Song Of The Siren Waters

By Shrishti Bangera Kanekal

ACT 1

I stood at the edge of the docks, the salt-stained boards creaking beneath my boots, watching as my crew filed one by one onto the vessel, my dagger being twirled between my fingers recklessly. I counted each face twice, making sure no one I needed had been left behind. The boat loomed larger than any I’d ever sailed, its deck stretching wide like a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.

When the President of Sterren’s letter first reached me, I’d almost laughed. It had seemed absurd, too official and desperate to be real. For a moment, I’d thought it was a scam, some cruel jest aimed at a fisherman from a poor country like mine. But the truth spread quickly once I began asking questions. Boats had been vanishing along the borders of the Sterren Sea and scattered across the Gevaar Islands. Crews gone without a trace, though their vessels were later found adrift, intact, and eerily silent.

Now, with so few left willing to risk the journey, they had turned to me. Me—and the ragged band of men and women I called my crew. I’d always thought myself a capable seafarer, but this was no simple fishing trip, no honest trade. I felt unready, hollow, like I’d been given a burden too heavy to lift.

The president himself had welcomed us when we arrived, his words kind and his table generous. He even pressed a local fisherman into our service, claiming he knew these waters well enough to guide us. Though the president’s hospitality was genuine, it did nothing to steady my hands. My chest ached with doubt. Confidence eluded me entirely.

Hours had passed since we set sail, the dark sea carrying us steadily toward the borderlands where so many had disappeared. The air was heavy with salt and silence. Most of the crew had retired, collapsing into bunks after the long day’s labour. The fisherman who also served as our guide—Levi—kept mostly to the helm, retreating to his cramped quarters when not needed. He was polite enough, and a rather charming man, but I could not shake the unease he stirred in me.

The night-shift crew remained on deck, voices hushed as they kept watch. I lingered with them, unable to surrender myself to sleep. The thought of retreating to my small, windowless quarters made my skin prickle. Anxiety clung to me like mist, refusing to let go.

I wandered the deck instead, my eyes straining against the dark horizon, searching for any ripple or shadow out of place. I checked the compass, the charts, the coordinates, though I knew the night-watch had it in hand. At last, they urged me below, insisting they could manage without me. Their reassurances were firm, almost too firm. I wanted to argue, but the weight in their words left me nodding, turning reluctantly toward the stairs.

As I descended into the belly of the ship, the hush of the sea followed me, pressing against my thoughts. Every creak of the timbers felt louder. Every shadow seemed to lean closer. 

Packing away my thoughts and worries, I went down to my small room below the deck, almost flopping into my private berth, forcing myself into a fitful sleep.

ACT 2

I was bent over my boots, pulling the laces tight, due to the commotion I’d heard above—shouts, hurried footsteps, the thud of something dropped. My chest tightened. Arguments weren’t rare among sailors, but this sounded different. Too sharp. Too panicked.

I shoved open the trapdoor and climbed onto the deck, the early morning air biting against my skin. The clamour quieted the moment I stood among them, all eyes flicking my way. I shut the hatch with the heel of my boot and clapped my hands once, sharp enough to sting.

“What’s going on here?” My voice carried over the deck. “You’re loud enough to wake the sea itself.”

Lilith, one of my most trusted, hurried forward. Her face was pale, her voice nearly swallowed by the wind as she leaned close.                      

“The nightshift crew…” Her whisper trembled. “They’re gone. We can’t find them anywhere, Elvira. They’re just—gone.”

My reply came sharper than I meant. “Gone? What do you mean gone? We haven’t even reached the border yet. Are you certain?”

She swallowed hard, eyes darting to the shadows along the deck. “Certain. We’ve searched bow to stern. No life rafts missing. It’s like they…vanished.”

The air seemed to constrict in my chest. My gaze swept the gathered sailors—faces wide-eyed, restless, waiting for my word.

“What about Levi? Is he alright?” I demanded. Where is he? Get him. Now.”

Lilith turned, repeating the order to a sailor behind her. He gave a stiff nod before sprinting toward the helm, his boots pounding against the planks until the sound was swallowed by the sea.

Minutes dragged by before I caught sight of our guide hurrying down from the helm. His steps were heavy; his expression carved in stone as he pushed through the gathered sailors to face me.

I didn’t waste time. “Did you see anything strange last night? Anything at all? The nightshift crew—did you see them?”

He raked a hand through his hair, gaze flicking toward the deck as if searching his own memory. “No. Nothing. Around midnight, I went to my bunk. Left one of your men at the wheel.”

My stomach tightened. “Who?”

A pause. Too long. “…Wolfe, I think.”

I snapped my head toward Lilith. “Is Wolfe here?”

She scanned the crew again, her face draining of color as she shook her head. “No. He’s missing too.”

A ripple of unease passed through the crowd—boots shifting, hushed murmurs, eyes glancing toward the sea as though it might reach out and claim them next.

The deck grew restless. The sailors whispered Wolfe’s name as though it might summon him from the shadows, but the only reply was the steady slap of waves against the hull. My throat felt dry, the weight of their stares pressing down on me. They wanted answers. I had none.

“Search again,” I ordered, sharper than intended. “Every cabin. Every corner of this ship. If anyone’s hiding, I want them dragged out.”

The crew scattered, boots thudding against the planks. Lilith remained by my side, though her hand trembled where it gripped the rail.

“Elvira,” she murmured, voice low so the others wouldn’t hear, “this isn’t right. Even if they’d gone overboard, someone would’ve heard. The life rafts would be gone. Something else is happening here.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words withered in my throat. She was right.

A shout cracked across the deck. One of the men leaned over the starboard side.

“Captain! Over here!”

I hurried to him, Lilith and the rest of the crew close behind. At first, I saw nothing. Then—the glint of something pale, drifting just below the waves. The water was tainted red.

A hand.

ACT 3

A meeting was held later in the day, yet it was brief, tense, and unhelpful. We had decided that everyone would be out on the deck at nighttime, rather than inside, due to needing to keep watch on everyone. 

When the night had rolled around, the whole crew was gathered on deck beneath lanterns swinging in the cold wind, faces pale and drawn from the night before. No one spoke more than necessary. The sea pressed close, dark and endless, as if it waited for our mistakes.

Night fell sharp and clear. Stars glittered on the water like shards of glass. The crew took their places across the deck, seated, backs straight, eyes darting nervously over the still waves. I stayed close to Lilith, our fingers brushing occasionally for reassurance.

Hours passed. The only sound was the wind and the slap of water against the hull. Then a faint, impossible noise reached us—a melody soft and sweet, but sharp enough to pierce the mind. At first, it could have been the wind through the rigging. Then it became more, more deliberate, curling into our thoughts, whispering promises no one dared say aloud.

A man at the far edge of the deck twitched toward the railing. His hands trembled. Before anyone could reach him, he leapt, vanishing into the black water with barely a splash.

Screams followed, sudden and raw. One by one, more crew members lost themselves to the sound. Eyes glassy, lips parted in silent songs, they rose as if drawn by an unseen hand and threw themselves into the ocean. Some screamed as they went, some smiled. All were gone before the rest of us could act.

I clutched Lilith’s arm, dragging her to sit closer to me. Others huddled nearby, trembling, pressing their hands over their ears, trying to resist. But the pull lingered—sweet, terrible, impossible. I felt it gnaw at my own mind, an itch beneath my skull that begged for release.

The song died as abruptly as it had come. Only the wind and the slap of waves remained.

The deck was a ruin of chaos—splintered voices, overturned crates, and the empty spaces where the lost had been. I counted them quickly. Only a handful remained—Lilith, myself, and three others. The rest had succumbed.

No one spoke. Breaths came ragged. Eyes darted to the water as though it might rise to take us next.

I sank to the deck, pressing my hands into the cold wood, trying to feel the ship beneath me, to remind myself that it was still real.

The night was not yet over, but the sea had already claimed its prize.

The sun had barely climbed above the horizon, washing the endless sea in pale gray light. The ship floated like a solitary mark on glassy water, anchored in the middle of nothing. The deck was quiet, save for the faint scuff of boots and the occasional creak of rigging.

We gathered around the old map, spread over a crate. Fingers traced lines of coast and current, tracing paths that might lead to supplies, shelter, or safety. The air smelled of salt and exhaustion.

Levi stepped forward first, his hands resting lightly on the map. “Here,” he said, pointing to a cluster of islands to the north. “These areas are better to explore. It’s also closer to a smaller island of people belonging to the country of Gevaar. It is an area not ideal for sailing, but that is our goal, no? To find out the mysteries. So let us hunt it before it hunts us.”

I leaned over, my dark hair threatening to curtain over my face, as I tapped my finger at a different point, farther east, near familiar channels I had once navigated. “No,” I said. “We should go here. I know these waters. The currents are easier; the passage is safe.”

Levi’s eyes met mine, his pin straight black bangs almost obscuring them away, “Familiarity doesn’t make it wise. Those channels might be safe, but they don’t fall within the dangerous borders, which is what we need. That’s why we should head north instead. Perhaps maximum risk, but also maximum information. Everything else is a gamble. I know it’s not where you’d prefer to go, but it’s the safest choice.”

I hesitated, glancing at the remaining crew. Their faces pale, eyes haunted, scanning the map as if it might reveal a way to undo the night’s horrors. None of us had fallen into the trance—but why?

Lilith’s voice broke the silence. “How… how did we survive? Everyone else…” Her hand trembled slightly as it hovered over the map. “Why did they go, and we didn’t?”

I shook my head, thinking the same. I had felt it—the tug of that impossible song, pressing at my mind, promising everything and nothing. “I don’t know,” I admitted softly. “Maybe it’s luck. Or stubbornness. Or… maybe they mourned for it harder than we did.”

One of the crew murmured, eyes wide. “I thought I’d… I thought I would’ve gone too.” His voice faltered. “I could hear it in my head… calling me.”

I pressed a hand to my jaw, feeling the ache of sleeplessness. “We barely held on. That’s all we know. We’re alive because we kept moving, kept fighting against it.”

Levi’s gaze didn’t waver from the map. “Then we focus on what’s ahead. Not behind. We go north. That’s the only way to ensure the rest of us survive.”

I looked back at the islands he pointed to, unfamiliar territory I had always avoided. My instincts screamed hesitation, but the logic was undeniable. “Very well,” I said. “We follow your route.”

A few murmurs of agreement rose from the crew. Fingers traced the northern islands, marking lines, plotting stops. Even Lilith let out a breath she possibly hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Before everyone got the chance to leave, I spoke up, “All of you will make sure that each other is securely locked inside their rooms. I will be tying the knobs blocked shut from the outside with mooring ropes. Our only goal for tonight is to be safe and on board.”

“And you?” One of the crew members, Aiden, murmured. “Who’ll tie up yours?”

I sighed, “Forget about me. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

As everyone retreated to their rooms, I caught myself wondering again. Why us? Why some? And not the others? The sea remained calm, indifferent, reflecting the pale light like a mirror. Yet I knew it had not forgiven. It had only claimed its first victims.

“We survived,” I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the crate. “But the sea isn’t done with us yet.”

Only four days were over, the fifth was approaching, and yet we’d already lost more than half our crew and sanities.

ACT 4

That night passed without screams or whispers. The first quiet night since it began.

The sea breathed slowly beneath us, rocking the ship like a cradle. One by one, the crew drifted into sleep—uneasy, but real. I had not meant to close my eyes. But the silence, for once, felt merciful.

When I woke, the world was pale with dawn. The air was heavy, damp. A faint mist rolled low over the deck. The ship creaked softly, as though sighing.

Then I noticed something was wrong.

The helm was empty. The wheel, usually steady beneath Levi’s hands, spun lazily with the current.

At first, I thought he might’ve gone below. Maybe checking supplies. Maybe catching a few moments of sleep after his watch. But as I turned, scanning the deck, I felt that creeping cold settled under my skin.

“Lilith?” My voice carried softly. “Where’s Levi?”

She was already awake, sitting near the mast, her knees drawn up. Her eyes met mine, and I knew she’d noticed too. “He…He’s gone,” she said quietly. “I woke up a while ago. His coat isn’t here. His boots are missing.”

A few of the crew gathered, bleary-eyed and tense. We searched—below deck, in the galley, behind the supply barrels. Nothing. Only his lantern remained, still burning faintly beside the helm, its flame shivering though there was no wind.

“Maybe he—” one of them began, but couldn’t finish.

Lilith did. “He worked the helm every night. Alone. Maybe…the song reached him this time.”

The words hit like a wave.

We’d all heard it, that impossible voice threading through the storm nights ago. We’d felt it pressing against the edges of thought, promising rest, promising home. We’d fought it. Barely.

And Levi—he’d even recently mentioned he didn’t believe in things like sirens. He’d mocked the idea of enchantment, saying the mind had only needed to fear the nature of the waters.

Now the helm stood empty.

The sea stretched out quietly and endlessly, reflecting the sky like a silver mirror. No disturbance, no sign of struggle. Just the faint glimmer of something far below, like a light swallowed whole.

Lilith’s voice broke, low and uncertain. “Maybe he didn’t fight it this time.”

I looked out at the horizon, the same one he’d pointed to yesterday—the north, the dangerous borders he’d wanted so badly to reach. “Or maybe,” I said, “it finally called loud enough.”

Silence followed. The kind that settles in your bones.

The crew stood still, watching the empty sea, listening to the quiet that wasn’t peace at all—just absence.

I clapped my hands up harshly to get everyone’s attention, “The rest of you who remain, good job. Really. But we are far from our goal, and without Levi, these waters are unknown to us. Even if we wanted to go back, we cannot, so we must continue forward, towards the north, where Levi wanted us to,” I paused, “Till night, work on your duties, but the second it tolls, remember to lock your doors, and I shall once again tie your knobs shut. I will be working at the helm today. I believe I have the strength to fight against the voice that killed our crew. But I can’t afford to lose any of you. Be prepared for the worst, we shall be heading north.”

The few members gave a few lazy and half-hearted whoops of encouragement before heading to their duties, leaving me in the middle of the deck.

I sighed before turning and walking up the stairs towards the helm, my boots heavy against the wood.

This was going to be an awfully rough day, and an even more awfully rough night.

It was late, possibly midnight, as I kept at the helm. The remains of our crew were in their respective berths, leaving me at the helm. As of now, nothing unnatural had come to show its face. And yet…it was still oddly quiet. Empty. Eerie.

I’d already anchored the boat. I could barely see my way, and I did not want us to get more lost than we already were. I’d have to wait for sunrise to be able to start up again.

Knowing it was a bad idea, I walked away from the steering, making my way down towards the deck, my brown hair now almost black in the dark slapping across my face in the wind. 

Quiet, empty, eerie.

This expedition had ended in nothing but tragedy. My crew was low, our food stock was running down, we were absolutely and entirely lost. Most of all, I was losing the hope that I’d make it out alive. 

I bent over the railing, looking down at the sea, daring it to bite. 

The reflection in the waters looked like the chipped remains of broken stars, casting an almost faint glow.

I almost felt myself drifting away.

How long has it even been? Perhaps I ought to count the seconds if I were this forgetful of time.

One second, two seconds, three…

four, five, six, seven remains of broken stars…

How long has it even been? Perhaps I ought to count the seconds if I were this forgetful of time.

Wait…wasn’t I already counting…?

nine, twelve, sixteen…

Why are the broken stars fading?

Twenty, eighteen, fifty-six…

Why am I fading away?

ACT 5

My head felt like millions of tiny nails had been screwed in. 

Or in other words, I was in pain.

My vision was blurred, my limbs were numb, my mind was weak. Absolutely in pain.

I’d barely regained consciousness when I’d heard a slow rhythm of footsteps echoing in the area around me…where exactly was I?

…on the ground. I seemed to be in a cave of sorts. My wrists were bound behind me by ropes, my mouth forced shut by a gag…and my eyes could see—

A man. Long, lustrous black hair tumbled over his shoulders, pitch black clothes draped over him like dark silk, as a shawl hung loosely over his arms. Gold jewels were embedded on his skin. His skin resembled the color of a sickly pale blue. He looked almost like a mythical being. My eyes made their way up to his face…

Levi…? No, that couldn’t be—

“Hello there, Elvira,” he rasped out, his voice ringing in my ears. He walked right in front of me, pulling my gag out with his slender fingers, “It did take you a rather long while to awaken.”

I sputtered and coughed uncharmingly as I grasped for words, my fingers secretly attempting to scavenge for a particular object of use, “Who—Who are—?”

“Yes, I am the Levi you knew as your guide. It is merely a pathetic front, as I am sure you realize now. I am Leviathan Ahlisihir. Perhaps a known name to you, as, yes, I am indeed one of the sirens from old Sterren mythology. Yes, I have been using the souls of humans to feed onto my siblings’ power over the course of thousands of years.”

Leviathan Ahlisihir—originally a myth, a story, quite literally in my eye view. His story was known to be rather complex, one of grave psychological murders. I’d never entirely understood that story, nor did I expect I’d ever needed to. It was said that he, alongside many brothers, would feed off the souls of mortals on land, forcing them to commit to the sea. When such happened, the forces and power of the siren would grow stronger. It was also mentioned that the sirens were long gone after they were cursed by the gods.

Seems to be the curse didn’t work strong enough.

My fingers wiggled and fumbled at the bounds at my wrists as I spoke, my voice hoarser than expected, “Why? How—I…”

“My brothers are dying,” He stated simply. “They do not have the knowledge and wits of human life the way they did centuries ago. They’re fading away. And so, it is my job to collect for them.”

“Collect…?”

“Humans. I’ve only started doing so recently, when I’d realized the power of our sirens were fading.”

“Why hadn’t I died? Why hadn’t some of my crew died, why was it only a select few people?” I said, fearful of my answer.

A few more seconds, just a few, I need just a little more time…

He paused, pacing around, “Humans contain different levels of desperation for their needs. They contain different values and morals, and whatnot rubbish. Let us just say, some people can resist the song of the siren, whereas some cannot. Clear?”

The ropes that were initially tight on my wrists now slid off my knuckles. I flexed my fingers behind my back, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Crystal clear,” I murmured gruffly.

Levi turned his back to me, rambling onwards.

My fingers swiftly slid down my leg to my boots, pulling out the sheathed dagger that lay concealed in it. Many times, people had told me I’d have a higher chance of stabbing my own foot by hiding it there than actually defending myself. It was awfully lucky I was too stubborn to listen, considering the situation I was currently in.

Before I could think it through, my fear overcame my rationality, and I’d practically flung at him with my long dagger. 

He moved back just as fast, unsheathing a long blade of his own from his side, one which I’d completely overlooked.

“I’d known you would attempt to be rash,” he said, smirking infuriatingly wide.

We both lunged at each other, our blades meeting with honed timing. 

He was awfully stronger than me. Not only could he easily control my mind with just a note from his voice, but his physical strength was evident compared to my own. I had to be quick. 

I lifted my leg, kicking him away from me. He staggered back with a grunt, clutching his side, his fingers loosening their grip on the blade. I took this opportunity; my dagger aimed at his neck as I collided into him. He held me back, attempting to twist my hands away. The pain was beyond my senses, burning through my bones. I felt his blade daring to pierce through my side, before I knocked it away with my own.

Idiotic. That move was absolutely idiotic.

Now both of our blades were thrown to the side, far from where either of us could reach.

We pulled away from each other. I was breathing heavily, my lungs feeling as though they were on fire. I’d never dealt with such unworldly strength before.

Before he got time to react, my knuckles met his face, throwing him back. He clutched his face with one hand, blood seeping through his fingers as he groaned, still holding his smug demeanour “Didn’t expect you to be this strong. Good job.”

I ignored his words, running towards the blades thrown to the side. I had to get them, I had to—

My body was thrown to the ground, my fingertips just barely touching the hilt of my boot dagger. I was on the ground, him crouching right above me, his foot stepping right on the square of my back as he forced my hand back from the blade.

Suddenly, I went stiff, feeling the cold of metal at the side of my neck. He’d gotten his own sword back…

He dug the sharp edge deeper into my neck, and the hot, searing burn of blood dripped down my neck, as I went limp with fear.

I felt him come closer to me as he articulated, “I have a proposition.”

I bit back a groan of pain as I replied, “Yeah, as if I’d care to listen.”

He dug the blade deeper, as if to enunciate a point, “You do realize that even if you do die here, nothing will ever really end? You’re not a martyr. I shall continue to attack the people and shamelessly feed off of everyone’s soul.,” He paused before whispering, “One thing which I will do for sure is find everyone you love. And I will make sure they join you in passing.”

My breath hitched. The blood from my neck only oozed faster. My lungs only went farther into flames. 

“But,” He continued, “I can promise a limit away from these particular people…in order for something in return.”

As much as I didn’t want to, my voice beat my thoughts, “What is it?”

He chuckled softly before replying, “Prose me as your friend. Family. Perhaps even a lover. Anything that guarantees the safety of my identity. You are already a respected being throughout communities. If I were allowed to be let in those borders…I could freely travel around to take in the souls of people without suspicion to arise about me. You can guarantee my safety, and in return, I shall stay clear of you and your loved peers.”

“How can I trust that you would keep your end of the deal?”

“I am not a cruel man,” He replied, “You do realize that the only reason I do kill is to keep my brothers alive, no? Trust me, if I truly had the choice, I would never want to do this.”

A twinge of pity hit me. He was right in a way. And honestly, would I not do the same if in his position? Would I not use the power I had if I absolutely had to?

“No. I can’t let you hurt innocent people-“

“I know you don’t care, Elvira. I know what you are, I know what you crave, I’ve been in your thoughts before, remember? I know you. And I know that if it truly came down to it, you would let me do so.”

I paused. Was this some sort of manipulation or did I truly feel like this?

“Fine.”

I felt the blade leave my neck as he got off of me. I rolled onto my back, steadying my breath.

“Once you are bound by this, you cannot back out,” He stated.

I sat up, attempting not to wince, “Quite aware.”

A small smile tugged at his lips as he suddenly outstretched his hand for me to take. 

I mused, “So now you decide to be a gentleman?”

“Take it or leave it, partner in crime.”

ACT 6

The sea had a way of pretending nothing ever happened. It whispered the same songs, crashed the same waves, gleamed under the same sun — as if it hadn’t once watched me bleed into its depths.

It had been months since that night in the cave. Months since I’d agreed to a deal I still wasn’t sure hadn’t already damned me. Levi — or Leviathan, as I’d learned to call him in my mind — was now no longer the phantom that haunted our waters. He walked among us, spoke among us, laughed among us. The people trusted him more than ever before.

And I, the fool who knew the truth, said nothing.

The country of Sterren had gratefully thanked my crew and I for our efforts, and mourned the ones long gone. Lilith and the last three members had taken a break after our last expedition, and they were treating to their minds from the terror.

This did mean I had a new crew. New faces, new names. It was awful at times to remember my old one and our memories. Awful.

Levi woven himself into everyone’s trust like silk — charming, patient, dangerous. Some nights, I caught him gazing out at the horizon, the light of the moon catching the strange gleam of his pale skin, as if it were made of porcelain dipped in seawater.

We were anchored near Solmere now, a coastal town too quiet for its own good. Levi claimed it was for resupplying. I knew it wasn’t. The air had been colder here lately, and not because of the season.

“Don’t stare too long,” came his voice beside me. I hadn’t realized I’d been glaring.

He leaned against the railing, his hair catching the wind, his tone laced with amusement. “You look like you’re about to throw me overboard.”

“Tempting thought,” I muttered.

Levi chuckled softly, tilting his head. “And yet, you don’t.”

“I should.”

“Mm. But then who would keep you safe?”

I turned away. “You think you’re clever.”

“I know I am.”

His voice was calm — too calm — like the sea before a storm. I’d grown used to his games, his cryptic ways of reminding me that we were bound together. Bound by choice. By fear. By necessity.

Below deck, the crew’s laughter carried through the timbers. I envied them — their innocence, their ignorance. They didn’t notice the towns we passed through growing quieter each time we left. They didn’t ask why we never stayed in one place for long.

But I noticed. And every time, I wondered how much blood it cost to keep his brothers alive.

Days would bleed into weeks.

Levi had changed. Or maybe I had.

He no longer hid what he was when we were alone. He let his voice hum its strange, beautiful resonance while we mapped out our routes at night. Sometimes I caught my reflection in his eyes — dark, empty, almost matching his own.

It was getting harder to remember which of us was pretending.

When evening descended, as the sun died behind the clouds, we arrived at another lonely stretch of coast. A small town, nameless and cold. The kind of place that never asked questions when people disappeared.

Levi didn’t need to say a word; I already knew why we were there. And worse — I didn’t stop him.

He vanished after dusk, as always. I stayed on deck, watching the lights along the shore blink out one by one. The air was thick with salt and something else — guilt, maybe. Or acceptance.

When he returned, his hands were clean. They always were. But his eyes were darker, calmer.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, setting a hand on the railing beside mine.

“I’ve learned it’s easier not to ask.”

He smiled faintly. “You make it sound as though I force you into silence.”

“Don’t you?”

“Perhaps. But you stay anyway.”

The words struck deeper than a blade ever could. He was right. I stayed.

Because somewhere between those months of deception and survival, the line blurred. I’d become complicit. Each time I said nothing, each time I let him return unchallenged, I’d offered another piece of myself to whatever abyss he came from.

The next morning, the wind carried the faintest hint of singing from the horizon. I felt it stir something inside me — something too familiar, too welcoming. It didn’t scare me anymore. That was the worst part.

I turned to see him at the helm, his hair catching the light, his expression serene.

“Levi,” I called softly.

He turned, a glimmer of curiosity in his dark eyes. “What is it?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words that came out weren’t what I expected. “I think I understand now.”

He studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly — as if he’d been waiting for that. “Good,” he murmured. “Understanding makes it easier.”

He returned his gaze to the horizon, and I watched the sea stretch endlessly before us — vast, merciless, and alive.

He turned his head to me, “It’s honestly not just for my brothers. I feel…weary, in a way. I despise being alive in a way. In another way, I am alive simply to spite. To those who have cursed me for centuries.”

I nodded silently.

Somewhere deep down, I realized I didn’t feel human anymore. And maybe that was fine. Maybe monsters weren’t born. Maybe they were indeed made.

I exhaled softly, letting the wind sting my face, the salt burning my lips. And for the first time, I didn’t flinch.

I taught myself how to survive. He taught me how to hunger.

By Shrishti Bangera Kanekal