Chapter Text
The ocean sent a breeze Barbatos’ way, tugging on his braids and sending loose strands of dark hair fluttering around his face. He chuckled and tucked them behind an ear, humming gently.
From under the sand, a man arose next to them, looking not much older than thirty.
“You know you can go back at any time,” he said, his bassy voice reverbarating on the secluded beach.
Barbatos shook his head.
The man’s hard eyes, enunciated by red-orange kohl, squinted in annoyance.
“Speak, siren.”
“You always forget, Morax,” Barbatos laughed.
“I’m not used to runaways,” Morax retorted.
“But still, after all these years? I’m hurt.”
“How often does the wind return home?” Morax snapped.
“It has none. It’s sweet of you to consider yourself familiar, though.”
“Don’t call me sweet.”
“Right, right. The ancient beings of the earth have no room in them for compassion.” Barbatos kicked a rock nearby. “It would be unfitting.”
“You talk a lot for a siren.”
“You tolerate a lot, for a demon.”
Morax exhaled deeply, apparently having reached the end of his exceptional tolerance.
“You’re a lot less violent recently. I remember the days when I would show up and get boulders aimed at my face,” Barbatos commented.
“Those were good times,” Morax said acidicly.
“Not for the boulders,” Barbatos giggled.
Morax did not reply.
“Why do you avoid your home so desperately?” he asked a moment later.
The siren’s eyes became dull.
“I have no home,” he said.