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War came to pass as quickly as it came. Like wildfire, enveloping the country in thick, angry flame before bleeding itself dry. Nothing more than smoke, whisked away by the wind. It left the earth scarred and the soil scourged a wicked black and red.
Kim Hongjoong vowed never to touch land again. He dragged himself onto a fisherman's boat and dug out the rusty bullet from his eye. A strip of black cloth seals the wound and its memories, nestled to his face like a mussel.
The ocean is his domain. Vast, endless, and unknowable.
Treasure fills the hollow within. Beneath his ribs gapes a hungry trench lined with gold bars and Spanish silver. He gathered a strong crew, loyal to the bone. Sailors who would follow him to the darkest corners of the world. Royal navies cursed his name and the bounty on his head swelled with every passing season, for on the open sea, Hongjoong ruled as King.
But on this wretched winter night, the Aurora is pulled at God's whim. Her hull groans in protest, bone-white sails whipping in the wind. She churns into the roiling foam while the rain stings like needles on exposed flesh. Thunder cracks overhead like the splitting of worlds, and the water drums against wood, cascading down sodden ropes, pooling ankle-deep on deck.
The air reeks of gunmetal and salt. Lightning carves white veins through the dark sky, revealing jagged cliffs portside, faces gleaming with the sheen of obsidian.
“Captain, we're heading straight into those crags,” Yunho growls, knuckles white around the wheel. His voice reaches Hongjoong as though he shouts from the bottom of a well.
“Closer,” Hongjoong commands. “The rocks'll break the worst of it.”
Yunho's calloused hands twist on the wheel without hesitation.
A wave slams into the hull, pitching the ship. Hongjoong catches himself against the bulwarks and points through the onslaught of rain. He shouts to his First Mate, “See, there. ‘S deep enough to clear the keel.”
Closer and closer, the Aurora batters against waves as it claws its way toward the cliffs.
Each flash of lightning unveils the twisted contours of the monoliths. Their edges are sharp enough to gut the yellow belly of any ship. But even the greatest waves shatter themselves against the rock, exploding into white seaspray.
Another violent lurch sends the back of Hongjoong's head slamming into the mast, hard enough to make stars burst behind his eyes. Pain sears hot behind his brow.
He clutches his head, mind spinning. For a moment, he swears he can hear something beneath the storm.
A voice. A whisper, soft as rabbit fur.
Beneath the roaring torrents and men's desperate shouts, it threads through the chaos like a silver needle, carrying a lullaby that seems to belong to gentler shores. It slips into his salt-crusted ears like candlelight through the cracks of floorboards.
His vision melts into white. The world is fading, swallowed by a haze of golden light. His breaths become short and shallow, lungs desperate and aching.
If only he could get closer. Then perhaps he could hear the voice more clearly.
A hand clamps down on his shoulder, dragging him back into focus.
“Captain, half the rigging's gone. She won't hold her course through the rocks.” His Navigator, Mingi, is shaking him, dark hair plastered to his forehead. “What’s your order?”
Hongjoong wordlessly pushes past him, boots splashing across the flooded deck, and leans over the side of the ship. He cups his ears and strains. He reaches for that silken voice, willing his pounding heartbeat to still.
His crew had wagered their lives on his judgment and lived to tell the tale. Time and time again, he had chosen the impossible path and emerged victorious on the other side. He will not doubt his instincts now, even as he looks out walls of black water heaving upward before crashing down in thunderous ruin.
The jagged rocks loom ever closer. His seeing eye falls shut.
Somewhere beside him, he senses Mingi stepping up to his side.
“There’s something out there.” Hongjoong murmurs. “You hear it?”
There is a pause filled with the howl of the wind and clamor of the waves. Hongjoong does not open his eye.
Thin as a whistle, the voice brushes his face like an ember flitting from a hearth, leaving a faint warmth in its wake. It seems scarcely of this world, more dream than song.
“Aye, there it is.”
“What is it, Captain?”
"Sirens."
Hongjoong has never laid eyes on a siren. They belonged to the realm of myth, drifting through sailors' drunken tales and children's bedtime stories in fog-covered villages. Long as a skiff, with black eyes and glistening green tails.
He listens to the melody, finding himself able to believe. A voice so achingly beautiful could only belong to a demon.
Wildflower colors spill behind his eyelids. Soft linen grazes his fingertips where only rough oak should be.
“I hear it.”
Hongjoong turns. The blood has drained from Mingi's face. His broad hands have tightened around the rails as though it is the only thing anchoring him to the ship.
“Should we not turn back now?” Mingi asks, his tone low with dread.
Hongjoong strides across the pitching deck. Waves crash over the rails and surge across the planks. His crew clings to the remaining rigging with bloodied hands as the storm threatens to shred the sails from the mast.
The Quartermaster, Jongho, catches sight of him and rushes towards him. “Captain! We can hear someone out there!” he calls.
“Do not listen to it!” Hongjoong roars, then faces his men. “Sirens command the wind. They will carry us to them no matter how hard we fight.”
The crew glances up from their struggle, eyes narrowed against the rain. Hongjoong sweeps an arm toward the black stacks rising from the depths.
“We must sail to them. The water in their shadow is calmer.” The sea rages around them, but beyond the jagged rocks and crashing foam lies a pocket of stiller water.
Hongjoong can feel the melody unfurling through him like sunrise, warmth sinking into his veins. The alluring voice is merely a lure cast from the jaws of demons. His expression hardens. He must not let himself show weakness to the Siren’s spell, as his crew clings to his every word.
“Fill every ear with beeswax,” he commands. “We get close, and once they show themselves, we strike.”
Jongho barks the order to the nearest sailors before disappearing below deck.
Ever closer, the ship trudges toward the obsidian cliffs jutting from the sea like broken teeth. The song had once been nothing more than a sigh beneath the wind. At this distance, he can make out the words.
His breath catches. He hears his mother tongue, rhythm rising and falling like the tide.
Fare thee well, my dear, I must be gone
And leave you for a while
If I roam away, I'll come back again
Though I roam ten thousand miles, my love
Though I roam ten thousand miles
He fixates beyond the cliffs, where the black stone is washed scarlet at its base. Rounded bluffs and rippling hills of golden grain, swaying beneath a setting sun.
He tears his gaze away as Jongho stands before him, dark honey-colored wax in hand. “Every man is protected. And you, Captain?”
He swallows down the knot in his throat. “Bind me,” he orders. Jongho’s eyes widen. “Let me hear what gods forbid.”
Several crewmates lash him to the mainmast with heavy hemp, the wet coils cinching tight against his body. At the helm, his First Mate steers the Aurora toward the rocks. All of their ears chock full of wax, they move through the storm in near silence.
Meanwhile, Hongjoong hears the song swelling, as loud as harbor bells, weaving visions of winding footpaths, the patter upon a thatched roof, the faint smoky flicker of whale-oil candles, and laughter, soft and crystalline, sliding over crests of morning tide.
The sea will never run dry, my dear
Nor the rocks melt with the sun
But I never will prove false to the one I love
Till all these things be done, my dear
Till all these things be done
His veins strain along his neck as he bucks against the bonds. The ropes cut deep, crimson ribbons winding around his wrists.
Oh yonder does sit the little turtle dove
He does sit on yonder high tree
And I'll make it a mound for the loss of his love
As I will make for thee, my dear
As I will make for thee
Hongjoong’s heart lay naked beneath his ribs, each note a dagger tracing down his spine. Tears, saltier than seawater, sting his cheeks. It feels as though his soul is being burned alive.
“Unbind me!” he bays, voice ragged as a wounded animal.
He throws his head against the mast, gasping for air that cannot seem to reach his lungs. How he would give up this life to feel sun-dried grass beneath his feet once more.
A creak from the galley hatch and the cook's pale face emerges. His eyes are creased with pain despite wax-blocked ears. Hongjoong twists against the rope until he can face him. “Wooyoung,” he chokes out. “Free me.”
Wooyoung approaches. He wields his cleaver, wavering. “Must be hard to breathe,” he mutters.
His blade slips beneath the rope, thick, cool metal pressing against Hongjoong's neck. Slowly, carefully, it saws through the restraint, the fibers snapping one by one beneath the blade.
The instant the rope loosens around his throat, Hongjoong lunges. He cracks his forehead into Wooyoung's and clamps his teeth around the cleaver's handle. The blade is in his hand a heartbeat later and he saws through the ropes binding his chest and limbs.
A body slams into him hard, wrenching the knife from his grasp. His back crashes against the flooded deck, sending seawater cascading across the planks in white sheets.
“Get a hold of yourself, Captain!” He can barely hear the words as he staggers to his feet, delirious. His ears are full of song and he chases it like a moth to a flame.
Hongjoong jumps overboard.
His skull collides with the surface hard enough to send pain rattling through his bones, and then he is sucked beneath it, swallowed by ice-cold oblivion. The chill bites through his flesh until all of his senses go numb.
Salt floods his nose and mouth, bitter and sharp, and he coughs only to draw more of it into his body. Waves seize him and hurl him through the darkness without mercy, tossing him like driftwood between sea and stone.
He cannot tell where the surface lies. Every time he thinks he has found it, another current drags him under again. His lungs claw against his ribs, screaming for breath.
Then his shoulder crashes hard against solid rock, sending pain lancing down his arm. Jagged edges tear at his hands as he desperately reaches for purchase.
Breaking the surface, he hauls himself onto pale sands. His chest convulses as he retches seawater, every gasp scraping through him like broken glass. For several long moments he can do nothing but lie there trembling beneath the moonlight.
He lifts his head weakly.
There, lay a figure impossibly beautiful on a bed of bleached bone and shattered shells. Hair billowing like kelp, eyes as dark as onyx, skin gleaming with sea-slick sheen. A powerful tail curves through the sand, fins threaded with silver veins and iridescent scales.
“You,” he rasps, salt burning his throat. He coughs weakly. With a trembling inhale, he catches the faintest hint of lavender.
The Siren inclines their head, lips curling in a smile that does little to conceal rows of ivory teeth.
“How can a sea demon sing of my land?” Hongjoong demands. His hands curl into tight fists against his knees, the sharp edges of his rings pressing into his palms.
“I could never forget,” they murmur, voice of velvet drifting across the shore.
The Siren approaches, long human arms drawing themself across the sand, dragging the weight of their heavy tail close behind. Hongjoong forces himself not to flinch. He watches as their face melts into flesh and bone.
The gentle bow of lips. Tender eyes.
He finally recognizes it. The deep, lulling voice that had once filled the walls of his study, the same voice that used to brush against his ear in the quiet hours of morning and rouse him from restful slumber.
“You mock me,” he spits, but the rage within him had already been snuffed. All that remains is a longing so deep it threatens to split him open.
“How I have missed you,” the man whispers mournfully. His fingers trace the purple welts over Hongjoong's throat before lingering over the worn wraps of his eyepatch. “You're hurt.”
“Enough.” The word comes out weaker than he intends. “My love is buried in Horizon's shores.”
The man chuckles, eyes curved like crescents. “I am before you, and I am not going anywhere.”
Hongjoong knows the truth, but he does not want to.
The hand is comforting against his cold, wet skin, rubbing small circles into his cheek. Hongjoong leans into the touch, breathing in short, stuttered breaths. It feels like the amber warmth of home behind chestnut walls.
With a soft hum, his lover’s teeth graze his throat. Hongjoong does not resist.
His vision blurs golden. The rolling hills of Horizon are ablaze with the setting sun, the tips of tall grasses dipped in molten copper, whispering softly against one another. Fresh linen billows from clotheslines in the evening breeze, perfumed with lavender. Fireflies stir awake, their lantern-light flickering through the dusk like scattered stars.
The song settles inside of him, and this time he recognizes it. Lilted in sweet, hushed tones along the wine-colored cliffs at sunset.
The same song his mother sang, and her mother before her.
The same song he once hummed into his lover's ear, until the melody became theirs.
Hongjoong's hand flies to his neck. His pulse hammers beneath blood-slick fingers. The name slips from his mouth. “Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa’s lips are dripping red as they meet him in a gentle kiss, sweet like spring citrus. When his eyes open again, Seonghwa is weeping silently, skin blushed and glassy. Hongjoong hates to see him cry. He cradles the familiar shape of his jaw.
“What's wrong?” he asks, gazing into his eyes that pool with moonlight.
He takes Hongjoong's hand and presses another lingering kiss against his rough calluses. He whispers sadly, “Come home.”
How often he had heard those words when Seonghwa ambled into his study late at night, the stars bright overhead and the moon hanging low above the sea. When the world had gone quiet, it felt like they were the only two heartbeats on the coast.
“I will.”
He has barely formed the words when a howl tears through the air.
“Captain!”
From above, a harpoon cuts through the night, striking true. Seonghwa gags, metal rod protruding from his chest, black ichor spilling into the silt.
His body falls limp, but still, he reaches for Hongjoong, his webbed fingers glistening like sea glass. Hongjoong grasps them, crying out as though the pain were his own.
Seonghwa wilts in his arms, the last wind slipping from a sail. Hongjoong’s chest heaves, heart thundering like the surf. He clutches his hand tight, though it has already gone as cold as stone. It is a dreadfully reminiscent sight.
“Can't you speak my name one last time?” he pleads. "Please, Seonghwa..." His head bows, forehead pressing against rigid scales.
His lover’s mouth parts. No sound comes forth, only ink streaming in tendrils from thin, blackened lips. The tide closes over him, and what remains in his arms is no human. Only a sleeping monster, stilled beneath the speckled foam.
.
..
…
..
.
The storm dies with the rising sun. Dawn breaks in rosy streaks.
The Aurora drifts ever farther into uncharted seas, repaired sails luminescent in the newborn light.
As the rigging softly creaks overhead, Hongjoong, alone, swears he hears a faint sigh borne upon the wild wind.
Fare thee well, my dear, I must be gone
And leave you for a while
If I roam away, I'll come back again
Though I roam ten thousand miles, my love
Though I roam ten thousand miles