The words lingered in the water.
"…Like mom."
No one moved.
The currents themselves seemed to still, as though the sea had paused to listen — and now refused to breathe again.
Around them, the gathered sirens stood frozen. Weapons remained half-lowered, forgotten in their hands. A Velaric near the edge of the circle shifted instinctively, his grip tightening on his spear, eyes scanning the ruins as if expecting something to answer the boy's voice.
The General Velaric's posture hardened first.
His pupils narrowed into thin slits, predatory instinct overtaking discipline. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head, sweeping his gaze across the shattered village. Every broken archway. Every dark opening between ruined structures. Every drifting shadow.
Nothing moved.
That frightened him more.
A Haelar siren inhaled sharply beside him, the sound trembling despite clear effort to suppress it. Another siren took a slow step backward before catching herself, ashamed of the reflex.
Fear spread quietly — not panic, not chaos.
Something worse.
Understanding.
Chalisse did not speak.
Her eyes remained on the boy, but her thoughts had already fractured outward.
Like mom.
The words struck deeper than any report or evidence she had gathered.
Not a predator.
Not a beast.
Something that knew voices.
Something that understood love.
For the briefest moment, an image forced itself into her mind — Yve's laughter, Ysa's warm hug, the sound of her own voice calling them home across familiar waters.
Her chest tightened.
What would they do… if they heard her calling?
Her fingers trembled before she realized it. The blade formed from water in her hand flickered faintly, its surface rippling with instability before she forced it still.
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.
Chieftess.
Mother.
Leader.
The roles collided inside her, none willing to yield.
In front of her, Eren's breathing began to break apart — shallow pulls of water through trembling gills. His small hands clenched tighter around his arms as though trying to hold himself together.
Then it collapsed into a sob.
It came suddenly, violently — a raw sound torn from somewhere too deep for language. His body folded inward as grief finally overwhelmed whatever fragile control had kept him upright.
The gathered sirens looked away.
Some lowered their heads.
Others stared outward into the ruins, unable to witness the sound of a child breaking.
Chalisse moved without thinking.
She reached forward slowly, placing a hand against the boy's back. He flinched at first, then leaned into her as though gravity itself had given out beneath him.
His sobs grew louder, uneven, desperate.
Chalisse drew him gently closer, one arm wrapping around his shoulders, shielding him against her chest. Her other hand rested at the back of his head, steady and warm.
She said nothing.
There were no words large enough.
Her gaze lifted past the boy, drifting across the destroyed village — broken homes, silent streets, lives erased in a single night.
Then farther still.
Across leagues of ocean.
Toward Reefville.
Toward her children.
The weight settled fully upon her then — not fear for herself, but calculation layered over dread. Every decision from this moment forward would determine whether this horror stopped here… or reached her home next.
Her jaw tightened.
Behind her, the General Velaric finally spoke, his voice low enough not to disturb the boy.
"…Chieftess."
He did not ask a question.
He did not need to.
What stood before them was no longer rumor, nor theory.
It was hunting.
Chalisse closed her eyes briefly, holding the sobbing child as the cold water pressed around them.
Eren's sobs slowly weakened, fading into uneven breaths against Chalisse's shoulder.
For several moments, she remained still, allowing him the safety of silence. The ruined village drifted around them, cold and watchful.
Then Chalisse opened her eyes.
The hesitation was gone.
Not the fear — that remained, buried deep — but the paralysis had passed. Discipline settled back into her posture like armor reforged.
Carefully, she loosened her hold and guided the boy upright. "It's alright," she said softly, her voice steady again. "You're safe."
She lifted a hand and motioned toward one of the nearby Haelars. A young siren stepped forward immediately, bowing her head.
"Take him," Chalisse instructed gently. "Stay with him at all times."
The Haelar nodded and knelt beside Eren, speaking in quiet reassurance as she guided him away from the gathering.
Chalisse watched until the boy was safely supported.
Only then did she turn.
The General Velaric stood waiting, rigid and composed, though tension lingered in every line of his frame. The surrounding warriors looked toward her as one, awaiting direction.
"Chieftess…" he said. "What are your orders?"
The question settled heavily in the water.
Chalisse allowed herself one final glance at the shattered village — at the broken homes, the drifting remnants of lives interrupted too violently to comprehend.
Her voice, when she spoke, carried calm authority. "We cannot remain here any longer," she said. "And we cannot continue forward either."
The sirens listened in absolute silence.
"This place is no longer secure. Whatever did this may return… or may never have truly left."
A faint ripple of unease moved through the ranks.
Chalisse continued, firm and decisive. "Gather the deceased. All of them. We will honor their passing and grant them proper rites." Her gaze hardened slightly. "A brief funeral. We do not linger."
The General bowed his head once. "Understood."
She inhaled slowly before giving the final command. "We take the Chief and the boy back to Reefville with us. They will not remain here."
Her eyes lifted toward the distant currents — toward home. "Once we return safely," she said, quieter now but no less resolute, "I will decide our next course of action."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then the General turned sharply. "You heard the Chieftess," he commanded. "Recover the fallen. Form burial lines. Move."
The convoy sprang into motion, sirens dispersing through the ruins with solemn urgency.
Chalisse remained where she stood, watching them go.
~~~
The Grand Hall felt heavier than before.
The currents barely moved, as though even the water refused to disturb the dead.
Chalisse slowed as she entered.
The Chief remained where she had left him.
He sat on the stone floor, unmoving, surrounded by silence. His wife lay before him, her hair drifting softly in the water. One hand moved through it again and again in slow, careful strokes, smoothing invisible tangles.
He hummed under his breath.
A lullaby.
Soft. Gentle. Broken only by uneven breaths.
His two sons rested across his tail, positioned as though asleep. From time to time, he shifted his hand — brushing one child's cheek, then the other — patient, tender movements meant for the living.
There were no tears left.
His eyes were empty of them.
Empty of almost everything.
Chalisse hesitated at the doorway before forcing herself forward.
Each movement felt intrusive, wrong, like stepping into sacred grief. "Chief…" she said quietly.
No response.
She moved closer, extending a careful hand toward his shoulder. "Chief—"
His head snapped toward her.
"HANDS OFF MY FAMILY."
The words tore through the hall — low, sharp, and wrong.
Not shouted.
Growled.
His voice dropped into something deeper, colder, edged with instinct.
Chalisse froze instantly.
Scales began spreading along his neck, dark patterns surfacing beneath the skin. They climbed toward his jaw and temples, catching faint light as they formed. His pupils narrowed into thin slits, gaze locking onto her with animal intensity.
The water around him trembled.
His posture shifted — protective, coiled, predatory.
Not like a grieving father anymore.
But a creature guarding its kill.
Chalisse slowly lowered her hand, palms open, posture non-threatening.
"I won't," she said calmly, her voice steady despite the tension tightening through her chest. "I won't touch them."
The Chief's breathing grew heavier. Energy rippled through his frame, muscles tightening as if preparing to strike. The lullaby had stopped; only silence remained, thick and dangerous.
For a moment, it seemed he no longer recognized her.
Only an intruder.
Chalisse did not move closer.
She softened her voice instead, careful and grounded. "They are safe," she said gently. "No one will take them from you."
His gaze flickered — uncertainty breaking through the fury for a fraction of a second.
The scales along his face remained flared, but his shoulders trembled now, the rage struggling against exhaustion.
Chalisse held her ground, unmoving, allowing the moment to pass without pressure.
The Chief did not look away.
Not once.
His eyes followed her with relentless precision — thin, slitted pupils faintly glowing beneath the spreading scales. Siren eyes were always sharp beneath the sea, naturally predatory.
But this was different.
This gaze did not watch.
It hunted.
A cold awareness crawled along Chalisse's spine. Every instinct told her that one wrong movement — one sudden motion — could turn grief into violence.
Slowly, carefully, she stepped back, hands still raised in a calming gesture. "Chief…" she said softly, keeping her voice steady. "I only came to tell you… we will begin preparing the burial rites."
No reaction.
Only that stare.
Unblinking.
"I hope," she continued gently, choosing each word with care, "you will allow your family to rest. We will honor them properly. They deserve an honorable memorial."
The Chief's expression did not soften.
His gaze remained locked onto hers, breath slow and heavy through bared teeth.
Chalisse swallowed quietly before continuing. "And after the rites… you will come with us to Reefville. You will receive treatment there."
A pause.
"Where you will be safe."
The word landed like a strike.
The Chief's growl rose instantly, low and vibrating through the water.
"SAFE?"
The scales surged farther across his face, spreading like dark armor. His voice deepened into something rough and distorted, each word dragged out like a threat forced through clenched teeth.
"NOWHERE IS SAFE."
The hall seemed to shrink around them.
"MY FAMILY DIED… BECAUSE I BELIEVED IT WAS SAFE TO HIDE THEM HERE."
The words were not spoken — they were torn free, thick with fury and despair. His voice carried an unnatural weight, something ancient and feral pressing beneath it, making the sound feel less like speech and more like a warning.
Slowly, he pushed himself upward.
Muscles tensed. His body tried to rise.
But the damaged tail betrayed him.
Balance failed.
His form lurched violently to one side.
For a brief, dangerous second, frustration flashed across his face — sharp enough to ignite another surge of rage — before his strength faltered. He staggered, unable to fully stand, one hand slamming against the stone floor to keep himself upright.
The predatory energy flickered, unstable.
Chalisse did not rush forward.
Every instinct screamed to help him — but she held herself still.
Helping now could be seen as aggression.
Instead, she lowered her voice further, grounding it with quiet authority.
"You are right," she said.
The words cut cleanly through the tension.
His eyes twitched slightly, surprise breaking through the fury.
"Nowhere is completely safe," Chalisse continued. "Not anymore."
She took one careful step closer — slow enough that he could track every movement.
"But you are not alone in this loss."
Her gaze softened, though her posture remained firm.
"And you do not have to guard them by yourself anymore."
Silence stretched between them.
The Chief's breathing grew uneven, the rage struggling against exhaustion, grief, and pain. The glow in his eyes flickered — not gone, but wavering.
Chalisse held the Chief's gaze a moment longer before speaking again, her voice quiet but firm.
"We will wait for you outside," she said. "You are still the Chief of this village. I have no authority to begin the funeral rites without your consent."
The Chief gave no answer.
He did not move.
His eyes returned slowly to his family, fingers brushing through his wife's hair as if nothing else existed.
Chalisse inclined her head in silent respect, then turned and swam away.
~~~
The center of the village had become a place of grim labor.
Sirens moved in coordinated silence, currents swirling as Velarics carved into the seabed. Sand and broken coral lifted aside, forming a vast burial hollow — deep enough to hold the fallen together.
Bodies rested along the perimeter, laid carefully in rows rather than piled. Each had been straightened, fins folded, eyes closed by gentle hands.
Chalisse approached the General Velaric, who stood overseeing the work, issuing quiet commands. "How many?" she asked.
The general did not soften the truth. "Approximately one hundred and sixty deceased."
Chalisse's jaw tightened slightly. "How many share the same cause of death as Haugen?"
The general glanced toward the arranged bodies before answering. "Four confirmed." A pause. "Five… if we include the Chief's son."
Chalisse frowned faintly. "Five? Only five out of a hundred?"
Her gaze swept across the devastation, calculations already forming behind her eyes.
She fell silent for a moment, thinking. "This village houses at least five hundred residents," she said at last. "Where are the rest?"
The general hesitated — an uncommon uncertainty from him. "We cannot confirm," he admitted. "Our assumption is that some fled… others hid." His voice lowered slightly. "Or were taken."
The words lingered heavily between them.
Chalisse's expression hardened. "How many attackers do you estimate?"
"Without proper examination," the general replied, "any number would be speculation."
Chalisse nodded once, already shifting into decision. "We cannot transport all of the deceased back to Reefville," she said. "And we cannot bury ignorance with them either."
Her gaze moved toward the ruins scattered around them.
"Deploy a Resonance Scanner."
The general straightened slightly. "You wish to conduct post-mortem readings?"
"Yes," Chalisse said. "Search the debris, the morgue, the Grand Hall, the Care Home. There should be at least one intact scanner."
She gestured toward the bodies.
"Scan each victim. Record physical trauma, wound patterns, every broken bone. Do not miss a single detail."
The general nodded immediately. "At once, Chieftess."
"And when the scans are complete," Chalisse added, her voice quieter now, "we bring the device back to Yve. She will analyze the readings herself."
Understanding flickered across the general's face.
~~~
A few hours later, five sirens emerged from the Grand Hall. One gently assisted the Chief, while the others carried the bodies: his wife and each of his sons. The grief had left its mark, but the predatory scales had receded, leaving him human once more.
"Gently… place him beside his mother," the Chief murmured, his voice trembling with exhaustion.
Chalisse swam forward and offered a simple, respectful nod. She said nothing; words felt inadequate in the face of such loss.
The Chief turned his gaze toward the grave site. The lined bodies, the enormous pit, the sheer scale of death—it pressed down on him like the weight of the ocean. Trembling slightly, he felt every pang of guilt, every failure, every responsibility he had borne as the protector of this village.
The Haelar siren who had been caring for Eren guided the boy toward him.
"Eren?" the Chief's voice cracked, hope flickering in his eyes.
The moment the boy came close, the Chief dropped to his knees and enveloped him in his arms, holding him as if he were his own son. "I'm so glad you're alive," he whispered, voice thick with relief and sorrow.
Eren's tears flowed silently at first, then he began to sob quietly, clinging to the Chief as best he could. The Chief had lost his sons, and yet here was a small measure of life in the boy who had survived. And Eren, having lost his parents, found in the Chief a flicker of safety, of care.
===========================
Author's Note;
The Chief's regression into a feral state was one of the first ideas I had for this world. For me, it's the most terrifying thing about being a siren, not the beasts in the deep, but the beast you might become when the deep breaks you.