𝙈𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨 𝙈𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 - SIREN : The Song of the Drowned

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The Song of the Drowned

The sea was a graveyard of secrets.
For centuries, sailors spoke of the Blackwater Sirens—creatures of eerie beauty who lurked beneath the waves, their voices as sweet as honey and sharp as knives. Their songs whispered promises of love and longing, luring men into the abyss.
Some believed they were spirits of the lost, cursed to haunt the tides for eternity. Others claimed they were ancient beings, older than the ocean itself.
But all agreed on one thing—once you heard their song, you were never seen again.

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The Cursed Ship

The Nightwind had seen better days.

Her sails, once proud and white, hung in tatters, and the wood of her hull groaned under the weight of time. She had been adrift for days, her crew weary, her supplies dwindling.

Captain Elias Graves stood at the helm, his jaw set, his dark eyes scanning the horizon. The wind had died, and the sea stretched out before them like a great, endless mirror.

Something was wrong.

“Storm’s coming,” muttered Jonas, the first mate.

Elias shook his head. “No clouds. No wind.” He exhaled. “This is worse than a storm.”

A murmur of unease ran through the crew. They had all heard the tales. The stillness before the sirens began their hunt.

And then—

A sound drifted across the water.

Soft. Sweet. Calling.

A voice like liquid gold wove through the silence, curling around the sailors like an invisible thread. It was neither male nor female but something in between—something not of this world.

Elias stiffened as his men stopped moving, their breath hitching, their eyes glazing over. One by one, they turned toward the sea.

Jonas took a trembling step forward. “They’re here.”

Elias grabbed his arm. “Don’t listen.”

But the song wrapped around them like silk, a melody that slipped into their bones and whispered of love, of peace, of home.

A sailor named Reed moved first. He climbed onto the ship’s railing, staring into the water as if he had found paradise.

Elias lunged forward. “Reed—”

Too late.

The sailor leapt overboard, plunging into the dark.

The others followed. One by one, his men walked into the sea, their faces serene, their eyes blind to the doom awaiting them.

Elias gritted his teeth. He had heard stories, but this—this was worse.

The voices were beautiful.

Irresistible.

He could hear his mother’s lullaby woven into the melody, the ghost of his father’s voice calling him home.

The song was no longer just a song.

It was inside him.

Clawing. Pulling. Drowning.

He stumbled backward, gripping the ship’s mast. He could feel it now—the ache, the longing. Come to us, Elias. Come home.

His heart pounded.

No.

He reached for his dagger and drove the blade into his forearm, pain slicing through the fog in his mind. Blood dripped onto the deck, and the spell shattered just enough for him to hear something else—

Laughter.

Low. Amused. Hungry.

Elias turned.

There, rising from the waves, were the sirens.

The Daughters of the Deep

They were neither human nor fish.

Their forms shimmered under the moonlight—pale, ethereal, their eyes like pools of ink. Their lips were curved in cruel smiles, their sharp teeth glinting as they watched the men sink below the surface.

One of them—taller than the rest, with hair like drifting seaweed—tilted her head. “You resist,” she mused, her voice like a melody of crashing waves. “How rare.”

Elias forced himself to breathe. “Let them go.”

The siren laughed, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. “They are already gone.”

Beneath the water, shadows moved.

His men weren’t swimming.

They were being dragged down.

Hands—pale, webbed, inhuman—clutched their ankles, pulling them into the abyss.

Elias’s stomach twisted. “You said they were home.”

The siren’s black eyes gleamed. “And they are. The sea is their home now.”

Jonas broke the surface, gasping, his eyes wide with terror. “C-Captain—”

A clawed hand wrapped around his throat and yanked him under.

Elias lunged forward, but it was too late.

Jonas was gone.

The siren turned back to him. “You fight so hard,” she murmured, gliding closer. “Why?”

Elias clenched his fists. “Because I’m not ready to die.”

The siren’s smile widened, baring rows of needle-like teeth. “Then you have never truly lived.”

With a flick of her tail, she launched herself onto the deck, faster than human eyes could follow.

Elias barely had time to react before her cold hands were around his throat, pinning him against the mast. Her skin was wet, slick like the belly of a serpent, her nails sharp enough to draw blood.

She leaned in, close enough for him to see the endless dark in her eyes.

Her voice was a whisper against his lips.

“Drown.”

The world tilted.

For a moment, he saw it—the endless black beneath the sea, the hands reaching, the promise of peace.

He could sink.

He could sleep.

But something inside him refused.

With the last of his strength, Elias ripped his dagger from its sheath and drove it into the siren’s side.

She screamed, a sound so shrill it cracked the air. Her grip loosened, and Elias shoved her back, gasping for breath.

She staggered, her silver blood dripping onto the deck.

Her gaze darkened. “You will regret that.”