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Down in the deep bowels of the ship, it was hard to tell day from night, winter from summer. Simon can’t recall any longer how long he has been trapped here. The iron bars of his cell dig into his back, as his hands fiddle with the leather cord wrapped around his wrist. One of the few possessions on his body he can truly call his own. His brother’s pendant, his mother’s sheath, and his name. It’s all he has left.
The ship sways to and fro, buoyant on the gentle waves of the sea. He’s not sure what continent on Earth–never mind what country–they are closest to at this point. Maybe if he had a telescope and an hour on the deck using the barest of star navigation he was taught years ago he could narrow down a general location. For now, he can only take the word of the crew that begrudgingly keeps him alive. And little worth their words are to him.
Not that he matters much to them either.
The Consolidation of Iron is a wider pirate alliance, a coalition of a number of ships. Simon is currently a prisoner on Captain Ava’s Axis. The lone survivor, and alleged perpetrator of the destruction of Filament. A brother of Eden, unmistakable from the brand against his neck. Ava had pulled his sorry ass out of the sea, took one look at him, long enough to spit, “Butcher,” before throwing him into this cell.
With nowhere to run, too tired to fight, and begging for the measly scraps they allow him to keep him just barely alive, he is tasked with the dirty work. Hunting in shark infested waters, pulling ropes during storms, fixing leaks when someone got a little too trigger happy, scraping barnacles off the sides of the Axis, and worst of all, on the front lines of monster attacks. The latter is the only moment they let Simon hold anything resembling a weapon, not that he has made any moves to injure any of his crewmates. Besides, there is only so much he can do with only one arm, even with his strength. Simon has been lucky these pirates are more interested in finding other ships to pillage, more than risking life and limb to best sea beasts. Simon has seen crazed crews go after the biggest, scariest, toughest of foes, only for their ships to never be heard from again. That is one comfort at least, they only fight when they have to. But when they have to, Simon is given a spear and a prayer. If a monster were to drag him into the depths, he has little hope of surviving an endeavor like that.
Simon feels his stomach drop with dread as the sound of shouting and pounding footsteps reaches his lowly cell. Something’s happening, something causing a panic. It’s odd since the sea seems calm, the boat hardly rocks because of her whirling temper. One of the sailors, Jack if he remembers correctly, busts open the door to the brig. There’s a wild look in his eyes. It’s not quite pride, it’s not quite fear. Whatever caused a look like that can’t bode well for Simon, as Jack unlocks his cell door and gestures towards the rickety stairs, “C’mon, Convict.”
Simon glares, but doesn’t argue. He follows Jack up onto the deck. It’s midday, apparently, the way the sun gleams off the surface of the water. It momentarily blinds him, as the uproarious cries and cheers of the crew ring in his ears. As the two emerge, Ava calms them all down with a shout.
Amongst the cajoling and snarling of the various pirates, Simon hears a strange clicking and trilling sound. He has a hard time placing what would cause such a sound. Did they catch something rare? What does Simon have to do with it?
Her pale eye stares right through Simon in a way that has always unnerved him. As if she can see every part of him, every hidden secret, every dark tale, and decides he is still only worthy of that title the Axis crew labels him as: Convict.
She grins, showing teeth and ambition, “Got a job for you, Convict.”
“What is it?” He gruffly asks, his arm resting across his chest.
Ava pushes aside the crew, who are all strangely huddled around something on the starboard side of the ship. She commands, “You will be in charge of handling our latest catch.”
That’s… odd. Not that Simon has much power to do it, but the crew rarely trusts him in regards to food or rations, in fear he’ll tamper with it. As if he wants to kill off the whole crew, the only people keeping him alive out here. He’ll sometimes help with hunts or clean up, but beyond that was usually the cook’s job.
“What the hell am I–”
Simon's words die in his throat as Ava finally makes a path for them. Laying upon the deck with four harpoons pointing at him is a siren.
Orange and blue scales glisten like a sunset upon a massive tail. Near translucent fins all along the creature’s back and tail flutter with the sea breeze. Gills along his ribs and neck struggle against the air, but everyone knows sirens also have working lungs that can breathe the same as humans. They need them to call out above the water, to lure unsuspecting sailors to their doom.
This siren has eyes the color of a clear blue sky, that warily flicker back and forth between the various humans threatening him. Messy golden hair sticks to his forehead and neck where the water still hasn’t dried.
What sets off fear in Simon, however, is the creature’s teeth. A row of sharp white teeth are bared, the siren hissing and making strange clicking sounds. If it weren’t for the net and harpoons these fools are using to barely keep the creature at bay, he could easily tear apart the throats of each and every one of them. Or drag them into the depths to feed.
Simon whirls towards Ava, growling, “Why the fuck would you drag a siren on board? If his pod hears him calling out, they’ll swarm and kill us all!”
Ava glares, her scar stretching where her face pinches, “Do you think I’d be foolish enough to do that? This siren was alone.”
“How can you be sure–”
“We’ve been following him for days now. If he had a pod, he would have reunited with one by now.”
The siren curls in on himself, clawing at the net he was tangled in. His webbed hands could do little to grasp the handsewn net, even with the pointed claws at the end of each finger.
Simon stares down at the creature. A pang of sympathy runs through him. To be alone, adrift in the sea, with no one to call out to. He knows the feeling all too well.
Ava takes up one of the harpoons of her sailors, and tilts the siren’s chin up with the pointed edge. The siren hisses and flinches, but she doesn’t budge. She directs her next comment to Simon, despite never taking her eyes off the predator trapped before her, “I know what you’re gonna say. A siren is more valuable dead than alive.”
He frowns, “I don’t see a reason to capture one at all.”
She sighs, “Then you clearly haven’t made a deal with a witch.”
“Can’t say that I have.”
Eden was against witchcraft of any kind. They believed in the nature of things, the gift from God that had been bestowed upon the earth and sea. The real and tangible life that can be held in one’s hands. The life that can be squeezed and bled to feed new life. Monsters roam the Earth, my son. It is our job to cleanse it of filth. To banish those that defy God, to bring an era of peace and prosperity for mankind. For Eden.
He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts of Father’s old sermons.
Ava pushes a little further, bringing the blade of the harpoon against the first layer of gills on the siren’s neck, “A siren’s tear holds immense power. Just a drop could fund the COI’s operations for a year.” She stands back, but keeps the harpoon leveled against the siren, “Of course, we can’t force it. It has to come naturally, or it won’t work.”
The siren squeezes his eyes shut, breathing shakily as the danger momentarily passes. He brings a hand up to his neck, ichor staining his fingers where Ava made a cut.
She turns to him, “It will be your job to watch over the siren until he cries.”
Simon grimaces, “And if he doesn’t?”
“Well, it’s a liability to keep him alive for long. Without a tear, we can still make a pretty penny selling him for parts at port.” She gives him a hardened stare, raising a brow, “If you are successful in bottling a tear from the siren, perhaps we can discuss new freedoms for you aboard. You’ll have certainly earned your keep.”
But, not my freedom, he thinks wryly. Still, not being holed up in the brig all the time might be nice. He missed standing out on deck, under the stars, feeling the wind in his hair. Maybe even better rations could be on the table…
Simon looks down at the siren once more, but is surprised to lock eyes with the creature. He meets his gaze, and there is something unfathomable in the depths of those eyes. Like staring into the sun, like facing a harrowing truth.
He looks away, swallowing his guilt.
Ava claps her hands together, startling him, as she orders, “Alright, men. We need to transport the siren down to the brig. Convict, you’ll handle his torso, and you three will take a hold of his tail.”
The siren’s tail is certainly a force to be reckoned with, designed to push the creature through the currents of the sea with ease, but with enough willpower the men will likely be fine. Simon on the other hand…
He kneels down close, and the siren instantly locks onto him and bares his teeth. An animalistic instinct in him screams, triggering a fight or flight response, but Simon stills. He stands his ground, even with his heart racing in his throat. He holds his hands out, placating, “You can understand me, right?” The siren hesitates, which is answer enough, so he continues, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Please.”
He gets a gnashing of teeth for that attempt, which he probably deserves. He can’t even really blame the creature. Honestly, if he were in his place, he would probably be kicking up even more of a fuss.
Simon reaches forward, carefully attempting to bring his arm around the siren’s chest, when the creature suddenly strikes. With an inhuman speed, the siren sinks his teeth into Simon’s forearm.
“Fuck!”
Simon’s first instinct is to kick and scream, but he restrains himself. Don’t, he’s just scared.
He sees the harpoons closing in, and barks, “Stop! Don’t!”
The crew gives him a look as if he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has. The adrenaline spike certainly doesn’t help settle his thoughts beyond the pain shooting up his arm. The siren growls, blood pooling between his lips and teeth, but he only holds on. He doesn’t tear, he doesn’t thrash.
Simon bites back another curse, and softly grumbles, “They’re gonna put us both behind bars, whether we like it or not.” The siren pauses, soft clicks replacing his growls, and he whispers, “I know. I know.”
Simon tugs his arm free with minimal effort, moving his arm under one of the siren’s and hoisting him up with the rest of the crew. It hurts like hell, blood flowing from his wound. Returning below deck always carves a pit in his stomach, but even more so with the Axis’ newest prisoner. There’s a wooden basin now in the cell adjacent to his, barely big enough for the siren to curl up in. It’s close enough that Simon can reach out to touch the creature, but still remain safe in his cell from a full attack.
Simon and the other men drop him into the saltwater with a splash, before he’s dragged into his own cell. One of them is at least kind enough to throw him a decently clean rag to wrap his arm with, before locking their cell doors. As if the siren is going to get far, he ruefully chuckles to himself.
The distant sound of the crew returning to their daily tasks echoes overhead, but the two prisoners sit in silence. The siren looks cramped where he’s wrapped his tail around himself, picking idly at loose scales. He flinches at a particularly loud thud, the webbing around the shells of his ears fluttering nervously. Simon ignores him in favor of examining his wound. Several small punctures in a circle, but none are too deep. At least he won’t need stitches.
He presses the rag to his arm in an attempt to stem the bleeding, his head slightly swimming, “Shit. You sure did a number on me.”
“...Sorry.”
Simon looks up in surprise. The siren is grimacing, wiping the blood off his chin, not meeting his eyes.
He blinks, and he’s unsure why he tries reassuring the creature, “You were scared. I get it.”
“I didn’t know… I didn’t want to. I’m sorry.”
Simon’s gaze flashes once more to the creature, but his eyes don’t well with tears, despite the hoarseness of his voice. The vocals of a siren are hard to trust. They understand and can communicate with human speech, but oftentimes, it is merely mimicry. Their way of picking off naive sailors and claiming foolish victims. Simon would be hard pressed to trust everything the creature says. He’s not human, he has to remind himself, despite how much they have evolved to look like them.
“Ava cut you, so let’s just call it even.” Simon wraps the rag around his forearm, using his teeth to pull the tie as tight as he can. It’s sloppy, but it will do. He rests his head against the wall, intending to rest (sometimes sleep is the only way to alleviate his boredom when he’s not forced into backbreaking labor), when the siren speaks up again.
“Why… Why are you here?”
Simon peeks one eye open, seeing the siren tilt his head curiously, and gruffly replies, “I’m a prisoner. Same as you.”
“Oh,” The siren questions further, “Are they… Will they kill you, too?”
“Not yet. Not as long as I’m of use.”
“Why did they–”
He interrupts with a harsh curse, “Fucking hell, we’re both dead men walking, siren. Just biding our time till they get their gold. There’s no escape, for either of us.”
He feels that familiar creeping dread, ice pooling and coalescing in his veins. The breath of the reaper bearing down on his neck. No matter how hopeless he may feel, how pointless his pleas for mercy seem, he can’t help that intrinsically human fault of his. He doesn’t want to die. Not here, not yet.
The siren’s expression softens from fearful curiosity to something more understanding. His lips curl up in something that could almost be classified as a smile, “I’m not.”
“What?”
“A dead man walking. I can’t walk. I swim.”
Simon blinks. He blinks again.
Deadpanning, “It’s… It’s an expression.”
The siren nods thoughtfully, “Right, a human expression. My friend always laughs whenever I tell him of a new one I learned. He’ll like that one.”
What a weird creature.
“Do you not understand the severity of what the Captain threatened earlier?”
“I-I know. I understood her, I just…” He shakes his head, “My friends will find me. Hopefully.”
Simon’s brow furrows, “They tracked you for days. You don’t have a pod.”
The siren curls into himself further, like he did earlier when Ava brought up the information, with a barely concealed expression of hurt, “I don’t. I have friends, but they don’t migrate. If I’m gone too long, they’ll wonder what happened. They’ll come looking for me.”
“This ship is constantly moving. The Axis is one of the fastest out there on the sea. We’ll be far out of their territory by the time they realize you’re gone. If you’re hoping for a rescue, I’d start praying for a miracle.”
The siren frowns, “But, they…” He frets for a moment, before shaking himself, “I’ll just need to find a way off this ship, then.”
Simon scoffs, “Yeah, not happening.”
“I’m not helpless.” He shoots back.
“Maybe in the water, but these humans are smart, resourceful, greedy, and vindictive. They aren’t letting you go. Not alive.”
Believe me, I’ve tried. It sits on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it. Just ghosts the scar that still aches with phantom pains on his side with absentminded fingertips.
The siren pauses, concentration written across his face. Whatever insane scheme he’s cooking up, Simon wants no part of it. The idea of a little more freedom on the ship is too enticing to jeopardize. It’s quiet for a while, and Simon nearly dozes off, when his nap is once more interrupted.
“What’s your name?”
Simon huffs, “They call me the Convict.”
“That’s—That’s not a name.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Do you… not have a name?”
“Of course I have a name!” Simon snaps, glaring at the creature, “No one gives a shit about what my name is.”
The creature rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, “Clearly someone does. I just asked for it.”
Simon is prepared to spit fury at the gall of this creature, but it quickly dies out like a match in the rain. No one has called him by his name, not in… years? Not since he clasped arms with his brothers in Eden before the journey that led to the accident, the destruction of Filament. The COI didn’t care for his name, Ava and her crew never asked for it.
Yet this siren, a human predator, is the first to ask for it. To share in one of Simon’s three singular possessions.
With a shaky breath, he tells him, “Simon. It’s Simon.”
He can tell the creature was ready to tease him, but thankfully stops himself. Perhaps it was the way Simon offered his name like a long forgotten memory, precious and rare.
Instead, the siren smiles and offers in turn, “My name is Grace.”
-
When Simon is not dragged out of his cell by his hair with a harpoon or a mop shoved into his hands, he sits in his cell and he talks to Grace.
It’s odd. The creature is unlike anyone he’s ever met, but it’s not as if Simon has conversed with many sirens. Or humans outside of the pirate leagues or his hometown.
Grace tells him about his life in the ocean. About his friends. About his students.
Simon wonders what happened to his pod, but Grace never brings them up, so he never asks.
Simon doesn’t offer up much in turn about himself personally, but he answers as many of Grace’s questions about humans and life on land as he can. Sometimes Simon genuinely doesn't know the answer, and other times the subject hits too close to home.
Still, it’s odd.
Simon thought the siren would resent him for using him. He bit him, after all, for dragging him down into the brig with him. Yet, the siren is nothing but kind. He apologizes every time Simon takes off his makeshift bandage to clean off the wound (it’s healing nicely, likely will only very faintly scar). He tells him stories, he genuinely listens when Simon speaks, he offers company and support when Simon has had so little of that over the years.
Grace has never cried, though.
He certainly gets emotional, and Simon has a feeling that he’s normally someone who will weep fairly openly, but now he catches himself and squeezes his eyes shut or takes a deep breath. Anything to keep the treasured tears at bay.
Simon wants to resent him for it. Denying him what he needs. But then he thinks about when Grace wakes up in a panic. He thrashes, gasping in a wretched manner, and has even fallen out of his basin in his fear and confusion. He wonders what it’s like. To be so used to sleeping with your head underwater, only for your gills to fail you upon waking, feeling as if you’re drowning on dry land. Grace is quiet those days. Simon thinks he’s planning something.
That’s another thing, the siren is smart. Intelligent in a way Simon can barely keep up with. Sure, he’s not an idiot, he’s quite adaptable in fact. But, Grace drinks up information like a sponge. He’s constantly analyzing and experimenting in ways Simon would have never thought to try. Sometimes that runaway thought process causes details to get lost in the midst, which is usually where Simon comes in to fill in the gaps. Grace has a lot of great ideas, but they often get jumbled and confused, but Simon can see the outline, the pathway he was intending. A gentle nudge in the right direction usually leads to Grace reaching across the bars to clasp Simon’s hand with an excited, “You’re right! Why didn’t I think of that?”
Every touch like that feels like electric sparks running across his skin. A tension bordering the line of fear and fondness. His arm still aches, as a healing wound tends to, and he can’t quite look away from Grace’s sharp teeth because of it. But when he manages to catch his sky blue eyes, it’s almost magic the way it softens the fear, the anxiety, that always seems to linger in Simon’s mind.
Simon wouldn’t mind having a companion in the form of Grace to return to after he’s worked like a dog, someone who fills the silence when he’s too broken down and tired to distract himself from his own thoughts. There are moments when he thinks it’d be nice to keep this, but those moments are few and far between. Hard to keep them around as Captain Ava grows restless.
Simon has just finished repainting the ship’s name on her old wooden planks, when he’s abruptly yanked up. He stumbles onto the deck, and Ava grabs him by the collar, “We’ll be at New Haven Port in two weeks time, Convict.”
He glares down at the woman, “So what?”
“That’s your deadline.” She commands, her conviction shaking him, “No tears, no offer.”
Simon’s heart stops in his chest. It’s a pipe dream to ask, but he still wonders, “Will you still kill him? If I do get the tears?”
“I told you, he’s a liability.” She snarls, “Two weeks, Convict.”
-
“Simon? Are you okay?”
It’s been three days. He’s been careful not to lose track of time. He keeps an ear out, asks when he’s on deck, maintains a margin of error.
Grace has his chin rested against his forearms where they’re resting on the basin’s edge. His brow is furrowed in concern. He must have been staring for a while, and Simon’s been too lost in thought to notice.
“Fine.”
“You look seasick.”
Simon huffs, as close to a laugh as he can muster these days, “More sun-sick. It’s blazing hot out on the deck.”
Grace nods, “You are a little pink. I can burn pretty badly if I’m not careful.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, certainly. Rocky loves finding quiet spots at a beach to take naps on, and whenever I join him, I’m always stinging afterwards.”
Simon hopes he sounds innocuous as he asks, “How did you and Rocky meet?”
That question catches Grace off guard. It technically shouldn’t because that is the friend that appears in Grace’s stories the most often. Clearly Rocky is the friend that he is the closest to, the one he adores wholeheartedly. Yet, he avoids the earliest moments of their friendship, Simon has noticed. He knows there is a story there, one Grace keeps close to his heart. One that may just…
Grace’s smile softens, and it is a sight that takes Simon’s breath away. It is an expression of pure devotion, sorrow, and love. To care for another like that, Simon almost envies them both. To have a connection so life-affirming, so integral to your heart. Simon hasn’t had that in so long, not since his mother.
“Well, it’s a long story.”
“Tell me.”
It’s not a demand, but a gentle invitation. That Simon is willing to listen. So, Grace tells him. He tells him a story of connection, of purpose. Of betrayal, of sacrifice. Of hopelessness, of fear. He describes the feeling of peril, of losing his pod, lost in the sea. Adrift, unsure of his future, but knowing there was something he needed to do. He illustrates the moment when he connected with Rocky, another lost soul, but one with the same goal of saving their homes.
He tells him he had a chance to return to his pod, but doing so would have doomed Rocky and his people.
Grace takes a stuttering breath and says, “I couldn’t leave him to die. Rocky was… I had to save him. He was worth it, whatever happened to me, he was worth saving."
And, there. Grace’s smile creases his eyes, and a single tear slips down his cheek. It rests at his chin, as if stopped by time, suspended in a moment.
Simon reaches out.
His hand rests on Grace’s cheek, and his thumb caresses his skin, wiping away the long-awaited tear track.
“You did the right thing, but I’m glad you lived, Grace. You deserve to live.”
Grace stares at him in open wonder.
Tears pool and flood his eyes. They gently cascade down his face, over Simon’s hand. All the pent up emotion the siren has been carrying, all the fear and trepidation and heartache and anger, rushes out of him in a tidal wave. He nuzzles into Simon’s palm with a gut-wrenching sob.
The empty vials remain on the opposite side of Simon’s cell.
-
Simon knows Ava is going to have his head for this. He knows it, and it makes his hands shake. Still, it does not waver his determination. She will be furious, she will rake him across the coals, but she won’t kill him. He’s almost certain. Because even if he didn’t get a pure tear, Grace’s diluted tears can still be found in the water of his basin. Plus a few scales Grace was kind enough to offer him. He’s hoping that will be just enough to save his skin.
The dingy is rickety, which causes unnecessary panic, but the crew were dancing and drinking all day. Not a soul was awake, not even the helmsman who was snoring against the wheel. If Simon pushed them a little off course, they’ll be none the wiser. Still, dragging a full grown siren onto the little boat with one arm was a hell of a task that he would rather not repeat again. They carefully drop down, the rope stinging their palms. Grace eagerly splashes fresh saltwater over his hair as soon as they’re down, trilling happily.
“Shh, we’re not in the clear yet.” He reprimands, which the siren gives a sheepish nod in response.
He rolls his eyes fondly, as he rows them out a good distance away from the Axis. When he deems the coast clear, he rests his arm with a heavy sigh.
Grace glances back at the pirate ship nervously, “Are you sure… Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
Simon shrugs, “I don’t know. I’ll be alive, at least.”
“That’s not very reassuring, you know.”
“Just being realistic.”
Grace chuckles, staring out at the horizon, “It’ll be a long trip back home.”
“Will you be alright?”
The siren grins, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight, but for some reason, the sight no longer frightens him. He waves a webbed hand dismissively, “It’s nowhere near the furthest I’ve traveled. I’ll be alright.”
Simon glances back at the ship, a weary eye on the faint glow of a lantern light in the Captain’s quarters, “I better get back. If they catch me in the act, they might actually kill me there and then out of spite. At least I may be able to play some denial if I’m still in my cell come morning light.”
“Will they really believe that?”
“Definitely not.”
Grace slips into the water, Simon watching his tail disappear, those sunset colored scales vanishing into the inky darkness. The siren’s head pops up above the surface a moment later, another happy clicking sound emanating from his throat.
“That’s better.”
Simon can’t help himself, reaching down to push the wet strands of golden hair back and out of Grace’s eyes with a gentle touch. He quietly utters to his… his friend, his friend who he will likely never see again, but will feel heartened by the memory that he will finally be home and free again, “Get home safely.”
Grace is silent for a moment, before a rush of water spills into the dingy as he suddenly lifts himself up. Just high enough to press a reverent kiss on Simon’s lips, before slipping back in the water with a parting trill.
Simon watches the glimmer of his scales and hair for as long as he can as the siren swims further and further away, his fingers pressed to his own lips in shock.
-
Just as he suspected, Ava was livid. His parting consultations, merely pennies compared to the riches she could have obtained had Grace not escaped, barely manages to keep his head attached to his neck. If he thought she was harsh before, she is even worse now. He can’t really fault her for her anger, and truthfully, she could be putting Simon through a living nightmare for what she suspected him to have done (he’s not stupid enough to confess to his crimes, but really, how else would a siren have escaped them).
He counts his lucky stars for every breath he takes, and takes on whatever burden she shackles him to. As long as he lives. As long as Grace is free.
Still, her thinly veiled mercy could only last so long.
After a string of devastating losses, her temper was short and primed to fire. And, as if things couldn’t get any worse, they get caught up in the clutches of a sea monster. It’s a mutant crab of some kind, with massive claws and great bulging eyes. It’s slow and methodical, powerful and clever.
Ava drags him out of his cell at the first creaking groan of the ship’s hull. Simon is shoved onto the deck, a rusted harpoon in his hand. He dodges claws and waves, pulls men from falling overboard, and barely manages to keep his own two feet under him.
It takes hours, fighting for survival. He’s lost track of how many men have gone overboard, but a number of them miraculously manage to climb themselves back on deck.
Simon throws his harpoon up to lodge into the side of the crow’s nest, before climbing up the rope stitch, and retrieving his weapon once more. From his vantage point, he has a better chance to aim for an eye. If he can blind this thing, perhaps it will back off and find their scrappy crew not worth the effort, no matter how hungry it is.
Simon holds his harpoon high, steadying himself as best he can, breathes a quiet prayer he only sort of believes in, and throws. It sails across the air with a whistle, and lands with devastating accuracy. The crab monster screams in agony, a claw switching targets from one of Ava’s crewmates to attempt to remove the offending weapon. There are cheers on the deck below Simon, and he grins with victory.
It’s a short lived celebration, however, as the crab blindly swings its other claw and strikes the banister holding Simon aloft. He scrambles for purchase on rope or a sail, even aiming to just land on the deck, but the crab manages to grab ahold of him midair. It clenches down on him painfully, a cry of pain ripping the air from his lungs, as the crab maliciously shoves him under the waves. Water rushes in his open mouth, beside his ears. It surrounds him, consumes him. Even as the crab lets him go, he can’t tell which way is up and which way is down. Not that he is sure he could even pull himself up to the surface. Not with the ocean ravaging around the creature, not with his singular arm, not with his lack of air.
He chokes, panic and dread clawing at his throat.
There is chaos all around him, and yet there is something peaceful to be found in the muted hum of the current. Facing death in the dredges of the sea, the watery grave of many men that Simon has left for dead. It’s fitting. Perhaps he was always meant to end this way, drowning in the ocean he could never conquer, by a crew that never cared for him as one of their own, clutching his mother’s sheath for pushing to swim was pointless. Water fills his lungs, darkness creeps across his vision.
For a moment, before he dies, he thinks he sees a sunset.
-
The sun glares down at him from her high midday perch. The heat prickles at his skin. Warm water laps at his legs. The wind sways the leaves of nearby trees and flowers, a peaceful tranquility in the air.
Simon’s eyes slowly blink open, and he winces at the blinding light.
“Oh, you’re awake! Thank the gods, I was–Simon? Can you hear me?”
He blinks again, a shadow casting over him. Haloed by the light of the sun is a painfully familiar face. Crystal blue eyes welling up with relieved tears. One falls and splashes against his cheek.
“Grace?”
His throat scratches and aches, but the name falls from his lips like the sweetest of music. This can’t be real… But, he’s in far too much pain for him to be dead.
“Simon, thank goodness. Are you feeling okay? I tried… I’m sorry, I did what I could, but I wasn’t sure…”
He slowly sits up with Grace’s help, and faces the siren properly. He looks just the same as when he helped him escape, just as beautiful and precious and real.
He looks down at himself, and assesses his own injuries. There’s bruising along his torso, but he doesn’t feel anything broken. His throat feels weird, though… A hand brushes his neck, and he startles at the foreign sensation. There are slits, he can feel them flutter as he sucks in a shocked breath.
Gills.
He stares at the siren, who gives him an awkward smile, “Uh, sorry. I probably should have asked before I…”
“How?”
“Ah, well, remember when I…” Here he flushes red, and not from a sunburn, “When I kissed you? It was a parting gift, I suppose. You can breathe underwater. Sort of. You have to be careful about it, because they’re not as strong as a siren’s gills. That’s why you were still drowning before, it was too much for them, so I had to pull you out of there. Still, it bought you some time, enough for me to bring you here, and–”
Simon stops him, placing a hand on his arm, “You were there?”
“Yeah, I…” Grace grimaces, “Word travels fast. You’re not far from Eridian territory–Rocky’s people–and we heard word of a sea beast nearby causing havoc. When I was told the name of the human ship under attack, I rushed over as quickly as I could. If I had been a moment later, I–”
Simon cuts him off again, pulling the siren to his chest and clinging on as tightly as he can, “You saved me. Grace, you saved me.”
The siren slowly wraps his arms around him in turn, before fiercely clutching onto the mortal man, “I was so scared that I was too late. You almost… Simon, all I have been thinking about since I escaped was you. I was so worried that something may happen, that you... I-I missed you. So much.”
Simon pulls back just enough to press his lips against Grace’s in a feverish kiss, but not as a parting gift. As a promise.