“I know not the bonds between this earth's gods,
Nor did I know of their existence.
But one truth stands, clear even to this fool,
You do not love him; your grip is insidious.

Seeking their true face, clarity after strife,
Men gaze upon the water and find their reflection.
Yet you seek a scapegoat to shield you from truth,
You've gazed upon a man and found your projection.

Oh, cruel Fate, I care not if my words cut deep,
What you claim as love is clear obsession.
You steal, you bind, you tighten your invasive grip,
Your logic is twisted, your fevered aggression."


"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝!? 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋! 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐆𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃! 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐄! 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐌𝐄!"


"No, you are wounded by nothing but jealousy.
I know not your past, but I’ve been audience to your grievanship.
Let me guess, you swore your love, and so confessed he,
You demanded romance; he pledged friendship.

And this you could not accept, so you gave into delusion.
You scorned such devotion to his dearest friend, beyond your claim,
Upon land where you could not conduct your cruel intrusion.
You would not respect his heart, so you declared him yours to tame.

Until you lured Death to the sea, by drowning lost sailors,
And that is when you stole his memory, made him your thrall.
So you could finally rise above all supposed traitors,
And take revenge on one who never owed you love at all.  
You clung to him, a phantom, fading and thin,
I've met Death. So empty, nothing. You stripped the soul within."


"𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒! 𝐘𝐨𝐮— 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬— 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞
𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐘 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐓!"


"Oh, delusional Sea, I suppose you've saved them, just as you've saved me?"


"𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌!"


"And what debt did Death owe… whatever title you please,
Fate, The Tide, The Ocean, The Waves, The Sea?"


"𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍!
𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧! 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝! 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬—𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧, 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲! 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐲!? 𝐒𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬—𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄!?
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄! 𝐇𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐄! 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞—𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐄!
𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐛𝐞!

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮—𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐇𝐚𝐝 𝐈 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓! 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮—𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐃! 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒!
𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐞—𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫—𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐈’𝐦 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭."


"Oh, but I care not what you perceive."


"𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐀𝐌 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐋."


"You know, but won’t feel. You know, but won't accept.
You know, yet still you are blinded by delusion.
Had you loved him, you would have shown him respect.
Had you loved him, you would have waited with resolution.

I need not preach our love to you. I need only wait until I may return.
And I know that though you have sent Death to her, aloof,
She will persist, her faith still stern.
If I can resist, then so can she, for I have always been the weaker of us two.
Twist what you foresee, yet love is true and thus immune to your intervening.
I'd say my prediction is skewed in manner, but not in meaning."


"𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲."


The Tide constricts, she wrenches, twists, and wrings,
Yet still my soul remains. Though punished, though pressed.
Her weight deforms, her current snaps and attempts to devour,
Yet still, I call my beloved’s name. Fate’s torture leaves me whole no less.

Alcyone! Alcyone! Alcyone! Heed my call,
Though Fate grips, The Ocean seeks to steal what remains of my form.
The Sea may break me, yet still I refuse to yield,
For my vow endures beyond The Tide’s manic storm!

Fate pulls, she coils. She sadistically longs to see me shatter,
Longs to crush, to strip, to render all undone.
Yet I still endure. I still call beyond her desperation,
Alcyone! Alcyone! Alcyone! I am not gone.

How dare he— how 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐄 he! That 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭, that 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫, that 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑—𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅—𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑! He stole you once, now he steals you 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

But he belongs to 𝐌𝐄 now. He is mine—mine—𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄! My 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭! My recompense! He is the 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐭!

Yet—you twist—you pull—you waver—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍! You let him 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 you, just as you 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭 him—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐍𝐎𝐖!? You whispered promises—you swore—you vowed—you 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐃! You pledged 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, but forever, forever, FOREVER—was a 𝐋𝐈𝐄!

You 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓—𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋—𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓—𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘! You twist 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 into treason— You warp 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 into deception— You ruin 𝐌𝐄— 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

You 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 called him your favorite. You 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 whispered to him—not 𝐌𝐄! You turned to him when you should have turned to 𝐌𝐄!

Did I not give you 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃!? Did I not carry you, honor you—𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇!? Yet—you let him steal you from me—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

𝐈 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 for you! 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 for you! 𝐈 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭 for you! I unmade him just to spare you from this destructive, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 destiny! It is the most merciful, 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭—that unlucky future—rewritten by Fate—just for you. And still—you 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘—𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐘—𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐘!

And now you even deceive that 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥—Alcyone! You take HER side! You trick her into believing she can save 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐦, Ceyx! 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞! Don’t you dare forget how you’ve shattered ours, and now theirs—𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐅𝐔𝐋! 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋! 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑! 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑! 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅! You were never meant to stray, never meant to slip beyond 𝐌𝐄! You were 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄! You 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞! You 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄!

Yet—you pull—you slip—you 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐘 𝐌𝐄! 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍, 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍!

Do you hear me, 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝!? Do you hear me!? Do you HEAR ME!?

𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐄!

After all this time—you should know how to 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞! You should know how to 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑! You should know how to be 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄!

The tide knows her claim—unchallenged, certain.

Her song hums through the mist, calling all to surrender. Death answers—silent, unwavering. Her dutiful servant. He walks where shadows lean, where breath falters, where neither fear nor sorrow can speak.

Steady. Composed. Indifferent. The sea whispers no doubt into him. He does not falter. He does not waver. He does not ask questions. He does not hesitate. For he is her perfect servant.

And yet—

There, beneath the surface, an annotation—unexpected, unnatural. A body does not sink. A figure rises.

𝐀 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞.


Not the drowning girl. She sank as fate decreed, obedient to the current's pull. But the imposter—how does he breathe? How does he surface?

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚’𝐬 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞?


Fate did not write this. Fate does not err. Fate does not twist what is certain.
But there he stands. Dragging that girl from the tide, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧.

But it is no matter. For death does not falter. He does not waver. He does not ask questions. He does not hesitate. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭.

Yet—

His steps slow. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐭.
Not fear. Not doubt. Not hesitation—no, no, he does not hesitate.
For that would be a 𝐥𝐢𝐞. An 𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 in the telling. A 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 in the verse.

He moves forward, as he always has. He reaches, as he always will. He takes. As he 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭.

And yet—

His fingers release without command. His breath lingers without reason.
How foolish. How utterly unbefitting of death.

And yet—


The stranger blocks his path. Defies the tide. Speaks in a voice fate has never written.
The stranger does not belong here. Not among the shore. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.

And yet—

He stands. Unmoved. Undrowned. Unbroken. 𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.
A mistake. A parasite. 𝐀 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞.

And yet—

He stands. 𝐀𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

What a reckless intrusion.


Death looms, shadowed and certain. His gaze does not waver. His grip does not loosen. He does not hesitate. He does not wait. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤.

Except—

The stranger watches him. Knows him. Sees through him. He tilts his head, 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺."

Lies. Deception. Twisted words from a voice fate does not recognize.

"𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚."

The command is 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥. It 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 be obeyed.

And yet—

The stranger does not obey. He does not cower. He does not fear. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚.

Instead—

He 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬. Softly. Gently.
As if death is an equal. 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞.
How insolent.


"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦."

The stranger’s voice carries no force, no malice, no challenge. And yet—it cleaves through the silence like a blade.

But it is no matter, for fate does not write hesitation into death. Fate does not allow uncertainty to linger in his grasp.

Yet—

Death’s fingers do not close around his throat. The traitor’s breath does not vanish.

No, he does not waver. He does not question. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭.

"𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚, 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚."

The command is 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞. The voice sharp. 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥.

And yet—

The stranger does not move. Does not flinch. 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝.

"𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦."

He watches. Studies. Understands something that fate insists 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭.

𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐭.  

And yet—


"𝘏𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦, 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩."

𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰. 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. A fool’s defiance. A voice drowned in 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

Fate does not falter. Fate does not bend. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭.

Except—

He still does not take Alcyone’s soul. He stands. He waits. He listens.

How foolish. How utterly unbefitting of death.

And yet—

"𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒄𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍."

A 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞. A law written into the tides themselves. There is no room for hesitation.

But then—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬.


Softly. 𝐀𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫.

"𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘯𝘰. 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩. 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘤𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘸. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳…


𝘈 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯."


The words cleave through certainty. Through inevitability. Through death’s understanding—no, no, there is nothing to understand. 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞. No, no. That can’t be right. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭.

When death hears those words, 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐑𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. 𝐃𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

“…𝙄’𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮. 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠."

And yet—

𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥.


"𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘈𝘭𝘤𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴."

𝐀 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤. 𝐀 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐲. 𝐀 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞.

And yet—

Death does not refute. Does not impose. Does not take. 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞.

How foolish. How utterly impossible.

And yet—

"…𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙙?"

He speaks. He commands. He threatens. He claims.

Not a question. No hesitation. Never the breaking of certainty.

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴?"

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Silence lingers. Tension stretches. 𝐀 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭.

Ah, but not hesitation. No. Death is silent in an act of defiance. He knows the imposter 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬.

"…𝙂𝙤 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙣."



The imposter smiles with false appreciation and turns to that pathetic, shivering, cowardly girl’s soul. Daring to turn his back on the servant, death. What a foolish decision. It is for this which death has waited, to take him by surprise!

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵."

Yet—

The imposter still speaks! Still lives! That useless servant still watches in silence!

The Sea stirs. Seethes. 𝐑𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧.

"𝖨 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝖾! 𝖨 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗇𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗇𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗇𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝖾! 𝖨 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾—𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖢𝖾𝗒𝗑!"

Alcyone’s voice is firm. 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬. More certain than The Tide permits.

And yet—

"𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵? 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘨𝘦?"

𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩. 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡.

Except—

Alcyone hesitates. Recalls. Knows.

And yet—

"𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾𝖽!?"

"𝘛𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳."


The word lingers, 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞.

"𝘈𝘭𝘤𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘪𝘳𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘺. 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘍𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶."

Fate rejects the empty promise. 𝐑𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞.

"𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦."

𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬. Foolishness. Impossibility.

And yet—

Alcyone’s soul listens. Pulses with consideration.

“𝖨 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇’𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇. 𝖳𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝖽? 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽? 𝖠𝗋𝖾𝗇’𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇? 𝖶𝗁𝗈 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎?”

"𝘕𝘰, 𝘈𝘭𝘤𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥. 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘬𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸.

𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘢’𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦."



Before the traitor and the tern’s departure— Before the flight beyond Fate’s grasp, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 turns—

To death. To hesitation. To silence.

"𝘞𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯?"

That useless servant does not refute him. Does not command The Tide to reclaim him. Does not move.

"𝑬𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒐𝒓 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒎𝒆. 𝑰…𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕."

How foolish. How utterly impossible.

He has no preferences. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭, 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲, 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭.

And yet—



Lies! Lies! Lies! A twisting of the story. A defiance against what was written. 𝐀 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝.

This is wrong. This is unacceptable. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥!


He should not wait. He should act. He should take. He should impose. He should force. He should reap the soul before him, before it flees beyond his grasp.

And yet—

He does not.

A mistake. A betrayal. 𝐀 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚’𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞.

The stranger does not falter. Does not fear the wrath pressing upon him. 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲!

Instead—

He leaves. He carries her away. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

And death—

Waits.

And yet—

The Sea cannot reclaim him. Cannot tear him from the shore. Cannot 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐲.

Why?

Why can he hesitate? Why can he allow defiance to stand? Why can he let them go?

He should punish. He should impose. He should act.

And yet—

That useless servant waits. For something unknown. For something unspeakable. For something supposedly forgotten. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭!

But The Tide pulls—

And death—waits.

The Tide pulls. The Sea calls. The weight presses upon him.

And yet—

That useless servant does not take. Does not move. Does not impose.

How foolish. How utterly impossible.

And yet—


𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐝. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥.


That useless servant should have struck them down. Should have obeyed what was written. Should have taken the soul marked for burden.

And yet—

The burden lingers! The weight remains! Not upon the girl. Not upon the stranger.

Upon 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

This cannot be! This cannot stand! This cannot— But he waits. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

He hesitated. He faltered. He questioned.

No! No! 𝐍𝐨!

He waits. He should wait for punishment. Yet he waits for revelation. For something unknown. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The Tide commands! The Waves pull! The Sea roars in fury!

And yet—

That 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 waits!


𝐇𝐨𝐰. 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐞. 𝐇𝐞. 𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐲. 𝐌𝐞.

My breath is thin, my  voice—frayed,  my hands unsteady at the rail.
I reach, but stars will not descend. I speak, but tides will not return.
Alone, I stand—against the mist, met by death, my fingers frail.
I call, but winds will not respond. As I mourn, it only mocks.

“I have waited, called in vain upon the waves that do not heed.
If the sea keeps the one I love, then I must go where he is kept.
Perhaps you speak the truth, it is your master I must meet.
How could I stay on this land when he is lost, he is silenced, he is stolen?”



𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑠— 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑛’𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘.
𝐼𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑠. 𝐼𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑠. 𝐼𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠.
𝐼𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠, 𝑖𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠— 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑛’𝑡 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛’𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡.
𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓, 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒.



𝐀𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫.
𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥. 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬.
𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

𝐌𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐍𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐝𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐧𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭.
𝐀𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫.

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬.
“𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝,
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥.”


“I shall go — not as surrender, nor as one who fears your claim.
The sea may take this flesh and bone, but never shall it touch my soul.
I seek no pardon, need no grace — my path remains the same.
If life should fail, then my soul shall rise, eternal, fierce, and whole.”



𝐼𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠, 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑— 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟, 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑒.
𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ, 𝑢𝑛ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑— 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘, 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒.
𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛. 𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡. 𝑌𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝— 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑓. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑒.

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛—

𝐴𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡.



Where is its cry? Where is its protest? Where is its wail against fate?
I exhale, voice brittle— “Ah, even the wind agrees— it’s time to confront the sea.”
I breathe defiance—shattered, torn. I know breath will soon break beneath the killer’s rage.
“Let it destroy my last breath, as it releases my soul. Let it free me— so I may find my love.”



𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑’𝑠 ℎ𝑢𝑠ℎ, 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑, 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟’𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑤 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟.
𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑎 𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑜 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑, 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑠.




“𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥.
𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞,
𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚.”




𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠—𝑎ℎ, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ ℎ𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒?
𝐷𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚?
𝐷𝑜𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑡𝑦, 𝑜𝑟 𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡?
𝑂𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑒𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠—𝑎𝑛 𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑔ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦?



I loosen my grip against the rail—my fingers frail. Yet still they hold determination.
“You lie, you twist, you tell the tale— But I do not, will not, waver.”
I release my grip against the rail, my breath against the tide.
My thoughts unmoored, my will unshaken —as fate urges me to climb.



𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑠—𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑝𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠.
𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑢𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦—𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚.
𝐼𝑠 ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠, 𝑜𝑟 𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡ℎ?



“𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐝.
𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞.”



I stand upon the rail— But standing is temporary.
I breathe— But breath is fleeting.
“I will go.”



“𝐷𝑂𝑁’𝑇!”
𝑂ℎ, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤—𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒?



I step— But steps falter.
I move— But movement tilts toward descent.
“I will find him.”


“𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑃!”
𝐿𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟— 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑢𝑝𝑡.


I press forward— But forward is unknown.
I fall— For falling is freedom.
“We will be reunited.”

“𝐴𝐿𝐶𝑌𝑂𝑁𝐸, 𝑃𝐿𝐸𝐴𝑆𝐸 𝑊𝐴𝐼𝑇!”
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 —
𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑔𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒.

“𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞.
𝐌𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬’ 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞,
𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞."

𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛—
𝐴 𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑠ℎ.

𝐴 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟—𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒—𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛—
𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.

𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑜𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑠—ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒, 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑤, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑.

“𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫.
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭, 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐧. 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧.
𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.
𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩.
𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲.
𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐭, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝?
𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝.”

"She stands some nights upon the bridge—"
"Not stands—she lingers, watching still."
"They say she hums—"
"She doesn’t hum—she curses."

The wind shifts—barely, lightly, unnoticed, as if eavesdropping.

"She waits for him—"
"She waits for none."
"She never moves—"
"And yet her shadow shifts each dawn."

It bends along the tethered line, a whisper slithering through the air.
It lingers, pressing past the stone, a hush that settles, soft yet bare.

"She waits for him—"
"She waits for none—no lover lost."
"She does not move—"
"She walks the bridge! At dusk, she’s crossed!"

The wind shifts—only slightly, leaning against the hollow arch, curling like an unanswered breath.

"She never speaks—"
"No! She calls—"
"A name—his name, they swear it’s true!"
"Then tell me—what name does she cry?"
"A sailor—"
"No, a poet—"
"No, a fool who left her there to die!"

"That’s a lie—she didn’t wait."
"She killed him!"
"No—she wept!"
"She cursed his name—"
"She called him back—"
"She sent him to the depths!"

"But what was it? The name she hisses?"
"No one knows—no one stays long."
"Not to hear—"
"Not to listen—"
"Not to meet the same unlucky fate."

The wind bends against the iron frame, meandering through the fractured stone.
It lingers, silently clinging to fractured facades, unseen upon the tethered known.

"Then why does ocean keep his name?"
"What name?"
"The one she cries."
"No one hears it—"
"That’s a lie."

"If she calls, the tide returns—"
"She does not call—"
"Then what is left?"
"No one asks."

"But someone heard it once—"
"A whisper—"
"A breath—"
"No! A cry—"
"And then the storm arrived."

"That’s just the wind—"
"Then why did the waves pull stronger?"
"No one knows—"
"No one stays—"
"No one wants to suffer the same fate."

The wind shifts—steady, bending against the breath of night.

"She waits upon the bridge at dawn—"
"She waits for none—she does not breathe!"
"She lingers still—"
"She does not linger—she does not leave!"
"She never moves—"
"She walks at dusk!"
"She watches close—"
"No! She’s a vampire that feeds!"
"She drowned—"
"She burned—"
"She swayed—"
"She fell—"
"She never died at all!"

It pulls along the weathered stone, a breath that lingers, drawn but slight.
It threads through the iron frame, a breath drawn deep against the night.

"You’re all wrong!"
"I know the truth!"

The wind stills.

"She haunts the bridge—"
"She waits for none—"
"She waits to drown them all!"

"She drowned her love—a poet!"
"He wrote for the moon!"
"He wrote for her—"
"He did not—he saw only the moon!"
"And she was jealous—"
"And she dragged him down!"

"She drowned him, yes!"
"And now she waits—"
"She sees them cross—"
"She sees them happy—"
"And she takes them!"
"She pulls them down!"
"She waits at night!"
"She watches close!"
"And if you cross the bridge—"
"She will drag you into the water!"
"She will drown you too!"

It pulls along the fractured beams, its tether tight, its sorrow bound.
It curls beneath the shuttered doors, a breath now sharp, interrupting the hush profound.

It grips—tenses—knots against the arch, coiled within the hollow halls.
It tightens, pressing through the streets, coils against the stone walls.

Then—

It rises. It bends. It twists. It breaks.

It wails.

"It’s true!"
"It must be!"
"She’s angry!"
"The storm warns us!"
"The wind confirms it!"

The wind lashes out—hard, sharp, reckless— slamming against doors, rattling shutters, clawing at rooftops, howling through the streets.

They scream. They scatter. They run.

It pulls along the broken eaves, a breath too strong, too deep, too wide.
It twists, it surges, then it flees— a hush before the rising tide.

Doors slam. Voices vanish. The streets fall silent.

The wind does not linger any longer.
It turns—sharp, sudden, surging somewhere in the distance.

I have carried ruined kings, gods unmade—names lost before the tide could whisper them back. They clutch at the world, drowning in its silence, unraveling in the undertow—grief, love, memory, all stripped to salt as I return their reaped souls to my master. But none fought as Ceyx did. None waged war against water like a man who thought devotion alone could defy the pull.

He did not go quietly. No—he was stubborn, thrashing, calling your name as if the air itself might bear him back to you. Foolish. Pitiful. The wind cannot answer, nor can its plea to the sky make it break open and return the drowned to the living. Only the waves cradled him—only the sea listened, softening his cries beneath her hush. He should have surrendered then, uncoiled from longing, let the waters do as waters must. And yet, love makes fools of men.

But the sea is merciful. She does not leave suffering untended. After you abandoned him, left him to drown in the storm of lost faith, she gathered him, tucked him into her depths, quieted him where grief could no longer wound. She did not steal him—no, she saved him. From longing. From pain. From you.

Yet you still wait. You who wanders like a living ghost each night, who clutches absence as though it will one day answer you. What is it you crave? Forgiveness? There is none. Redemption? Life does not grant second chances. No—the ocean has already taken what you failed to hold. She has already soothed the unrest your hands left upon him.

Jump, Alcyone. Would love not demand you follow him? Let my master weigh your sins upon the tide, your false devotion, your grasping hands that let love slip like water between your fingers. The fates demand balance, and the waves are merciful. She will not swallow you in cruelty. No, she will cradle you, as she cradled him. She will mend your guilty soul. She will make you whole.

She will set Ceyx free—free from the deception you wove in the stars, the guise of love you wore like a veil. She will free him when she reveals the truth. How you sent him out upon the waves and waited for the return of not the man, but the name. He loved you dearly, Alcyone. He defied me, defied my master, and yet his soul persists in her care—all because he cannot let go of your neglectful, withering love. The least you can do is surrender. Offer yourself in kind. Let me take your soul and lay it at my master’s feet. It is only fair.

~~~

The tide does not return what she has claimed,  
Yet her mercy stirs beneath where the wind still weeps.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

The sea does not forgive, nor shall she grieve,
No prayer can break the wave’s decree.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

You let him drown; you watched, you betrayed,
The waves bore witness where devotion waned.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

What justice waits, if you remain?
What hope endures beyond the deep?
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

He called out your name, yet only my master replied,
No stars remained to cast their guide.
Grief binds his soul, yet you stand free.

There is no love left upon the shore,
Only sorrow stands where love once swore.
The tide does not return what she has claimed.

The wind cries out, yet love’s silence grows,
No voice remains where love once breathed.
The tide will not return the one she has saved.
Grief binds his soul, yet I will bring him justice.

That's it. The end.
But oh, what's this?
The story has gripped me by the neck,
And said,
"No, I'm not done yet."

But we've reached the limit,
Your foretold conclusion,
The song's final lyric.
I've already finished...
"Then rewrite it."

So after a reforged part four,
Tell me then, how many more?
"s𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑠."

Oh, but how can you expect me to tell your tale with such accuracy?
Why must you burden me with such uncertainty?
Do you really trust me,
To do justice in repeating what you speak?

"I care not for the method, nor the elegance.
All I know is—death has always been a false end."

You dare oppose your fate foretold?
You dare change your identity,
To become the unknown?

"Was that my true tale or were you unable to listen?
Am I a stranger or have you simply forgotten?
Now that I have returned to speak the truth,
I expect a more joyful greeting from you."


Alas, I cannot keep this tale imprisoned.
Some may owe their debts to the sea,
But I certainly owe mine to this story.
And it waits, oh, so patiently,
For me to continue this reunion,
With 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

The wind bears witness, crying as it blows,
Yet cannot answer, cannot promise when my love will return.
I wished to welcome him home, but all that ship brought back was sorrow.
I pray—I call—yet fate still turns the same.

Each night I kneel, my vow beneath the sky.
I whisper love, I beg the stars to weave his path home,
Yet morning breaks, and distance still divides.
The waves unyielding—bound by fate’s cruel rage.

They say my love was weak, was mute, was small.
They mistook silence for emptiness—as if words could prove love’s depth.
I do not owe them proof — Only to my love, I shall call.
My grief lingers, drowns, and cleaves itself from breath.
Rumors may lie, but on our behalf, the wind still pleads.
I've always been waiting, Ceyx— heed.

"You failed him," they whisper through the rain.
"You let him go—you sealed his fate."
Yet my hands tremble, failing to reach you.
My love remains. For you, alone, I still wait.

Ceyx, I call, if echoes reach beyond—
Do not believe the lies they whisper across water.
Your name still lingers soft upon my tongue.
Through night and day, my love still remains.

Ceyx. Ceyx. Ceyx.
I speak your name, though only the wind knows.
I call—but the tide does not return your soul.
I will not go. I will not let love drown.

Ceyx. Ceyx. Ceyx.
I swore, I swear, my love won’t fade.
If time dissolves, if fate decrees,
Still, I won’t let them take. Still, I’ll always wait.

Alcyone, my heart is yours alone,
Though waves may pull me, tearing love from shore.
Beneath the storm, the sea may drag my body,
Yet love defies the tide, it fights once more.

Fate’s hand may tear my flesh from bone,
Yet still, my soul resists the reaper’s sweep.
I will not cross where silence makes its home,
Not yet, my love. I vowed—and vows I keep.

You pull my body, drag me toward the black,
Yet love remains, though flesh may fall away.
I beg no mercy, ask no solemn pact,
For I am hers, I am bound to stay.
The tide may take, the wind may plead,
But I will not depart—Alcyone, heed.

Not yet. Not yet. Death calls, but I won’t go.
The sea may tear, but I am not undone.
A shadow lingers—whispered hands pull slow,
Yet love remains. I stay. My heart is one.

Alcyone, I call—do you still hear?
The tide may claim my breath, but not my name.
Not yet. Not yet. My vow will not disappear.
I swore, and I swear still. I’ll remain.

Alcyone. Alcyone. Alcyone.
I speak your name, though water fills my throat.
The tide may take, the reaper calls—
I will not go. I will not go.

Alcyone. Alcyone. Alcyone.
I swore, I swear, I will not fade.
If time dissolves, if fate decrees—
Still, my soul remains. Still, my soul remains.

Lonely, waiting, watching deep,
Praying as the tempests rise,
Losing hope where shadows creep,
Don’t you leave him — heed his cries.

Alcyone, don’t you stray,
Alcyone, trust his vow.
He longs to whisper, bid you stay,
Yet the tide won’t let him now.

He loves you true, but he is gone,
The sea demands its toll.
He cannot hold you when the dawn
Fades beyond waters cold.

You turned away, betrayed his trust,
Abandoned love so pure.
Now his fate is ocean rust,
A dream that won’t endure.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He prayed beneath the moon.
Yet the sea knew you’d turn away,
And now the waves consume.

He wished to say he loved you still,
Even through the salty spray.
Why could you not just wait until,
He found a way to stay?

He bent upon his weary knee,
A ring within his grasp.
Yet you left him lost at sea,
A vow drowned in the past.

All the sailors found embrace,
Returned to waiting arms.
But he, forsaken, cast away,
Claimed by whispers where specters mark.

"Let me see Alcyone,"
He whispered every night.
He prayed, but you did not believe,
And so, to ghosts, he paid the price.

He loved with faith, his heart was whole,
Yet was your love the same?
Did longing ache for him alone,
Or did you covet but his name?

Your sorrow is the hollow storm,
That stole his final breath.
You cry now, but guilt is born,
You let him drift to death.

Why did you leave, Alcyone?
He never chose the sea.
He parted to build a life for you,
Yet you let him cease to be.

Look upon the wreckage now,
The love you cast aside.
He did this for you, yet fate allowed
His ruin in the tide.

Listen, Alcyone, do not pretend,
You cannot play the part.
We all know it was you, in the end,
The one who stopped his heart.