam to another stone—a place that had always been his refuge. There he had sung old songs, there he had dreamed of another life and another body, there he had cried and screamed. It was on that rock, near one of the smaller islands in the bay, that Rublev had once found him and taken him in.

The copper-haired youth swam through the depths until he reached the only place where he felt safe. He rose from the sea foam breaking on sharp rocks and lay down on the sun-warmed stone. Opening his mouth with a quiet sigh, he began to sing:

*Lúmëra… aiéth naéva,
Shílen morae… thalún i véra.
Evíra… silith ae lór,
Kaién… nai’thura, nai’thura…
Tiréa, tiréa,
D’halúr essén…
Méaë li’vorah,
Shélen, shélen, ae’len…*

And down his freckled cheek rolled a single tear, joining the thousand drops of the salty deep.

 

***

Carlos, meanwhile, began to doubt he would ever return to shore, for the strong waves were tormenting him, and the fierce wind was pushing his boat against sharp rocks. He really should have listened to his teacher, but he too often overestimated his sailing skills and ignored the advice of more experienced sailors. His breath came fast, curses poured from his lips, and he was already drenched in both seawater and his own sweat. His clothes clung unpleasantly to his body, restricting his movements.

Just as he was about to give up and surrender himself to the hands of the sea—unable to endure the endless struggle—he suddenly heard a voice. A delicate, angelic voice, soft enough to scatter the howling wind.

**Ae’thir… lómira, lómira,
Sháin velúr, aiéth seréna.
Kai’lora, naéth silú,
Thalúra… marien, marien…

He had never heard such a language before. It was soothing, tender—like a lullaby. And then, as if summoned by the song, the sea calmed. The waves fell silent, and the wind ceased its lament. Through the dark mist, on one of the rocks, Carlos saw a figure. A slender, beautiful—divine—silhouette, illuminated by rays of the sun, finishing its song.

Esháel, tiréa sélun,
Vae’len nuríth ae morá.
D’halúr storma, silith ná,
Evíra… calma, calma…**

When the voice fell silent, the boy gently opened his eyes, which gleamed green in the sunlight. He shifted his tail slightly, and as his gaze fell upon the now peaceful sea, he also saw someone else—Carlos.

The Spaniard stared at the merman with parted lips. His fair skin, speckled with freckles and scales, looked soft and delicate. His curly red hair danced in the warm breeze, and his eyes shone like gemstones. Carlos reached out his hand, wanting to touch him, but the boy pulled away in fear, ready to flee into the water.

But Carlos immediately withdrew his hand, gazing instead at the fear in the merman’s face.
“Wait,” he whispered softly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Thèa li?” came the quiet reply, melting Carlos’s heart. He didn’t understand the words, but he knew already that he was lost—lost to those eyes, those lips sprinkled with freckles like stars, that voice, that soul.

“I don’t understand,” Carlos said with a sad smile. “But thank you for saving my life.”

Before he could say anything more, a radiant grin spread across the merman’s face—and gods, it was the most enchanting expression he had ever seen.

“Velúr nai,” the stranger answered, and in Carlos’s heart something stirred. Somehow, he knew it meant: “You’re welcome.”
In shock, he looked straight into Jannik’s eyes and brushed his cheek. He had never touched anything so soft. But before he could react further, the merman darted away, diving into the water and hiding behind the rock.

Carlos stood there, blushing, watching the freckled figure vanish toward the open sea…

 

***

“Mother… father, far away,
your hearts are closed like cliffs above the shore.
I — a pearl in the abyss of loneliness,
I call you, but my voice drowns, drowns…
Hear me, hear me,
in the deep your names still live,
and I — a forsaken wave,
I call you still, but in silence.”

**“O heavens… still your wrath,
let the waves become a lullaby.
Let the sea’s song bind the winds,
O deep… stay, stay…
Hear me, moonlight,
halt the fury over darkness.
Leave, storm, rest in silence,
the sea is pleading… for peace, for peace.”**

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Notes:

Hi there it's slightly logner part hah. I hope you like it and if you want to ask me some questions don't be shy 😜
Have nice day/evening/night 🏞️🌅🌌

Jannik swam through the sea waves, utterly elated. The smile and deep blush brought on by the Spaniard’s unexpected touch still lingered on his freckled cheeks. Butterflies danced in his stomach, and soft, embarrassed giggles escaped his lips. He felt like a lovestruck teenage mermaid who had just met the love of his life. And he himself could hardly believe that something like this had happened to him—the one often called a cold, heartless rock by the other dwellers of the sea.

Now he rushed forward, eager to tell his adopted older brother, Andrey, about what had just taken place. On his way he passed various sea creatures, their glances filled with shock or even contempt. Other merfolk never cared for this foreign triton, nor for his companion, for they were different. Their pale skin was sprinkled with freckles, Jannik’s smile was odd, and his voice didn’t fit the tones of the Southern seas. Rublev, on the other hand, was from distant Russia; his songs spoke not of joy but of fear, sorrow, trauma, and pain. To the others beneath the waves, the boys’ differences were not signs of beauty or uniqueness, but of something ugly, something to be shunned—or cast out entirely.

“Andrey!” Jannik called as he reached the large cave they had made into a sort of home—a decorated hollow in the rock that served as their dwelling. “You won’t believe what happened!” he began excitedly, placing his hands on the stone they used as a chest of drawers.

“Your two-legged lover boy again?” the older merman muttered, sounding half worried, half fond. For Jannik’s eyes sparkled with love and shyness, while his blushing cheeks betrayed every feeling he tried to hide.

“Oh, stop it,” Jannik scoffed, waving his hand and sending bubbles spiraling upward. “Of course it’s about him,” he added with a giggle, spinning in place before darting to his brother and catching his hands. “He’s so handsome… His hair, his face—did you see his face? And his voice… And his skin, so warm. He touched my cheek. Me! Do you understand? Humans can’t be that bad, right? Otherwise, I’d already be dead—or worse…” His words spilled out, filled more and more with the sound of someone hopelessly in love.

“He touched you?” Andrey asked quietly, and something inside his chest tightened with an aching memory.

“Yes, it was incredible… For a moment, I truly thought I wasn’t just trash, but maybe… something more,” Jannik whispered, pressing his palm against the spot on his cheek where Carlos’s hand had been.

“Hey, you’re not trash! You’re my little brother—the best being in all the seas!” Andrey answered, his blue eyes softening with tenderness. Questions were already forming in his mind, but dear reader, it is not yet time for you to learn them. Wait, and you shall.

“Thank you, Andryushka,” Jannik murmured with a gentle smile.

“Just… please, be careful. I reacted badly before, but remember—you mean everything to me. I can’t imagine life without you.” Andrey’s voice was heavy with concern as he studied the freckled boy.

“Always,” Jannik whispered, pulling the Russian into a strong, brotherly embrace. “You mean more to me than my own voice… We are family, and we must protect each other. I won’t let you suffer again.” His words carried steady conviction.

 

Four years earlier

 

A brown-haired fisherman waited on the rocky shore for the love of his life, his eyes fixed on the calm surface of the sea. At last, after long minutes, he saw his treasure. The merboy’s strawberry-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight, as did his blue eyes and shimmering opalescent tail. His pale skin was sprinkled with freckles and scales, as though the gods of the sea themselves had crafted him.

“Danii,” the visitor whispered, stretching out a delicate hand toward his beloved. The fisherman immediately caught it, drew him close, and lifted him into his arms as though carrying a bride. He laid him gently upon a sun-warmed rock and sat beside him.

“Andryushka… I missed you,” he said, caressing the merman’s cheek. He lifted the boy’s hand to his lips, kissed it tenderly, and then pressed his own mouth to his freckled beloved’s. At once, the merboy’s tail glowed with a soft, warm light; its form blurred and slowly gave way to legs—human legs, real and strong. A breathless laugh of joy escaped his lips as Daniil covered him with clothing and wrapped him in the embrace of love.

“You sentimental octopus,” the freckled boy teased, rising on his toes to plant a butterfly kiss on the fisherman’s forehead. “I love you, my octopus…”

 

Now

 

Andrey gazed at the frayed ribbon tied around his thin wrist. Pressing it to his heart, he let tears stream down his cheeks.

Meanwhile, in the royal court, the prince’s companions were desperately trying to understand what had happened to young Alcaraz. They hadn’t even noticed his disappearance at first, but when they finally saw him, he was soaked to the bone. For a moment, their lives flashed before their eyes—for the King of Spain would never allow them to return without his son. Though the ruler despised his heir’s reckless antics, he loved him deeply. Carlos had been a child begged for from God, and so, despite everything, he cherished him—even if it wasn’t easy to see.

“Your Highness, what has happened to you?” asked the worried old man responsible for recording the journey’s progress.

“Cortez, remember—here and on this ship, I am simply Carlos. I’ve made another foolish mistake in my short life,” the prince sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he retreated to the chamber where he was staying. He had no intention of resting, though—for he was in love now, and he had to find the one who had stolen his heart. Above all, he needed to understand how he had grasped the meaning of those words—without ever knowing the language of the merfolk.

At the same time, questions were also stirring in Jannik’s mind. How could he possibly understand human speech? He knew he had to talk to his brother about it, though it would be difficult—for Andrey still had not come to terms with his own past. So Jannik would wait. He would wait as long as it took, until Andrey found forgiveness.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Notes:

Hope you like it

Hours had passed. True to his habit, Jannik swam to the surface to watch the stars scattered across the heavens. Andrey was already asleep, exhausted after an entire day spent searching for food, so that he could prepare at least something for himself and his brother. Before the freckled merman left their home — or rather, the hole in the rock they called a home — he glanced once more at the blue-eyed Russian and placed beside him his latest find: a strange object, a piece of carved wood. It likely came from the frame of a painting lying at the bottom of the bay, the wood itself shaped into the form of a rose. Jannik decided to gift it to his brother, for Andrey was surely a rose: beautiful and delicate. The thorns of the plant mirrored his nervous temper, while the fragile petals reflected his tenderness and the warmth of his heart.

When he reached the surface near the peninsula where the strangers had come ashore — among them the dark-haired youth who had so quickly become the triton’s new secret longing — he climbed onto a rock. There he lay, his emerald eyes shimmering in the moonlight, gazing toward the town on the coast. Lamps glowed in the windows of houses, music drifted from the tavern, and children’s laughter echoed across the night, reaching the pointed ears of the siren. Each sound pierced him with longing. For Jannik too wished to be happy, to know the love of parents, to explore the world around him, to cease being the outcast of the sea’s kingdom. True, he had his beloved brother, but even so, he too needed acceptance. Each of us craves it — the life of a group, a herd, a shoal. Yet he and Rublev belonged to none of these.

He longed to see again the sun-browned face of the stranger, to learn his name, to hear once more that soothing, warm voice. Oh, if only he had legs, he could run to the dark-haired youth and meet him again — perhaps even be happy. But how could he find someone whose place in the world was unknown?

At that very same moment, Carlos had slipped away from the watchful eyes of his companions. He wished to gaze upon the calm sea at night, and perhaps glimpse again the silhouette of the siren who had so completely ensnared his mind. He had to know his name — he truly yearned for it — so that he might tell the world of a being more beautiful than the setting sun, more wondrous than all creatures of the sea. That lovely siren with the fiery curls deserved to know of his own beauty.

The sea breeze cooled Carlos’s sunburned cheeks, still roughened with a few days’ stubble. In the heavy silence, the old tales whispered by fishermen returned to him, creeping into his thoughts like specters. Dark stories of horrors dwelling in the abyss. Sirens who lured the foolish with their enchanting voices, drawing them toward jagged rocks. Voices that seeped into the mind and bent the will, coaxing men to plunge willingly into the water. They would cradle their faces, stroke their hearts, and pull them under — and only in the blackened depths did men see the monsters’ true forms: eyes gleaming like molten gold, jaws lined with teeth like knives, claws that sliced through flesh and traced the path to the veins. Blood spilled and mingled with salt, and the last sight of the drowning was always the same: the frenzied grin of Poseidon’s children.

Lost in these thoughts, he reached the moored ship they had arrived on. His gaze lingered on the carved figure of a siren upon the prow. And then, in that still night, he heard it: a voice, unearthly and soft as heaven itself.

Lúmëra nai’thar, sháin velúr,
Kai’lorah li moréa thir’ae.
Oshélen ae’thir nai óra,
Thalúra shílen, lúmëra nai.

Marien ae’len, calma tiréa,
Sháin morá velúr i lún.
Li shérae aiéth li’vorah,
Kai’thira moréa brén nai’thura…

He followed the song, drawn like a moth into the dark flame, until he reached the fragile figure of the freckled siren bathed in silver moonlight. And oh, gods — how he looked. His eyes glowed like two emeralds lit from within; his tail stirred the waves, his scales reflected the starlight, amplifying the constellations scattered across his freckled skin. Blushing cheeks and lips as soft as coral lent innocence to the scene, while the words spilling from his mouth slipped straight into Carlos’s heart, crawling over his skin and leaving him trembling with shivers.

When Jannik’s gaze finally fell upon the newcomer, his voice faltered — as if his own song had betrayed him, summoning the man to the shore. For a moment, he feared he was no better than the demons of water whispered of in human tales. Yet instead of vanishing into the depths, he froze in place. The only sign of his terror was his ragged breath, stirring the night wind into sudden gusts.

“Hello,” the dark-haired man said softly, stepping with care toward the rock, careful not to give the siren a reason to flee.

“Lúmëra’eth,” came the whispered reply, sweet as a hymn.

“I am Carlos Alcaraz. I will not hurt you,” he said slowly, noticing how the siren’s tense shoulders eased at his words. A small, careful smile touched his lips as he extended his open hand, a gesture of peace.

“Lí shèrea Jannik,” came the answer, as trembling fingers brushed against warm human skin. Feeling no threat, Jannik laid his small hand in Carlos’s palm. Their eyes locked, emerald into chestnut. Sinner lifted his hand, hesitant and shaking, to touch Carlos’s cheek — to be certain that he was real.

But then—

A sharp whistle split the night. An arrow tore the air and struck Jannik’s shoulder. The world collapsed into silence as his scream was drowned by the roar of waves. Voices shouted from the distance:

“Protect the prince!”
“Catch the beast!”
“Kill it!”

Blood pulsed from the wound, dark against the pale of his skin, the arrowhead still buried deep. Tears welled and streamed down his cheeks. As his eyes fluttered shut, he surrendered to despair, cursing his own trust, praying to the ancients for mercy.

And then — a touch.

A hand seized him, pulling him down, away, into the unknown.

Whose hand it was — a savior’s or a hunter’s — he could not tell.
Nor whether it led him to salvation… or to doom.

 

**“Come, my beloved,
that I may once more lose myself in your eyes.
Your gaze is an abyss,
calling to me like light within the darkness.

Let the waves entwine us as one,
let time become nothing but a breath,
and may my heart beat within your heart
as the sea forever calls the shore…”**

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Notes:

Hopefully you'll enjoy this part

Carlos, seeing the siren’s body sliding back into the water, wanted to seize it, to draw it against his chest and defend it with his own hands. He was so very close when he felt a brutal pull that hurled him onto the shore.

“Take the prince!”
“Catch that monster!”
“Cast the nets!”
“Shoot into the water!”
“Bind its jaws!”

The cries of men, whom Carlos once wished to call friends, rang in his ears. Yet hearing their orders, watching the arrows readied, his heart froze.
The torches they carried lit the shore with a hellish fire, one that destroyed everything fragile and beautiful. Hatred in their eyes pierced the darkness of the deep. Fishermen stared into the sea and saw the sinking shape of the “monster,” an arrow driven deep, its blood painting the waters a crimson hue.

Dark, heavy clouds rolled across the sky. Waves crashed violently against the shore, carrying the broken body into the arms of the only one who could still defend the innocent.

“Zharóm ta bratóv, ne dam ti soní,” whispered a trembling voice, pressing a kiss against pale Jannik’s temple.
“Evíra sháin tiréa… Li nai shílen norá.” The younger clutched the fading wrist of his brother, who, with tears in his eyes, gave him a sorrowful smile.
“Zharóm ta, Jani… Lyubrá ta.” spoke the elder with tenderness, casting one last look into his brother’s weary eyes. He gasped, feeling a knot rising in his throat, tears streaming down his face, and inside him grew fury and hatred.

His lips parted — and from them burst forth a song, beautiful yet chilling, a hymn of blood and vengeance.

 

“Zharóm bratóv v kry,
Shárta morá, krov’na ply.”- From the water rose the form of a gaunt siren, her eyes blazing with the fury of the sea, her voice gripping the throats of the guilty.

“Storma vúdrít, ne spásé,
Tma vas náidét, ne únésé.”- Lightning tore through the storm-blackened heavens, thunder roared. The siren’s sharp teeth gleamed as her gaze pierced into the souls of the wicked.

“Jani klyčít v molná groz,
Moja písen — vash konéts.”- Clawed hands commanded storm and wave, hurling them against mortals who, panicked, clutched their arrows while trying in vain to block their ears.

“Volná rvét kamén, krov’ stéká,
Lyubrá mrák — nenavíst žgá.”- Andrey wept black tears that fell into the sea, the water shimmering with the raw magic bleeding from his hands.

“Ne prósti li, ne slushí zvon,
Moje glás razórvét tron.”- He drew nearer to the shore, suffocating the sailors’ minds with his piercing voice, driving them to fling themselves into the raging waves that shattered upon the jagged rocks, ending their lives.

“Morá vzdychnét, nebá sotrús,
Za bratóv — vás v vechný grúz!”- The final cry of his song ripped through Carlos’s heart. He had never witnessed such a sight before. His breath quickened, his eyes wide with terror and awe… The power of Poseidon’s bloodline was beyond comprehension.

Why was I spared? the thought raced through his mind. And just as his gaze darted to the unknown siren, she appeared before him.

Those piercing eyes — blazing with wrath and vengeance, streaming black tears of grief — locked upon the human before her. A trembling hand rose and seized the prince by the throat, pulling him closer. And suddenly, within the fury of her gaze, Carlos saw something else — fear. A dread so deep it bordered on helplessness.

“Voda moráv, privídí mné bratóv.” The voice, laced with panic, struck him as he was hurled back onto the sand.

In the storm, lit by the flashes of thunder, he saw the siren curled over Jannik’s lifeless body. Carlos stepped forward cautiously, raising his hands in peace, and sat beside the freckled youth. Rublev clung to his unconscious brother, begging every god he knew to save him. He could not — would not — lose another beloved soul.

“Can I help?” Carlos’s words were nearly drowned by the storm-song, yet they reached the blond siren’s ears. Surprised by the gentleness of his voice, though not understanding the tongue, the siren looked upon the man with fearful eyes.

“Ne mógé tí vérirí…” came the frail, broken whisper. It pierced Carlos’s heart — and then he understood. In despair, even the simplest act becomes impossible. That was the siren’s truth.

Without hesitation, Carlos gripped the arrow lodged in Jannik’s shoulder. Before anyone could react, he tore the shaft free. Blood burst forth, staining sand and sea scarlet.

“Ostaví yév!!” A furious cry, and Carlos was slammed into the ground.
“Help!” he answered, tearing the pendant from his neck — a gift from Nadal before his first voyage. He remembered the words: It holds the power of the gods of life… It can save only one with the purest soul and heart.

Carlos reached toward the sirens.
“Ostaví…” the blue-eyed one whispered in despair.

The prince clasped the siren’s hand. Shock widened the creature’s eyes — he did not fear him? Not the black tears, nor the killing claws, nor the scars, nor the blood upon his skin? Alcaraz placed the pendant in his hand and opened it. At once, a sphere of radiant warmth burst forth.

Guiding the siren’s trembling fingers, Carlos pressed their hands against the wound. Magic poured through the broken flesh, weaving torn tissue together. Rublev’s eyes cleared, shining bright and blue as summer skies. His tears ceased. His lips parted in awe.

The magic lit the storm, calming the sea. The heavens broke apart, revealing stars once more. The wound sealed. The light faded.

 

---

The Song of Vengeance :

I will shield my brother with blood,
The sea screams, crimson tide floods.
The storm will strike, none shall flee,
The darkness will find you, never set you free.

Jani cries out in thunder’s breath,
My song shall be your certain death.
The wave tears stone, blood runs deep,
Love turned black, hatred to keep.

No forgiveness, no bells shall toll,
My voice will tear apart your soul.
The sea shall sigh, the skies collapse,
For my brother — eternal traps!

Notes:

Please tell me what do you think bout this story

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Notes:

Just small suprise on Saturday sweethearts 💋❤️

The shore still reeked of salt and iron. Broken arrows lay scattered like jagged bones, half-buried in the sand, their tips glistening with remnants of blood and seawater. The scarlet and the remains of the bodies sank into the depths of the sea, and the voice of the song faded away, leaving behind despair and sorrow. The storm, though weakened, still groaned above, leaving the heavens bruised and restless. Beneath that sullen sky, three figures clung to each other in the ruins of battle: Andrey, Carlos, and the pale body of Jannik, whose silence was heavier than the waves themselves.

Andrey’s arms were wrapped around his brother, his sobs tearing through the air like an animal wounded beyond saving. His black tears streaked his face, dripping onto Jannik’s still chest. His voice was broken, rasping, half-song and half-curse as he whispered words in the siren tongue that trembled with desperation.
“Bratóv… ne ostavái… ne zháry mné v temnóty…”

Carlos knelt beside them, his hands trembling, unsure whether to reach again or let despair smother him. His heart pounded with a rhythm that hurt, as though the very ribs sought to break themselves open in grief. He studied Andrey more closely now, under the flicker of dying torches: scars, countless and cruel, carved into skin that once must have glowed like sea-foam under the moon. Deep, jagged slashes crossed Andrey’s back and shoulders; thin lashes coiled around his arms like rings of torment. Carlos had thought only monsters bore such marks. Yet here they were—etched into sirens, proof of humanity’s ancient cruelty. And then, on Jannik’s body, beneath the thin streams of drying blood, the same sigils of pain appeared—scars layered upon scars, a history written not in ink, but in wounds.

Carlos’s throat tightened. These were not beasts of malice, not the predators whispered in sailor’s myths. They were survivors, condemned by man’s fear and sharpened steel. For the first time, he felt ashamed of his own kind.

“Why… why did it have to be him?” Carlos murmured, his voice hoarse. His hand hovered above Jannik’s chest, hoping, waiting for even the faintest rise. Nothing. The stillness mocked him.

Andrey’s weeping deepened. His forehead pressed against his brother’s stomach, his fingers clutching desperately at Jannik’s ribs as though he could keep the soul from slipping away by sheer force. He whispered again, broken shards of his mother tongue spilling from his lips:
“Jani, prosí tya… vrátísya… ya né mogu bez tébya…”

Carlos’s vision blurred, tears burning his eyes as he leaned forward. His trembling hand found its way to Jannik’s cheek, icy and lifeless beneath his touch. His lips quivered as he bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to the younger siren’s cold forehead—a kiss of surrender, of last farewell. He closed his eyes, and for a moment all sound fell away. No waves, no storm, no cries of grief—only silence vast enough to crush the soul.

And then—

A shiver.

Carlos drew back, startled, eyes wide. Beneath his palm, against his lips, there had been movement. Almost imperceptible, but real. He stared down at Jannik in disbelief. The siren’s chest, still a moment before, trembled as though the sea itself had entered his lungs.

Andrey froze mid-sob, his body rigid. His eyes widened, salt and shadow spilling freely down his cheeks as he lifted his face from his brother’s belly. “Jani…?” His voice cracked, half a prayer, half a scream.

Jannik’s lips parted with a faint, broken gasp. His body convulsed, lungs dragging in the bitter air of the shore like it was his first breath. His skin, pale as marble, shivered with sudden life. His eyes fluttered open, and the world seemed to halt.

Those hazel eyes as the deepest trenches, shining with otherworldly light—snared both Andrey and Carlos at once. In them was pain, yes, but also defiance, fire, and something so ancient it silenced the storm around them. The ocean itself seemed to lean closer, waves easing against the shore as though to listen.

“Voda… prineslá mné obratnóy,” Jannik whispered, his voice raw, resonant, carrying both weakness and command. Each word vibrated with the rhythm of the tide.

Andrey broke. He collapsed against his brother, clutching him so tightly it seemed he would fuse them together. His cries turned to laughter, wild and fractured, disbelief and gratitude spilling into the night. “Bratóv! Zhív… zhív ty! Ya smyálisya—ya smyálisya—”

Carlos stared, mouth dry, heart caught in a vise of awe and terror. “You… you’re alive…” His words faltered, half in question, half in reverence. He could not comprehend it—this resurrection, this defiance of death itself. Yet his soul bowed before it.

Jannik’s gaze found him, sharp yet softened by exhaustion. Though his words came in the siren tongue, Carlos understood.
„Luméth… aiéth shérae morá nai. Kai’lorah li venára.”

The young prince trembled beneath that stare. He felt stripped bare, his soul laid open and judged by something greater than himself. Yet in those words, he found not condemnation, but recognition.

Andrey lifted his head, his eyes blazing through the tears. He seized Carlos by the wrist, his claws dangerously close to flesh, yet the grip was not of rage—it was of fragile trust. “On dyshít… on dyshít… blagodarya tébye…”

Carlos could only nod, the weight of the moment pressing upon his chest until he thought it might crush him. He looked down at Jannik again, the siren’s breath shallow, labored, but steady enough to promise life. He reached instinctively to adjust the body, sliding an arm beneath his shoulders, lifting him gently to ease his breathing. Jannik did not resist. His head fell briefly against Carlos’s shoulder, his damp hair brushing the prince’s cheek like strands of midnight.

The waves lapped closer, restless yet tender, as though the sea itself sought to cradle its child. The storm’s fury dwindled, clouds unraveling to reveal a few hesitant stars, their light trembling across the water’s broken skin.

Yet peace did not settle in Carlos’s heart. He could not ignore the sight of the scars—their bodies marred beyond count, like maps of suffering charted by hands too cruel to name. He traced one with his eyes, a jagged seam that crossed Jannik’s collarbone, and felt a hollow fury bloom in his chest.

“Who did this to you?” Carlos whispered, his voice low, dangerous. His hands clenched until his nails dug into his palms. He wanted names, faces, kingdoms. He wanted justice, though he knew no justice could heal such wounds.

Andrey’s gaze flicked to him, ocean-blue glistening with hatred ancient and raw. His voice, though faint, carried the sound of waves striking cliffs: “Luméth…”

Humans.

The word fell like a curse. Carlos’s heart stung as though pierced, shame bleeding into his very bones. He thought of his people, of the torches and arrows, the cries to kill, to bind, to burn. He remembered their faces twisted in hate. And though he had once stood among them, he knew now he could never stand with them again.

Jannik stirred, his breath rattling but growing steadier. His lips moved, whispering a phrase that shook Carlos to the marrow:
„Li nai morá… nai’thura shérae krov’ aiéth nai vengíra.”

Carlos swallowed hard. “You… will not die. I swear it.” His voice cracked under the weight of a promise he did not yet understand.

Andrey pressed his forehead to Jannik’s temple, his fingers threading through his brother’s damp hair as though never to let go. Then he turned his eyes back to Carlos—sharp, wary, yet no longer filled with the hatred he had seen before. Instead, something else flickered there: the faintest glimmer of reluctant faith.

The waves howled again, crashing against the shore like drums of war. Lightning tore briefly across the horizon, its reflection flashing in the eyes of the sirens. And in that moment, Carlos understood: the storm had not ended. It had only begun. He swore to himself he'll find the one who made sirens suffer, and he's gonna make him begging for his own death. Because his Jannik was alive, and he will not stop until freckled boy and his brother could sleep with no fear.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Notes:

Enjoy ❤️

The night pressed close around them, heavy with salt and silence. The sea had grown quiet after its roar, as if holding its breath, awaiting the next tremor of fate. And in that hush came a sound that broke Carlos’s heart—Jannik’s sudden gasp, sharp and ragged, as though unseen claws tore through his chest.

The siren convulsed, his body twisting, his pale skin gleaming like silver in the moonlight. His breath shattered into fragments, his hands clutching at his own throat as though the air itself had turned to chains.

Carlos reacted instinctively. He caught him, wrapping his arms around the trembling creature, holding him as though to shield him from invisible torment. Jannik’s body pressed into his chest, lithe and desperate, his nails dragging lines across Carlos’s tunic as he clung for dear life.

The prince whispered, frantic, his voice shaking:
“Breathe… gods, breathe, I’ve got you—stay with me—”

But Jannik’s eyes—those fathomless, ocean-blue abysses—were wide with terror, staring into a darkness that Carlos could not see. Tears streaked his cheeks, born not of weakness but of a torment beyond flesh. His words, when they came, were not calm, but the rippling cadence of the siren tongue, choked and shattered:
„Kai’en nai’thar… lúmëra krov’, lúmëra kaién…Shílen éthar morá v ogníra thalún…Li tiréa velúr kaién…Shérae nai—shérae nai, vengíra, vengíra—” (The one who came… fire, blood… The stars were dying in burning waters… I heard their scream… They all — they all were burning)

 

Visions. Nightmares caught in the web of his mind. The cries of the drowned, the heat of fire on the sea, the memory of blood staining foam.

Carlos tightened his grip, rocking him gently though the prince’s own heart thundered. He did not know the words, yet he understood the agony in them. “You’re safe,” he whispered against Jannik’s damp hair. “You’re here… no one will hurt you. Not while I live.”

Andrey stood a step apart, his body tense, his jaw clenched. He watched the scene unfold—the youngest of their kind trembling, breaking, yet still choosing to collapse into the arms of a human. And something ancient and bitter stirred within him.

Memory.

Not of the present, but of his own past—years buried beneath layers of silence. He, too, once had given his heart to a mortal. He, too, had believed in the promise of gentle hands and whispered vows. He remembered soft words spoken under the hush of night, a human voice calling him beautiful, beloved, necessary. He remembered the first time he had allowed himself to trust, to surrender.

And he remembered the betrayal.

The torches, the nets, the knives that gleamed with hunger. He remembered his lover’s face twisted with fear, denying him to save himself, joining the hunters’ cries instead of shielding him. He remembered the cold of chains on his wrists, the searing pain of iron. The laughter of men as they carved their warnings into his flesh.

His scars burned now as if reopened.

Andrey’s fists clenched until his nails drew blood from his palms. He wanted to scream, to tear Carlos away, to forbid this echo of history from repeating itself. Yet his gaze lingered on his brother’s face—Jannik’s trembling lips pressed against the human’s shoulder, his fingers entwined in the fabric of Carlos’s clothes as though the boy sought anchor in a storm.

It was trust. Blind, desperate, innocent trust.

Andrey’s breath shook. Could he strip it away? Could he deny his brother the fragile peace he clung to in this agony?

No.

He turned from them briefly, swallowing the iron taste of his own memories, forcing the rage to ebb. The moonlight painted his tears silver, though none fell to the sand.

Meanwhile, Carlos whispered endlessly, words carrying no power but their cadence, like a lullaby against the young siren’s ear. His palm cupped Jannik’s cheek, cold and damp, as if he might pour warmth into the skin itself. His other hand rubbed his back in circles, steady and slow, fighting to bring him back from the abyss.

And slowly, so slowly, Jannik’s breathing evened. His cries dwindled into trembling whimpers, then into shudders, then into silence. His body sagged against Carlos’s chest, weak but still present, still living.

The horizon began to pale. First gray, then bruised lavender, then the faint blush of morning bled into the world. The stars, steadfast companions of sorrow, withdrew into the void. Dawn crept over the waves like a patient hunter, relentless and inevitable.

Andrey stiffened. He knew what dawn meant. The daylight weakened them, robbed them of their power, threatened to expose them. Jannik, fragile and wounded, could not survive the sun’s merciless gaze.

“My dolzhny ukhódit.,” (We must go) Andrey said at last, his voice low, gravel edged with command. He stepped forward, kneeling beside his brother and Carlos both. His eyes flicked to the prince, sharp and cautious, though not entirely cruel. „Yému nuzhén otpókoy. Morá istsélit yévo, yeslí on predástsya ob’yátyu voln.“ (He needs rest. The sea will heal him, if he yields to its embrace.)

Carlos swallowed, reluctant to let go. He looked down at Jannik, pale and fragile in his arms, then back to Andrey. The decision cut him, but he knew the truth. He could not keep him here.

His fingers trembled as he brushed one last time against Jannik’s cheek, cool and damp as moonlit stone. He leaned close, his lips by the siren’s ear. “Rest now,” he whispered. “You’re safe… I’ll see you again.”

Then he shifted, his hand reaching out—not to Jannik, but to Andrey. The prince’s fingers found the siren’s hand, cold and scarred, and held it firmly.

“You are not monsters…” Carlos’s voice cracked, spilling raw truth. His eyes, rimmed red, locked with Andrey’s. “Jannik—rest... Please take care of him, I know that you love him... And if you would feel better, please come here..."

The words struck Andrey like a spear. For a moment, he could not breathe. He had expected lies, expected honeyed deceit. But this… this plea was bare, unguarded. It held no selfishness, no hunger—only care. And how? How could he understands a human tell, why it's happening to him now?

Why?

Carlos was not his soulmate, not lover, not bound to their fate. And yet he looked upon Jannik not as a monster, but as something precious. Andrey’s chest ached with the weight of it. He did not understand—but he believed. Maybe Carlos was his friend...

He squeezed Carlos’s hand briefly, a silent vow sealed in that touch, before releasing it. His gaze softened, though his voice remained steady. “Ya budu.” (I will).

The sun broke the horizon then, casting a golden sheen across the sea. The waves shimmered like molten glass, calling the sirens home. Andrey lifted his brother gently from Carlos’s arms, cradling him close. Jannik stirred faintly, his lips parting in a whisper, words only the sea could fully hear.

“Nai evíra… nai shélen…” (Don't leave... Don't go...) - Janniks whisper crossed dark haired man skin. Carlos’s heart cracked at the sound, but he forced himself still. His hands fell empty to his sides, his eyes fixed on the figures as they retreated toward the water.

Andrey paused once, waist-deep in the surf, turning his gaze back to the prince. Their eyes met across the thinning distance, an unspoken understanding sparking between them—fragile, fleeting, but real.

Then the tide rose, wrapping around them like a shroud, pulling them back into the depths. With a final flicker of blue, they were gone, swallowed by the sea’s endless hunger.

Carlos stood alone on the shore as the sun rose higher, the salt wind tugging at his clothes, the echoes of their voices still ringing in his ears. His hand still tingled where Andrey’s had met his, a reminder of a bond he could not name.

And though his chest ached with loss, a single truth anchored itself within him, immovable as the tide:

They were not monsters.

And he would prove it to the world—even if it broke him.

Notes:

I'm so happy that Jannik win today's match, he's a truely number one 💪. Hope he will win with Bublik

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Notes:

I'm glad that Jannik is in semis, and if you like this fic you can write some comments coz I love to read them, and I can assure you that I'm reading all of them

The sea had always been both cradle and grave.
And as Andrey carried his brother through the waters, deeper into the hidden grottoes where light barely touched, he felt both truths pressing against him.

Jannik’s body weighed little in his arms—too little. His skin was pallid, stretched thin, almost translucent. His eyelids fluttered but did not truly close; the irises beneath them gleamed faintly, like fractured glass, but empty, unseeing. A doll’s eyes, soulless in their stillness.

The currents whispered against them, urging haste. The tide itself seemed to lean inward, carrying Andrey home. He swam fast, his black hair streaming like ink in the water, his chest aching with every beat of his heart.

At last he reached their dwelling—an ancient cavern veined with coral and stone, walls glimmering faintly from strands of glowing kelp. This place had sheltered them for decades, hidden from the human world, unreachable by nets or harpoons. Here, at least, the sea could breathe.

He laid Jannik upon a bed of woven seagrass, soft and dark, where the younger siren had often slept as a child. For a moment Andrey’s hands lingered, arranging the strands of hair away from his brother’s pale face, brushing lightly against his cheek as though such gentleness could coax life back into his hollow eyes.

But Jannik did not stir. His chest rose and fell faintly, shallowly, each breath fragile as spun glass. His lips were parted, but no sound escaped them.

Andrey’s throat tightened. He lowered himself beside the bed, folding his body like a shield around the boy. His hand smoothed through Jannik’s fiery curls again and again, a rhythm as old as lullabies.

“You’ll rest now,” he whispered, his voice a rough hymn of grief. “Sleep, malysh. The sea will hold you. And I… I will give you what comfort I can.”

And so he began to sing.

Not a song of rage as he had unleashed upon the hunters, nor of vengeance, nor of storms. This melody was soft, woven from the threads of memory and sorrow. It was a tale, disguised as a fairytale for children, though every note cut him open from within.

> “Once there was a siren who swam too near the shore.
He sang his voice to the night, and a fisherman answered.
His name was Medvedev, and his hands were calloused,
But his touch was gentle, as though he feared to break the sea itself…”

 

Andrey’s voice trembled as the name slipped from his lips, yet he forced himself onward. His fingers never ceased their tender work, combing Jannik’s hair.

> “The siren taught him the words of the deep,
The fisherman taught him laughter.
They shared secrets beneath the moon,
And one night, the siren wept for longing.
‘If I could walk beside you, I would.’
And the fisherman kissed him,
And in that kiss, the sea grew quiet.
For the first time, scales turned to skin,
And the siren was as man.”

 

He swallowed, his chest aching. Jannik’s face twitched faintly, a flicker of dream. Andrey pressed on.

> “But the land is cruel.
Nets are cruel.
Men are cruel.
They saw what should not be.
They bound the fisherman, their knives dripping with hate.
And they tore the siren from his arms.
The sea raged, but iron cut deeper.
Blood in the waves, pain in the bones.
And still, the siren called his name.
Still, he believed… until the end.”

 

His voice broke at last, cracking under the weight of memory. His scars burned along his ribs, his back, the flesh seared by iron so long ago. He could feel it all, as if it had happened yesterday—the betrayal, the capture, the laughter of men as they tore his world apart.

Jannik, though, had stilled. The restless twitch of his body quieted, lulled by the cadence. His breathing deepened, if only slightly, his lashes lowering.

Andrey bent low, pressing his lips to his brother’s forehead, just as he had when Jannik was a child afraid of thunder. “Sleep,” he murmured. “Dream of gentler waters.”

He remained there until at last Jannik slipped into slumber, fragile but steady. Then, with a sigh that shook through his whole frame, Andrey rose.

The sea called him upward.

He swam through winding tunnels until the water thinned, until moonlight and dawnlight mingled upon the surface. He broke through into air, and for a long moment he hovered there, gazing across the horizon. The world above was waking—roses and golds streaking the clouds, the tide sighing against distant rocks.

Andrey drew a breath, lifted his face, and began to sing.

This was no lullaby, no dirge. It was a summons—low, haunting, threaded with sorrow and with a command that pierced beyond words. It reached into the marrow, tugged at the soul.

And Carlos heard.

He had not slept since dawn, his body weary but his mind restless. He walked the strand, haunted by visions of Jannik’s pale face, by the memory of Andrey’s eyes meeting his in that terrible hour. When the song reached him, he froze, his heart stumbling in his chest.

It called to him. Not as the sirens of legend lured men to death, but as truth calls to truth. It drew him down the beach, into the surf, until the waves kissed his knees.

Andrey rose from the water like a shadow given form, his black hair plastered to his cheeks, his eyes burning in the half-light. He looked less a man than a specter of the sea, carved of sorrow and fury and something deeper still.

Carlos’s breath caught. He whispered, “You.”

The siren’s gaze pinned him. And when he spoke, his words rolled like distant thunder:

“You wonder why you understand us. Why you hear the sea’s tongue and it does not break your mind.”

Carlos swallowed, his throat dry. He could only nod.

Andrey drifted closer, water sliding from his shoulders, his chest scarred and pale beneath the dawn. “It is not love of flesh that binds us. It is trust. It is a bond older than vows. You looked upon my brother and did not see a monster. You held him when even I could not reach him. That is why.”

Carlos’s chest tightened. The weight of the siren’s words pressed deep.

Andrey’s voice lowered, every syllable like steel drawn from a sheath. “But know this—if you wish to stand beside him, it will not be with half a heart. The bond demands truth. It demands you offer yourself wholly.” His eyes narrowed. “Only a true kiss can bridge the rift. Not a kiss of lust. Not of conquest. But the kiss of a heart laid bare. It is the only way to make him walk where you walk, breathe where you breathe. To free him from the shadows that bind him.”

Carlos’s breath came uneven, the weight of fate pressing against him. He whispered, “And if I fail?”

Andrey’s lips curled, bitter as the tide. “Then the sea will take him. And I will not forgive you.”

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the hiss of waves.

Then—a sound broke it.

Footsteps on the sand.

Carlos turned sharply, his pulse hammering. A figure approached from the direction of the port—a tall man, shoulders broad, hair the color of wet earth, glistening brown beneath the early light. His stride was firm, the gait of one accustomed to storms. His eyes were shadowed, his mouth a hard line, his accent thick when he called out:

“Carlos! There you are. I’ve been searching—”

Andrey froze.

The world tilted. The scars on his body burned anew, memories colliding with the present. That face—those eyes. It could not be. And yet—

Medvedev.

The name screamed in his skull, even as his lips refused it. His vision blurred, the edges of reality unraveling.

Before him stood the ghost of the man he had once loved—and lost.