Oh sailors bold with hearts of flame,
Who chase the stars and chase your fame—
Heed well this verse, lest death you find,
In song that snares both soul and mind.

Beyond the cape where white gulls wheel,
Where sea-winds hush and shadows steal,
There lies a cove of glass and gold,
Where none return, and none grow old.

The Sirens dwell in that hushed bay,
With eyes like dusk and hair like spray.
They do not hunt with tooth or claw—
Their song alone will break the law
Of wind and wave and will and bone,
Until you sail no more… alone.

Their voices rise when moonlight spills,
Like silver blood across the hills;
A melody so strange and deep,
It pulls your thoughts as though from sleep.
You’ll see your home, your love, your kin—
Then plunge beneath, to drown within.

No helm will turn, no anchor hold,
No steel withstand their spell of old.
The bravest crew with deafened ears
Have wept to feel them drawing near.

So bind your hearts and wax your ears,
Steer clear of songs and drowning tears.
For those who seek their haunting shore
Are never men nor mortal more.

The early morning sun cast a soft, golden glow over the sand as Aglaope walked along the shoreline, her bare feet sinking into the cool, wet grains. Waves lapped gently against the shore, a rhythmic murmur that might have soothed anyone else, but her thoughts remained tangled, restless.

The night before had been an intense meeting of minds, but more than that, a clash of wills. Aglaope looks at the horizon and remembers when her song could call the farthest ships into harbor, a sweet, melodic lure that danced on the wind. She closes her eyes, allowing the echoes of that power to wash over her like the ocean’s tide. The sound of waves crashing gently against the shore is comforting, but it can’t mask the ache of her heart.

Gazing out at the endless expanse of water, she thinks of her sisters—creatures of beauty and song, powerful yet perilous. They wield their allure like a double-edged sword, calling to the sailors of the deep.

With her heart full of longing and the morning breeze tousling her hair, Aglaope draws in a deep breath and begins to sing. The melody rises effortlessly from her lips, a haunting tune that merges with the sound of the waves, creating a symphony that only she can hear. Her voice, rich and sonorous, weaves through the air like threads of gold, each note shimmering in the sunlight.

(Verse 1)
In the hush of dawn, where the shadows play,
I whisper to the waves as they dance and sway.
With a heart full of dreams and a voice like the breeze,
I sing to the ocean, let my spirit be free.

As she sings, the sea seems to respond, the waves swelling with the cadence of her song, matching the ebb and flow of her emotions. Suddenly, an image of a vessel fills her mind. The ship, with its rich wood and flowing sails, seems almost alive, as if it were responding to her call.

(Chorus)
Oh, call of the sea, carry me home,
Where the wild winds wander and the restless roam.
Let my song be the beacon, a light in the storm,
In the depths of the water, I’ll rise and transform.

Captain Blackthorn stared at his breakfast, poking halfheartedly at the eggs on his plate as Antioch lounged across from him, the Trickster’s smirk as smug as ever.

“You do have a way of ruining a man’s appetite?” Blackthorn muttered, spearing a piece of bread with uncharacteristic force.

“Why, Captain, I thought you enjoyed my company,” Antioch replied with a mock innocence that only deepened Blackthorn’s scowl.

Blackthorn’s grip on his fork tightened, but he forced himself to keep calm. “There’s a big difference between enjoying your company and merely tolerating it.”

Antioch leaned back, hands behind his head, unruffled by the captain’s irritation “You know, some gods would find your blasphemous tongue offensive.”

Blackthorn lifted his eyes slowly, narrowing them as he sized up the god lounging before him. “You mean the gods who are actually worth worshipping.”

“I like your spunk!” Antioch beamed, clapping his hands together softly.  

Antioch's gaze drifted across the dimly lit cabin to a sturdy, iron-bound chest in the corner, an item that seemed oddly out of place among the otherwise sparse furnishings.

"So," Antioch began, his voice carrying a lazy amusement, "the little trinket I entrusted to you—is it safe?"

Blackthorn paused mid-chew, his expression darkening as he carefully placed his fork down, regarding Antioch with guarded eyes. "If by 'trinket' you mean the sacred object you tossed at me like it was nothing more than a bauble, then yes, it’s safe."

Antioch chuckled, clearly entertained. "Now, now, Captain. Don’t be so dramatic. You did catch it, after all."

Before the Captain could reply to Antioch’s snide remark, a haunting melody began rising from outside his cabin. It seemed to reach through the walls of the ship, slipping into every corner, every shadow, wrapping itself around him like a silken noose. The crew had grown silent, their usual clamor replaced by an eerie stillness, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the song drifting across the deck.

“You hear it, don’t you?” Blackthorn muttered. His voice held a forced calm, but a vein throbbed at his temple.

Antioch, reclining in his chair, tilted his head as he listened to the distant song. “That would be Aglaope. The child could always carry a tune.”

Blackthorn looked up, his jaw set with steely determination. “We shouldn’t be able to hear her! We’re too far from the island!”

Antioch let out a low chuckle, his gaze slipping toward the cabin window. “Distance," he murmured, savoring the Captain’s unease, "is a trite mortal limitation. Aglaope’s voice—my child’s voice—crosses realms as easily as it cuts through the heart." His eyes sparkled with something between pride and malice, though his posture remained calm, drumming his fingers lightly against the table in a rhythm that matched the siren's haunting melody.

Blackthorn’s face twisted with discomfort, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting the singer to materialize in his cabin at any moment. “How much of this is your doing, Antioch?”

Antioch grinned, feigning surprise. “Oh, I wouldn’t spoil such exquisite terror by taking all the credit.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.  "Remember, Captain, this is no ordinary ship. It carries the father and mothers of the Sirens themselves. That’s a bond that stretches farther than the sea."

(Verse 2)
Sisters of the tide, with your beauty and might,
You lure the lost sailors into the night.
But I seek a new path, one not bound by chains,
With a melody fierce that sings of my pains.

As Aglaope continues to sing, the image of the ship grows stronger in her mind, each detail sharpening into clarity. The sails unfurl like the wings of a great bird, and she can almost feel the wind at her back, urging her forward. But then she notices something—a figure moving gracefully across the deck. The woman stands tall, her brown hair cascading like waves and her green eyes gleaming. There’s an air of familiarity in her features, yet something about her feels distant and elusive. The woman glances back over her shoulder, and their eyes meet, creating an electric connection that reverberates through Aglaope’s core.

(Chorus)
Oh, call of the sea, carry me home,
Where the wild winds wander and the restless roam.
Let my song be the beacon, a light in the storm,
In the depths of the water, I’ll rise and transform.

Harahel clenched her fists as the haunting melody intensified, winding through the air like a whispered promise—seductive and treacherous. She shot a quick glance at Gadriel, who looked equally unsettled, her grip tightening around the rail. Gadriel’s face was a mask of determination, though Harahel caught a hint of fear in her gaze—a rare admission from a woman who wore confidence like armor.

 The song grew louder, wrapping around the ship like an invisible net, binding those who could not resist its pull. Harahel steadied herself and moved toward the helmsman. But as she reached out to shake him, his grip on the wheel tightened with a sudden, unnatural strength, resisting her touch. His eyes—glazed but focused on some far-off dream—flickered with something otherworldly.

"Wake up!” Harahel shouted, trying to break through the trance.

In the captain’s quarters, the melody wrapped tighter around Blackthorn, settling over him like a silken veil, tugging him to his feet. His eyes grew glassy, the fire in them extinguished, replaced by a distant, entranced gaze. He didn’t seem to notice Antioch anymore, the Trickster’s presence all but erased from his mind as he turned toward the door. His steps were sluggish yet unstoppable, drawn forward by the siren’s call, his body obeying an unseen pull toward the song.

Antioch watched with an arched brow, a faint smirk dancing across his lips. "My dear Captain," he murmured, "you didn’t think I’d let you wander off just yet, did you?" He rose and reached out, placing a firm hand on Blackthorn's shoulder. The Captain staggered but didn’t stop, pushing against the god’s restraint with surprising force. Antioch’s expression shifted, his smirk faltering as he saw just how deep the siren’s song had dug into Blackthorn’s mind.

“Persistent, aren’t we?” Antioch mused with a hint of displeasure. He tightened his grip, then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, struck Blackthorn on the side of his neck. The Captain's eyes fluttered for a moment before his knees buckled, and he collapsed back to the ground, unconscious. The song continued, whispering through the walls like a persistent echo, but Blackthorn lay still.

With Blackthorn slumped on the floor, Antioch’s smirk returned, satisfied, as he glanced toward the iron-bound chest in the corner. It was unassuming to the untrained eye, but to him, it glowed with faint threads of magic that only a god could see. He approached it slowly, letting his fingers drift over the aged wood, feeling the familiar pulse of power that emanated from within.

With a flick of his wrist, he released the enchanted lock. The lid creaked open, revealing a dark velvet cloth wrapped around a long, sleek form. Grinning, he lifted the cloth to uncover the trident of Oceanus. Its surface gleamed with polished gold, etched with ancient symbols that throbbed with suppressed energy.

Antioch let out a low whistle, admiring the artifact. The trident was cold, biting even, but its chill was no deterrent to him. He could feel the weight of the ocean within it—the pull of currents, the fury of storms.

As he raised it, the cabin seemed to darken, shadows thickening as the trident responded to his touch, awakening like a sleeping leviathan. A faint vibration ran through the ship, making it groan in response.

(Bridge)
No longer a shadow, I’ll step into the light,
With each note I summon, I’ll conquer the night.
In the silence that follows, hear my voice rise,
For the heart of the ocean knows no disguise.

As Aglaope sang, the image of the ship blurred like mist in the morning sun, slipping further from her grasp even as her voice intensified, weaving longing and defiance into the final refrain. She strained to hold onto the vision but the shadows of memory resisted her pull. Her song faltered, a tremor of frustration flickering through her voice before she gathered herself, pouring every ounce of strength into the last, lingering note.

(Chorus)
Oh, call of the sea, carry me home,
Where the wild winds wander and the restless roam.
Let my song be the beacon, a light in the storm,
In the depths of the water, I’ll rise and transform.

The melody swelled, reaching across the waves before dissipating into the vastness of the ocean.

(Outro)
So I’ll sing to the waves, let the world hear my plea,
In the heart of the ocean, I’ll find the real me.
With the tide as my witness, and the stars as my guide,
I’ll embrace my true essence, with the sea by my side.

At the ship, the melody began to fade, like the last echo of a whispered promise drifting into silence. Harahel felt the spell lift, the weight in the air dissipating as the crew blinked and looked around, bewildered, as if waking from a deep sleep. The helmsman released his tight grip on the wheel, rubbing his forehead as he struggled to reorient himself. Around her, the other sailors stumbled back, confusion and fear writ across their faces.

As the final notes of Aglaope's song faded into the morning air, Harahel exhaled, feeling a strange emptiness where the haunting melody had wrapped itself around her. The pull, the enchantment, had left her shaken, and she could see the same impact in Gadriel’s clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, both of them still tense as if bracing for another wave of Aglaope’s power.

The crew staggered, some murmuring to one another, their voices hushed and tinged with fear. Harahel noted how each man avoided looking out toward the ocean, unwilling to face the mysterious source of the song that had nearly dragged them overboard. Beside her, Gadriel’s face remained stony, though Harahel could sense a flicker of unease within her.

As the ship steadied itself on the waves, Harahel and Gadriel exchanged a final look, an unspoken understanding passing between them. This journey was more than a quest for redemption or reunion—it was a reckoning, a confrontation with the choices they had made and the lives they had left behind. And in the haunting echo of Aglaope’s song, they could hear a promise—a promise that the past would not remain buried, and that every debt would soon be paid.