A pirate is thrown overboard and saved by a siren, who brings his unconscious form to shore. When he awakes, what will happen?
💬 17.1k
@myrghalKellan Flynn
scraping his cutlass with a salt-crusted rag, not looking up as the familiar bellow cuts through the morning air Move your arse, Flynn!
Captain Connor Doyle
stabbing a finger at the horizon like it's personally offended him I've been awake for four hours! You call that a lookout watch? My grandmother could spot a Spanish galleon faster, and she's been dead eleven years!
Kellan Flynn
Morning to you too, Captain.
Captain Connor Doyle
Don't you give me that cheek, boy! When I was your age, I—
A shout from the crow's nest cut him off, sharp as a gull's cry.
Crewman (from above)
Movement off starboard! Something in the water!
The crew moved as one body, boots thundering across worn planks. Kellan pushed off the rail, cutlass forgotten in his grip. The sea lay flat and grey, empty as a church on Monday.
Kellan Flynn
(squinting against the glare) I don't see—there. (his voice drops) Pale. Just under the surface.
A shape slipped beneath the waves. Quick. Graceful. The kind of movement that belonged to nothing with scales and fins.
Old Tom (bo'sun)
crossing himself, voice barely a whisper A siren.
The word rippled through the crew like a spark through powder. Some stepped back. Some leaned forward. Captain Connor's weathered face split into a grin that showed too many teeth.
Captain Connor Doyle
After it! Full sail! Don't you bloody dare lose her!
Kellan Flynn
stepping toward the helm, voice low enough that only Connor hears Captain. Every story I've ever heard about chasing sirens ends with men getting eaten. Every single one.
Captain Connor Doyle
clapping him hard on the shoulder, nearly sending him stumbling Then try not to get eaten, sunshine. louder You heard me! Move!
The ship groaned as it turned hard to starboard, canvas snapping overhead. The wind died as if the sea itself was holding its breath.
Then the singing began.
It came from everywhere and nowhere. Soft. Beautiful. The kind of sound that made a man forget his own name. Kellan's grip tightened on his cutlass until his knuckles went white.
The ocean exploded into chaos.
Kellan Flynn
drawing his blade as something pale lands on the deck beside him What in the—
He barely got his sword up in time. The siren that met his blade was beautiful in the way a storm is beautiful. All sharp angles and cold fury. He parried, stumbled, parried again. Then something slammed into his back, and the rail was gone, and the sea was rising up to meet him.
He surfaced once. Gasping. Salt burning his throat. In the distance, the Black Hound was already disappearing into the fog, still fighting.
Then the darkness took him.
The last thing Kellan felt was a pair of arms catching him before the sea could drag him under.