Derek woke up early.
Always early.
He filled the kettle, set it on the stove, twisted the propane knob until the flame caught. When the water boiled, he poured it over grounds in a chipped cup—black, no sugar.
Outside, the manor was quiet.
Dylan was already up.
He stood near the woodpile, splitting logs. Not just a few. A lot. More than they'd need.
Derek stepped closer, coffee warming his hands. "You're early."
Dylan didn't stop. He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.
"Got lots of work to do," he said, nodding toward the stack.
Derek took a slow sip. Watched the axe come down again. "You even sleep?" he asked.
"Few hours."
Another strike. Clean. Hard.
"There's still hot water," Derek said. "If you want coffee."
Dylan shook his head. "No thanks."
Derek lingered a moment, then spoke carefully. "I'm worried about you, son. You've been like this for a couple days now."
The axe stopped.
Dylan straightened, leaning his weight against the handle. He finally looked at Derek. "Like what?"
Derek exhaled slowly. "You know what I mean."
Dylan paused again. This time longer. "You always this chatty in the mornin'?" he asked, voice rough.
Derek smiled faintly. "Only when folks stop talking."
Silence settled between them. Derek watched him for a moment longer, then he shifted his weight.
"You wanna tell me what's eatin' at you," he said, "or you wanna keep taking it out on innocent trees?"
Dylan's jaw tightened. He sighed, dragged a hand down his face. Before lifting the axe again, he muttered, low and rough, "Just leave me alone. I'm workin' here."
"Mm," Derek said. "That what you tell yourself?"
Dylan didn't answer. His eyes stayed on the ground.
Derek watched him for another second, eyes heavy with things left unsaid, then nodded once. "Pace yourself, son," he said quietly. "Don't wanna lose another man."
Then he turned and headed back toward the manor, boots crunching softly against the dirt.
Dylan didn't look up.
The axe rose.
Came down.
Hard.
Again.
Faster now. No rhythm. Just force.
His thoughts spiraled—regret, anger, guilt—all slamming together with every strike.
He growled under his breath and hurled the axe down, the blade biting deep into the wood. He yanked it free and brought it down again, once—twice—until the edge split straight through the thick log with a brutal crack.
The wood toppled.
Dylan kicked it aside, chest heaving, breath ragged as he stood there panting, hands shaking around the handle.
His knees finally gave out.
Dylan dropped hard onto the ground, back hitting the stacked wood, breath tearing in and out of his chest like he'd run for miles. He dragged a hand over his face, fingers slick with sweat and dirt, then let it fall uselessly to his side.
His gaze drifted.
Just a few feet away—near the cracked concrete road—dark stains marred the ground.
Two patches.
Dried blood.
Yve's.
Mia's.
His breathing hitched.
He stared at them, unmoving, like if he looked long enough they might disappear. Might turn back into dirt. Into nothing.
They didn't.
His jaw clenched. Slowly, he lowered his head and shut his eyes, chest still rising and falling hard, the sound raw and broken in the quiet morning air.
Meanwhile, inside the manor, Lucas stood by the window, hands braced on the sill.
Outside, Dylan sat motionless near the woodpile—head bowed, shoulders slack, like something had finally drained out of him. Lucas's brow creased deeper the longer he watched.
Arms slipped around his waist from behind.
Taylor pressed close, chin resting against his back, her presence quiet and grounding. She followed his gaze to the yard. "How is he?" she asked softly.
Lucas exhaled through his nose. "Getting worse every day."
Taylor tightened her hold just a little. "Then talk to him."
Lucas didn't answer right away.
"But what do I say?" he asked finally, voice low, strained. "There's nothing I can fix. Nothing I can give him."
Taylor shifted so she could look up at his face. "You don't have to fix it," she said. "Just talk to him."
Lucas shook his head faintly. "He won't listen."
She leaned in closer, voice gentler now. "If something ever happened to me," she said quietly, "I'd want someone to talk to you too. I wouldn't want you carrying it alone."
That made him turn. Lucas faced her fully, hands coming up to hold her arms, grip firm—almost desperate. "You're not gonna die," he said at once. "Not on my watch." His voice dropped, rough with conviction. "So don't—don't say that."
Taylor searched his face, then offered a small, sad smile. "I know."
Lucas glanced back at the window. His jaw set. "…I'll talk to him," he said at last.
~~~
Somewhere deep beneath the ocean's surface, far past the reach of sunlight, lay a secret that human eyes would mistake for a tectonic plate—a silent slab of stone. But inside, life pulsed like a heartbeat: a siren sanctuary carved into the bones of the earth.
The entrance was a massive, fossilized clam shell, weathered and unyielding, acting as a natural door to a hollow chamber the size of a football field.
Inside one of the houses, Yve perched on a smooth coral ledge, her tail curled beneath her as a long sigh slipped past her lips.
Across the chamber, Ysa lounged with a book in hand, posture relaxed but eyes sharp. A smirk tugged at her lips. "Still pouting over that mortal?"
Yve shot her a sharp look, irritation flashing in her tone. "Will you stop calling them mortal?"
"They are mortal," Ysa said flatly, flipping a page without looking up.
"They're more than that, Ysa," Yve countered, tail flicking impatiently. "You haven't seen them like I have. Humans… they're remarkable. They make things—create, cook, survive in ways we don't even imagine." Her voice softened, memories flickering like distant firelight. "And their food… it's abundant, alive in its own way—"
Ysa snorted. "Please. Half of what they eat comes straight from the ocean."
"I know that." Yve shot back. "But the way they prepare it? Fire, tools… they make it something else entirely."
Ysa scrunched her nose and shuddered, exaggerating every movement. "Ew."
Yve's lips curved faintly. "All my life, fire was the enemy. But now… I see it can do more than destroy."
"Yes," Ysa said dryly, snapping the book shut. "Or kill you. What exactly have these mortals done to make you so… enchanted?"
Yve's gaze hardened, voice firm. "Just hear me out. If you gave them a chance… you might see it too. You might actually—"
"Might what?" Ysa cut her off, voice sharp. "Grow to like humans? Don't make me laugh."
Yve rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly, voice low but steady. "I'm serious, Ysa. Humans aren't all chaos and greed. There's… kindness in them, loyalty, bravery. Things you'd never expect until you see it yourself."
Ysa arched a brow, the smirk lingering. "Bravery? Loyalty? Maybe when it suits them. When it's convenient. I've seen enough of them to know better. One moment they're allies, the next… they're stumbling over their own greed and mistakes."
Yve's tail twitched, not in anger but in frustration she couldn't fully hide. "That's life, Ysa. Everyone makes mistakes. Doesn't make them worthless. Doesn't make them incapable of good."
Ysa leaned back against her ledge, folding her arms, eyes sharp and unyielding. "And you just throw yourself into their messes, expecting them to matter more than us?"
Yve shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension. "It's not about them being more important. It's about choice. I choose to care. I choose to help when I can."
Ysa's gaze softened just a fraction, though her voice stayed cool. "Choice… huh. And what about when your choice gets you hurt? Or someone else?"
Yve's eyes met hers, steady and honest. "I've been hurt before. I've seen people get hurt. But running away doesn't protect anyone. Protecting… helping… sometimes it's worth the risk."
Ysa didn't even glance up from her book at first, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Truth be told, I did considered giving them a chance. I noticed how happy you always seemed when you got back from the dock. But after what happened to you? Not a chance."
Yve's jaw tightened, frustration coiling in her chest. "It wasn't even their fault."
Ysa snapped the book shut, eyes flashing with sharp intensity. "So you're saying it's your fault that a human got jealous… and eventually shot you?"
Yve hesitated, tail flicking nervously against the water. "Well…"
"See?" Ysa's tone cut like jagged coral. "Humans are weak creatures. Always emotional. Greedy. Overbearing. Ungrateful."
Yve's voice rose, frustration bleeding through. "Well, my human family isn't like that. They protect. They…"
Ysa pushed off the ledge, gliding upward with effortless grace. She slid the book back onto the shelf and turned toward Yve, snorting. "Yeah, some family—letting you get shot and bleed out."
Anger flared hot in Yve's chest. "You know what? I don't even want to talk to you right now. You're so close-minded. I keep telling you—they aren't like that," she said firmly, her voice low, almost pleading. "They aren't monsters, Ysa."
Ysa leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing. "Oh really? You really think that? You told me they're working on a cure for their diseased world using your blood. You think they'll keep asking nicely once the cure is finished? No. They'll take every single drop of your blood until all you have left are bones and skin. Heck, maybe they'll even take your skin too, maybe even put your head on a wall like some kind of trophy."
Yve's jaw tightened, voice a little louder now but steady. "No they won't. Don't say that. They won't let that happen. They've never been like that. They care… about me, about each other."
Ysa scoffed, tail flicking in the water. "Care? That's a nice word for being naive. You really think care will stop them from using you? From taking everything you are? You're so stubborn, Yve. Gullible. Naive."
Yve blinked, swallowing hard, tail curling tighter beneath her. "I trust them. I know them. They're not like that. And even if they were… I'd rather believe in the good than live in fear like you do."
Ysa let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head slowly. "Hope won't keep you alive, Yve. I'm telling you—once they're done with you, they'll just dump you in the ocean. And some random siren from a neighboring village… hell, maybe even the other side of the Earth… will find you and drag you back here. Dead."
Yve's eyes hardened. "I'm done talking to you. My family isn't like that. I've lived as long as you have, and I know when someone's truly good."
Ysa's lips curled in a sardonic smile. "Insightful. Didn't save you from getting shot, though."
Yve rolled her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh, then flicked her tail and swam toward her chamber. She slammed the door behind her, the impact sending a ripple through the water.
Ysa followed Yve's retreating figure, letting out a heavy sigh as she glided toward the open water. The current brushed her skin like a cold whisper, urging her onward.
Outside, Reefville spread like a living dream carved from stone and coral. Towers of houses spiraled upward, their surfaces dotted with faintly glowing bioluminescent moss. Schools of silver fish darted through arches and between the buildings, like fleeting sparks of light.
Ysa swam past a cluster of sirens chatting idly when a familiar figure approached—Raine, their cousin. Her smile was warm, but her eyes sharpened instantly as they took in the storm etched across Ysa's face.
"You two fought again, huh?" Raine asked, voice calm but knowing.
Ysa groaned, flicking her tail with irritation. "I don't even wanna talk about it." Her gaze drifted downward, catching something in Raine's hands. "What's that?"
Raine held up the item. "The book I borrowed from you. Figured I'd return it."
"K." Ysa jerked her chin toward the house. "Just put it back on the shelf. I need a swim… some space."
Without waiting for a reply, she shot forward, cutting through the water like a blade. Her destination was clear—the stables, where Caelum rested.
Raine watched Ysa's figure disappear, then drifted toward the house. The water here felt warmer, she placed the book back on the shelf, then glided toward the door at the far end. Knocking lightly, her voice softened. "Yve?"
A muffled shout came from inside. "What?"
"I'm coming in," Raine said, nudging the door aside.
Inside, the chamber was dim, lined with pearl fragments and soft kelp bedding. Yve sat hunched on the bed, tail curled tight. Her face was a storm—pouting, eyes shadowed with frustration.
Raine floated closer, voice gentle. "Hey… how're you feeling?" She tilted her head, studying Yve's pale glow. "Energy back yet?"
Yve placed a hand on her stomach, tail tightening further around the kelp. "I'm… not sure. Maybe? I don't know. I'm kinda pissed off right now."
Raine's expression softened. "Let's get you to Callista. She can help."
Yve exhaled sharply, flicking her tail. "Fine. I need some fresh air… it's suffocating in here."
They swam out, the front door groaning shut behind them.
"You do know your sister's just worried about you, right?" Raine said gently as they drifted side by side.
"Yeah, I know…" Yve muttered, voice tight. "But why can't she just… have an open mind?"
Raine tilted her head, calm but firm. "Well… first off, she's had a terrible experience with a human."
Yve's tail flicked sharply, sending a swirl of bubbles trailing behind her. "I get that… but not all humans are the same. My human family—they accepted me, even after knowing who I really am."
Raine's brows lifted, curiosity flickering. "Secondly… you nearly died, Yve. You know how protective Ysa gets when someone just scratches your face. But a bullet? To your chest? Any good sister would lose it—hell, I freaked out myself."
Yve just listened, head down, the guilt starting to creep in.
They reached Callista's front door. Raine knocked gently, her voice calm. "And third… you can't force her to like someone. It's like trying to calm a storm—it won't bend to your will." She glanced at Yve.
Yve sighed, shoulders sinking, tail drifting lazily. "You're right… I just… really want them to get along. Every time I swim in the pool, I wonder… what if Ysa was there with me?"
Raine's hand brushed Yve's back, a soft pat carrying quiet reassurance. "You'll get there… just give it time, alright?"
Yve nodded, lips pressed tight.
The door creaked open, revealing Callista—eyes warm but sharp with wisdom.
"Hi, Cal," Raine greeted with a small smile. "Just here for a check-up. See if Yve's energy is stable."
Callista's expression softened. "Come in."