Siren

I.visitors

The lost general inhaled the scent of moist salt and fresh air as he stood on the deck of his mother ship, leading half his fleet to the monstrous island by order of the temporary queen, Vanessa of Denmark.

He looked around him, seeing the space that he loved so much. He saw the ocean and his men. Only this voyage differed from all his past voyages, as he had more ships than he usually did and was sailing towards the place, which he thought was the only place he had not yet seen. As he stood there behind his polished helm, he thought of the place he was about to see. He thought of what had reached his ears about it. He thought of the pirate inn, in which he first heard talk about that island. He remembered clearly what those two pirates had said, just as he remembered clearly how reeked of rum.

They had been speaking about a dark island, in which only crows, shadow and a great monster lived. A great monster, that haunted terrors and made nightmares seem like unicorns. A monster, uglier and bigger than one could imagine.

Then, his mind wandered to the Caribbean merchants, he had asked about the island. They had told him that there was no monster. They had said that only thieves used the darkness of the island to steal merchandise. Both romurs were opposites. He did not know what to think or what to say. However, if either of them was true, he'd be leading his men to their deaths. And there was nothing he feared more than failing them.

All that he had heard of the island disappeared from his mind as his thoughts drifted to the fact that he was going on another voyage. He thought of what he would find, although he didn't even know what he should expect.

The prince wondered about his destination and whether it would be an island so enchanting that even pirates were at a loss for words that they made up romours about it. Or so dark that it brought nightmares to great pirates. And so, he moved the helm a little with only one thing known for sure - He didn't believe in fairytales even if he would like to, as far as the internal battle between his army man brain and the mind of the man, who had had to fight his way through great loss and longed for hope, even if it was in the shape of a fairytale.

On the horizon grey clouds started collecting in the sky as the nervous waves rocked the ships even more. A big wave was coming their way and immediately he warned his men,"Hold on, mates!"

He blinked his dark eyes rapidly as he saw the reflection of a giant cat in the waves. The long journey must have driven driven me mad, he thought to himself. He put his hand in his pocket, taking out his compass, which did not point north or to any clear direction really. Unlocking it, his eyes skimmed it. Strangely enough, the usually sleepy needle was pointing ahead of him. Odd, he thought.

"Looks like Triton is throwing a fit, again." One of the sailors, Harris - a middle aged, slightly heavy man with a balding head - stated, earning the attention of the prince.

"Again?" Another sailor, Hamish - one of the most capable of the oldest of the crewmates - questioned.

"Didn' you 'ear? There 'as been a lo' of stirrin' in these wa'ers, la'ely. Somethin' doesn' seem right and everyday, at this hour a storm seems to form over the sea. Some things jus' don' add up." Harris explained.

"Triton?" The prince furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Both men paused before one of them answered

"Triton is the king of the seafolk, Admiral." The old man with the silver hair and beard answered gently with a heavy accent.

"The seafolk?" Eric's confusion deepened, until he heard the voice of his mentor - his first officer, his commander and the man who raised him alongside his father.

"Your Grace, with all due respect - I advise you not to listen to those stories, as they're only bedtime tales, made up to scare children. We have more important matters to think about, rather than those lies." Commander Grimsby advised with his signiture scowl on his face, frowning down his nose at the sailors' beliefs as he always did in his full uniform. Commander Grimsby was a salt and pepper haired man who held himself with pride. He was proud of his rank, which was fully earned. He was proud of all of his battle scars, especially the small pink one across his left eyebrow, where a pirate had almost caught his eye with his blade. He was proud of his aging face with all its almost sixty year old wrinkles. And most importantly, he was proud of the crew, with whom he worked, and of the boy, whom he watched grow up into a great admiral. Though, he hid that as well as he hid the exhaustion of his old age and long service.