Chapter Text
The legendary pirate Akivili owed his legend neither to an extraordinary lineage nor to mysteries from a past life.
If you knew him, you’d understand why.
——————
Every pirate knows of the Siren Sea.
Amongst the waves dwell sirens, singing of fortune and joy; beneath the tides lie ships of the dead, fallen silent and low. Every year, new ships sail into the abyss, for each believes the sea will claim another first.
Odysseus sealed his crew’s ears with wax. For himself, he chose rope. Bound fast to the mast of his ship, in sirens’ gaze he hearkened to the song of madness.
“…So please, Captain, tie us up! Nice and tight! We need to hear the sirens!”
Stelle and Caelus each clutched one end of a coil of rope, looking up with the most pitiful expressions they could muster, like two hungry raccoons begging for scraps.
Off to the side, March 7th’s eyes suddenly lit up. Moments later, she was already rummaging for her own length of rope. Welt merely smiled, his notebook readied in hand.
Dan Heng let out a quiet sigh.
“…I’ll sit this one out. Someone has to keep watch. Leave that to me.”
A gloved hand rested atop his head, ruffling the little dragon’s hair. Akivili chuckled.
“You want to hear them too, don’t you? You’ve been buried in A Navigator’s Guide to the Siren Sea for days. Go with the others. I’ll handle the helm myself. Don’t worry—I won’t let anyone fall overboard.”
“But Captain,” Caelus cut in, “you’re the one who wants to hear them most, aren’t you? I saw you on the bow last night, fiddling with a rope for ages.”
A vein twitched on Akivili’s forehead.
“It’s just a chance to hear them sing. You think I’d fight you guys over that? Your captain here spent an entire week in the Siren Sea on my very first voyage.”
The admission earned an awestruck chorus from the entire crew. Even Sunday admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that he wanted to hear how the sirens’ voices compared to his sister’s.
Yet as the ship drew ever closer to those waters, Stelle still couldn’t wrap her head around what she’d just heard.
“But Captain… why did you stay in the Siren Sea for seven whole days? Is it really that fun?”
“Well. My idiot of a captain figured trading his least popular sailor for a chest of jewels was a bargain,” Akivili said lightly. “The sirens really did deliver a staggering fortune. By the time they were arguing over who’d be the fourth to go overboard, a mutiny broke out. The ship struck a reef and went down with everyone aboard.”
With that, he calmly stuffed beeswax into his ears. No matter how loudly the crew exploded with questions, he merely tilted his head, pretending not to hear a thing.
Himeko smiled as she gave the rope around March 7th’s waist one last tug.
“Show danger a little respect, all of you. Save your questions until we’ve left these waters,” she reminded them. “The song isn’t the most dangerous thing about the sirens. Besides…” She brushed off her hands. “Wouldn’t hearing the captain’s story now spoil all the surprises?”
The most dangerous thing about the sirens was temptation.
That was the conclusion Stelle and Caelus reached later that night, clinging to each other in mourning over the glorious golden trash can forever beyond their reach.
The collective wailing of an entire crew denied their heart’s desire rose loud enough to nearly drown out the sirens’ song. Their poor captain—the only soul still free to move, a rope fastened securely around his own waist—was kept busy running from one disaster to the next, barely managing to stop his crew of overgrown children from inventing ever more creative ways to wriggle free.
Only after the ship had safely left the waters haunted by sirens, after the post-concert discussion had finally come to an end, after the crew had drifted off laughing to their cabins, did Akivili at last find a quiet moment alone at the bow.
The night wind carried the salt of the sea.
He let out a quiet sigh.
Passing the Siren Sea without hearing its song was like leaving a tavern sober.
A shame, really.
“The supplies aboard will last another two months,” Akivili murmured to himself. “No need to seek a port just yet.”
“Fresh water awaits on Drowned Bell Isle. We can linger there if need be. They say the bells ring only beneath a certain moon.”
“If the wind holds... fourteen days more, and we’ll sight the coast...”
「Down from the north comes a storm. Keep your course, and into its eye you’ll sail.」
“Mm. Then we’d better skirt Amber Bay instead. The current should keep us mostly on schedule...”
「Amber Bay runs thick with comet fish this tide. Fine eating. Fat with roe.」
“And beautiful, too. Schools of comet fish are rare. March has been talking about seeing them for ages.”
「Why so? Rotten wood they love. Tear free but a few great logs, and forth from Great Goldberg Reef they swarm.」
“That actually sounds perfect. We could make that our next stop—”
Akivili froze.
Halfway through the sentence, he snapped awake from the conversation.
Somehow, half his body was already hanging over the rail. His hands clung on for balance as he found himself staring straight into a pair of eyes gazing up from the waves.
“...Ah?”
Akivili blinked.
The siren tilted its head.
Scarlet-scaled eyelids fluttered once, from bottom to top.
“...Ha!”
Akivili barked a laugh.
He launched himself back across the foredeck, grabbed the coil of rope he'd forgotten to stow that morning, and cinched it into a hard knot around his waist.
Holy shit.
I thought sirens never left the Siren Sea.
Akivili swept a quick glance across the sea.
Nothing about the water was out of place. None of the sudden darkening unique to the Siren Sea, nor the scattered pearlescent foam that drifted upon its surface. Even if the Siren Sea truly wandered with the currents, it moved on the scale of years—not enough to stray from the charts updated only last month. Orion had climbed exactly as it should have by this watch. They were well beyond every recorded siren haunt.
Then why was there a siren here?
A hallucination?
No.
Akivili dismissed the thought at once.
Had he not snapped awake at the last instant, he would already be in the water. During those seven days among the wrecks, he had crossed paths with sirens more times than he cared to count.
That had been a real one.
...
It seemed rather fond of conversation.
His hand brushed the cutlass at his hip, then the flintlock beside it. After checking the rope at his waist once more—its length, its knot—he found himself edging back toward the rail.
The scarlet siren remained in the water.
Perhaps wondering where Akivili had gone, it had drifted closer still. Both hands now rested against the hull. Thin, delicate webs stretched between its sharp-clawed fingers, shimmering faintly beneath the moon.
“How can you leave the Siren Sea? Can sirens just... leave now?” Akivili asked, not expecting much of an answer.
“Aha always can.” The siren answered anyway.
“Can the others do it too?”
“Never asked.” It paused to think, then added earnestly, “Only Aha here. Aha wanted very much to come out and play.”
Akivili laughed again.
“...So your name is Aha? I didn’t know sirens even had names. It’s... a very unusual one.”
“Mm-hm.” The siren beamed. “Everyone who sees me says ‘Ah.’ Then...”
It grinned wider.
“‘Ha.’”
——————
Aha is a most peculiar siren.
Akivili noted the following in the Captain’s Log.
First. It can leave the bounds of the Siren Sea. The reason remains unknown. When questioned, it offered the following explanation:
“Aha always can. Aha wanted very much to come out and play. Everyone else only wanted a little.”
Second. It possesses a remarkable command of human speech and appears unusually fond of conversation. It displays considerable curiosity toward human civilization. If sufficiently engaged in conversation, it may temporarily abandon its original intent to hunt. Whether this behavior is common to all sirens remains unknown.
Third. It is exceedingly fond of sicklehorn whales. It abandoned a conversation midway to pursue one, displaying little regard for human social etiquette.
...
Beyond the bounds of the Siren Sea, the song of a single siren appears insufficient to enthrall an entire crew. Its influence diminishes greatly with distance and is further weakened by noise and large groups.
The creature appears to prefer conversation over song. Such conversation carries a lesser enchantment of its own; prolonged exposure may still lure one toward the rail and, ultimately, into the sea of one’s own accord. Current observations suggest it may be considered young by siren standards: impatient in the hunt, easily distracted, and possessed of little appetite for prolonged pursuit. It must nevertheless be regarded as an extremely dangerous target. Any crew member standing watch alone at night is required to remain secured by a safety line at all times.
...
Should hostile intent become unmistakable, engagement is recommended only while the creature remains clinging to the hull, where its movement is restricted. A close-range flintlock shot to the head remains the preferred method.
The thoracic structure of a siren broadly resembles that of a human. Its lungs, however, have evolved into specialized vocal organs and are not vital. The swim bladder lies roughly one-third down the torso, close against the spine. Rupturing it will severely impair the creature’s balance in the water. Should underwater combat prove unavoidable, this area is to be treated as the primary target.
A dying siren dissolves into sea foam.
Until the foam is seen, never presume a siren dead.
——————
A new rule was added aboard the Trailblazer:
At all times, any work performed on deck must be carried out in pairs or larger groups. Unless absolutely necessary, keep clear of the rail.
Until further notice, Captain Akivili would personally assume all night-watch duties, replacing the previous rotating schedule.
——————
On the second night, Akivili returned to the bow.
Aha did not sing tonight either.
It surfaced, seawater glistening across its face, quiet as a petal afloat upon the tide. When Akivili spotted it, it looked up, gave him a little wave, and smiled.
“We humans generally don’t abandon a conversation halfway through and run off,” Akivili complained. “It’s considered rather rude.”
“Oh.” Aha tilted its head in thought. “Moonhorns very rare. Slip from sight, gone for the night.” It raised both hands, spreading them wide. “Your ship so big. Aha always find it again.”
Akivili couldn’t decide whether to feel honored or terrified.
In the end, curiosity won.
“...Why do you chase Moonhorns?” he asked.
A sicklehorn whale’s curved horn was a valuable spellcasting reagent, said to restore the bloom of youth. Akivili had once recovered one from a treasure chest. He traded it for enough medicinal herbs to see a village through a plague.
“So pretty its moon!” Aha’s eyes lit up. “Moonhorns catch the moon with their curved hook and pull it into the sea. The one I chased yesterday carried it so far! So many fish came. They love the moon too. All the scales lighting up - sparkling stars beneath the waves.”
“That sounds incredible,” Akivili said, trying to picture it. “No human record has ever mentioned such an effect.”
“Didn’t you chase them?” Aha looked genuinely puzzled. “The more excited a Moonhorn is, the prettier its moon becomes. Their tails are very strong, but turn one belly-up and it’ll grow dizzy. Leave it upside down too long, though, and the moon disappears. You have to flip it back at just the right moment. Aha can teach you next time!”
Perhaps dead whales simply weren’t in the mood, Akivili thought, feeling rather awkward.
“If you don’t chase them, each Moonhorn casts only one moon a year.” The siren was still happily rambling on. “If its moon isn’t pretty enough, it won’t attract another Moonhorn. It has to be big, and round too. Enough for another Moonhorn to want to circle it. When the two moons overlap, the Moonhorns overlap too, and then...”
“Wait, wait!” Akivili laughed, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I know what happens next.”
The siren paused.
“You do?”
“...More or less.”
Aha frowned a little.
“But Moonhorns have two...”
“I said I know!”
The siren blinked.
“And they don’t stick them there.”
“Aha!!”
Akivili laughed for quite some time before finally managing to lift his head from the rail.
“...Then where?”
———
On the third night, Aha was astonished by the concept of money.
On the fourth night, Aha was astonished by the concept of borrowing money.
On the fifth night, Aha still insisted that taxes were a very strange way of fishing. Fortunately, pirate ships don’t tend to pay taxes, so Akivili must be a very crafty little fish.
Aha never showed up on the sixth night.
On the seventh night, Aha arrived with a pirate perch.
“This is Nihilux. Sirens’ best friend!” Aha introduced happily.
The perch, perched upon the siren’s shoulder, answered with parrot-like squawks.
“It sneaks into the human world to smuggle back their stories. Never pays taxes!” Aha praised Akivili. “Akivili tells very good stories. Akivili clever like Nihilux!”
———
On the eighth night, Akivili asked Aha why it hardly ever sang.
“Not every siren likes to sing,” Aha explained. “The ones that gather around ships are the Masked Fishers. They love hunting humans, so they’re always practicing their songs and glamour.”
Akivili tapped his fingers against the rail.
“So that’s why the first thing people think of when they hear ‘sirens’ is their song.”
“Fishers are always following ships,” Aha said. “Most sirens actually think humans are noisy.”
Akivili kept his eyes on it, then smiled.
“…How real can glamours become?”
“Very real,” Aha answered casually. “Some become treasure chests. Some become drowning souls. Some take the voices of people you know.”
It fell quiet for a while.
“…The more gifted the siren, the more real their glamour. Those with greater skill draw on your memories until lies look true.” Its scarlet pelvic fins gently rippled the water. “But the strongest Masked Fishers… know exactly what you most want to see.”
Akivili pondered about that.
“These Masked Fishers don’t sound much like ordinary sirens.”
“Of course!” Aha nodded. “That’s why they’re called ‘Masked,’ after all.”
It idly stirred the foam upon the sea as it began counting them off.
“Most are just ordinary sirens. They rarely come near the surface, so humans would not have encountered them much.” It thought for a moment, then added, “There’s also… the Mourning Anglers?”
“The Mourning Anglers?”
“Mm-hm!” Aha’s eyes lit up. “They chum the waters near the Siren Sea. Cook very well, too.”
“Sirens cook?” Akivili asked, genuinely intrigued. “You mean more than raw fish?”
“Of course!” Aha said. “The Anglers even bake cakes. Lots of Oroboros meat. Eat too much and your head gets light, your teeth start itching.”
Before Akivili could pepper Aha with questions about siren cuisine, he asked— with elaborate casualness—
“So… what kind of siren is Aha?”
“Aha is neither,” the siren replied.
“Aha does not lie.”
———
“This is really suspicious,” Stelle said.
“Right? Really suspicious,” March agreed.
“The Baseball Raccoon smells something fishy.” Caelus nodded gravely.
“...The three of you are by far the most suspicious ones here.” Dan Heng had no desire to join the discussion.
“Look.” Stelle began counting on her fingers. “The captain suddenly decided to stand every night watch himself. He’s somehow in a great mood during the day, and today he even started humming. Does that sound like someone who’s been staying up all night? I think the evidence is overwhelming!”
“Maybe he’s dating someone?” March wondered.
“Who? Out here?” Caelus shuddered. “And only at night? What, some ghost in the fog? Don’t tell me it’s a fish. No way!”
“He was miserable yesterday, and now he’s suddenly happy again. Something definitely happened!” Stelle frowned in concentration.
“The captain quite obviously doesn’t want to tell us,” Dan Heng pointed out.
“He’s actually refusing to tell us!” March completely missed the point.
The four of them fell silent.
“...I have absolutely no idea what happened,” Caelus admitted honestly.
“But something happened!” Stelle nodded emphatically.
“He’s definitely hiding something fun from us!”
They declared in perfect unison.
Stelle: “The captain’s been having fun without us!”
Caelus: “Who could tolerate that?!”
March: “Let’s catch him in the act!”
The midnight raid on the captain was approved with remarkable efficiency.
Operation: Tonight!
Sunday hesitated.
“I-I’m part of the raid, too?”
———
While Stelle and Caelus fought over the best crack in the door to peek through, they managed to trip over each other, grab March by the collar in a panic, flatten the ever-retreating Sunday beneath the pile, and send all four of them tumbling straight through the wooden door in one tangled heap.
The captain was already standing there, arms folded, facing the doorway.
“You’d better have an explanation.” Akivili smiled.
The captain’s face was positively overheating. Definitely in love.
———
On the twelfth night, the Trailblazer reached Amber Bay.
The waters of Amber Bay were so clear they were almost transparent. On cloudless days, sunlight reached all the way to the pale platinum sands below, bathing the entire bay in a gentle amber glow.
But when the comet fish gathered after nightfall, amber turned to crystal. In an instant, the dark shoals flared into molten gold, light bursting across the sea like red-hot steel quenched in water, setting the whole bay aglow.
March 7th stood with sketchbook in hand, drawing furiously. The wandering shoals cast flowing radiance into her eyes, until her eyes, too, brimmed with golden luster.
“Those fish are huge. Wonder if they’re any good to eat?” Caelus leaned over the rail, watching the schools circling beneath the water.
“Never tried them,” Akivili replied offhandedly. “Heard they’re full of roe this time of year.”
Himeko threw him a glance, but left no comment.
Dan Heng wore a rare smile. “If everyone’s curious, I can dive in and catch a few—”
“Stay away from the water!” Akivili blurted out.
The words left his mouth before he realized his mistake. He let out an awkward laugh.
“I mean... it’s not every day you get to see something like this. Catching them outright would spoil the fun. Why don’t we have a fishing contest instead?”
The proposal won everyone’s approval almost immediately. Before long, eight fishing rods stood neatly lined along the rail, each baited with something different.
When Dan Heng’s meticulously perfected comet-fish-specific bait came back empty for the fourth time, Caelus had already reeled in two comet fish with Golden Trash Bags. He and Stelle were soon arguing over whether trading a fish for Stellar Jades was worth it.
“It’s a limited banner that can never lose the 50/50,” Caelus pointed out.
That settled the argument.
March 7th had one leg hooked around the rod holder, both hands still busy sketching, when a strike suddenly yanked her sideways.
Welt reacted instantly, catching the rod before it could slip away.
“Easy,” he said with a smile. “When you’re fighting a big fish, the last thing you want is to fight it right away. Let it make its run first. Once it tires...”
The comet fish suddenly burst forward. The line screamed off the reel.
Welt quietly cranked the handle twice.
“Then you reel it in slowly. Don’t rush. The important thing is not to give up control...”
The comet fish wholeheartedly agreed, immediately making another explosive run. The rod bent into a perfect crescent as Welt had no choice but to let out line again.
“Ahem. Try to keep the initiative. Don’t think about hauling it in all at once. Fishing rewards patience...”
The comet fish entered a death roll.
“...Of course, one should always adapt to circumstances.”
March hugged her sketchbook, nodding enthusiastically.
“Mhm! Mhm!”
“So, the key to fishing is—”
Welt had yet to settle on a proper conclusion to his lesson when the rod beside him twitched.
Himeko raised an eyebrow.
The red-haired lady simply sipped her coffee and reeled at an unhurried, steady pace.
Before long, a comet fish slid all the way onto the deck. It had scarcely struggled the entire time, giving only the occasional feeble flick of its tail. A faint brownish foam gathered around its mouth.
“Himeko!” March’s attention instantly shifted. “That’s amazing! How did you do that?!”
“Who knows?” Himeko took another sip of coffee. “Perhaps my bait has a secret ingredient?”
A sudden commotion erupted along the starboard rail.
Something enormous had taken Stelle’s bait. Her rod slammed flat against the water as line tore off the reel.
“Don’t horse it!” Akivili barely had time to shout before Stelle was dragged bodily toward the stern.
Caelus clung desperately to her waist as the two of them stumbled wildly across the deck, the taut fishing line carving a sharp arc through the air.
At the stern, Sunday had just looked up from his own fishing when the whistling line came straight at him.
Tssst—
The two lines crossed for the briefest instant.
Then they tangled.
The enormous force split cleanly in two.
Sunday’s rod lurched violently downward. He instinctively tightened his grip, only to stagger as the sudden pull nearly tore him off his feet.
By the time Stelle had been dragged halfway over the rail, Caelus was still wrapped around her legs, yelling, “Don’t let it get away, Sis!” Sunday’s expression sharpened.
“The Trailblaze knows it attempts the impossible. By this decree, it shall be ended!”
。
Stelle and Caelus sat on the deck clutching their rods with the severed lines dangling from them, wailing into each other’s shoulders.
Welt quietly returned to his chair and cast his line back into the sea.
He glanced at the fishing lines tangled across the deck and the baskets that had rolled everywhere, then smiled and shook his head.
“I’m afraid the one that got away will only grow bigger in your memories.”
Akivili picked up the rod he had abandoned earlier. He tried to hold it in, but couldn’t resist.
“Oho. Looks like your limited banner was a bust.”
The Stellaron gremlins wailed even louder.
“It was stronger than me. That fish had to be at least three meters long...” Stelle wiped at her tears.
“With both of us pulling together, it had to be five meters or more...” Caelus was inconsolable.
“According to the field guide, adult comet fish are generally around fifty centimeters long. Anything over seventy is already extremely rare...” Dan Heng attempted to offer some comfort.
Akivili’s rod suddenly twitched.
The captain calmly lifted the rod and began reeling in. After a textbook-perfect display of professional technique, he successfully landed the largest fish of the night.
Akivili: “Ooh, a five-star!”
Himeko: “Looks to be about eighty centimeters!”
Stelle cried even harder.
March lowered her brush, beginning to feel a little sorry for her.
“Shh, quiet,” Akivili said, barely hiding his amusement. “My bobber’s moving again~”
。
The second comet fish soon joined the first in the basket. Apparently, fish could grow bigger in real life too.
The smile on Akivili’s face faded a little.
The third plump comet fish took the hook with uncanny precision almost the instant it touched the water.
Akivili’s smile vanished altogether.
Guiltily, he edged toward the rail and slowly lowered his gaze, reluctant to face what awaited him below.
Right where the hook had entered the water, a long, slender tail flashed beneath the churning surface. Even amid the glittering sea of burning gold formed by the school of comet fish, its scarlet remained brazenly vivid and utterly unmistakable.
The sea breeze carried March’s attempts at consolation across the deck, mingled with Stelle’s breathless sobs.
“Captain—the captain must have cheated…”
A bead of cold sweat slid down Akivili’s forehead.
He made the immediate decision to forfeit his ill-gotten catch.
When the large fish on his hook surged again and the taut line began to hum, Akivili lowered the tip of his rod—but deliberately reacted half a beat too late. He made no attempt to reel in during the opening as the fish turned, instead letting it carry the line farther and farther away.
Before long, the taut line abruptly went slack. All resistance from the other end ceased.
Akivili breathed a sigh of relief and slowly began reeling it back in.
“Oh no, it got aw—”
His carefully prepared line about the fish escaping died the instant the hook broke the surface.
Hanging from it was a comet fish with both eyes rolled back, peacefully and thoroughly unconscious. Its belly was swollen with roe, nearly bursting, and a distinct dent marked the top of its head, as though someone had punched it very, very hard.
Akivili: “…”
Himeko leaned over for a look and gave a meaningful little “Oh.”
“Did our captain secretly steal my bait recipe too? ^_^” she asked with a soft laugh.
Akivili fled the scene.
Leaving behind the immortal words, “Such is the loneliness of an unrivaled master,” the captain got to his feet and slunk off toward the stern.
Alone before the sea, he hesitated, reconsidered, then reconsidered his reconsideration. Beneath the nearly transparent water, the golden shoals streamed through the rippling light. The shimmer on the waves merged with the stars overhead, until the entire ship rested suspended in a flowing galaxy.
Before long, a glistening face eased above the surface, its beautiful red eyes fixed on him alone.
The star-filled sky shimmered in their depths.
Akivili couldn’t help but smile.
———
The thirteenth night fell clear.
The previous night’s contest had yielded such a bounty that the entire crew spent the day processing the catch.
Welt slowly simmered the fish bones into a rich, milky-white stock. Lightly seasoned with salt and pepper, the broth was astonishingly savory. Comet fish had fine, pearly-white flesh and scarcely any pin bones; a brief swirl through the hot broth was enough to cook it through. It was so tender that it barely needed chewing, and each bowl left them warm from head to toe.
Akivili also decided to show off his cooking for once, turning his comet fish—the one nearly a meter long—into a Peganan specialty.
The pot brimmed with tender fish coated in a thick, glossy sauce. Even the skin had braised down to a soft, sticky richness that clung to the lips. The golden roe was dense and luscious, each bead bursting at the lightest press of the tongue, its deep savor mingling with the sea’s faint, distinctive sweetness. By the end, even the last of the sauce had been fought over.
Before serving the dish, he had deliberately set aside the finest bowl in a watertight food container. Now he carried it out onto the empty deck, where its fragrance unfurled into the night air.
Just tonight, perhaps there would be no harm in getting a little closer to the water...
Akivili considered the idea with cheerful ease.
A faint glimmer appeared in the distance.
Akivili raised his telescope and peered through it.
It was a small wooden boat, the sort used as an emergency lifeboat, tossed nearly to pieces by the open-ocean swells. The man aboard was dressed in rags, with a wild, unkempt beard; he looked as though he had been adrift for days.
The moment he spotted the Trailblazer, he lurched excitedly to his feet. He waved both arms and shouted, the crashing waves swallowing his words, though there was no mistaking his plea for help.
Akivili had barely begun to turn for a rescue line when he noticed that the water around the little boat had somehow gone still.
The distant sea still heaved beneath the night, yet the little boat lay in perfect stillness, as though cut away from the tide. Beneath the hull, the darkness deepened by degrees.
The man was still waving desperately.
...Something passed beneath the surface.
It was not a school of fish.
The shadow was too vast, and far too quiet. It prowled beneath the surface with terrible calm, and inch by inch, the sea lost its color.
A siren’s face rose from the shadowed water, pale as a corpse, red as a kiss.
Aha smiled, baring rows of serrated teeth.
It grinned wider. The grin split its fair face all the way to the ears.
“Ah—!” The man let out one short scream.
——!
The siren sheared through his throat.
The man who had been alive only an instant before lost his head. His lungs, not yet stilled, forced one last breath up through the severed windpipe; amid torn tendons, jutting vertebrae, and the pulsing ends of ruptured vessels, it bloomed into a single soft, red bubble.
Across the long, heaving stretch of black water, through the deafening roar of his own heartbeat, Akivili heard the bubble burst with perfect clarity.
“Ha.”