chapter 1: once upon a time

The legend always starts with a fisherman, a once upon a time in the middle of the ocean in Falconshore, a place where monsters live amongst mortals. Always been so for years and will remain until the end of time.

The idea of a peaceful coexistence was impossible as it was clear which kind of demon sits atop the hierarchy. Someone who cannot be killed. An immortal being whose mere mention of a name sends a different shiver down one's spine to those who were unfortunate enough to come across them. Nobody knows what they look like, nobody's lived long enough to tell.

It was the usual serene wind that blanketed the night of 1876, the same cold breeze, some may even call it a loveless touch, caressing the tides and pulling ferrymen into sin, down, down, down, until they drown. It has been a longtime warning not to sail after midnight, word on the street is that a siren was born, furious and vengeful because of the death of a previous lover. She sings a tranquil lullaby, with the voice of an angel and face likewise. She would show up in the middle of the ocean, amidst the cerulean waves and the storm that comes along every breath she takes. Eyes glowing in color like that of where she lives, lips as red as the blood of the men she killed, hair as royal as the plum-colored sky after a typhoon, it flows down to her chest and wraps around her waist like tentacles. She was gorgeous and yet she was feared. The villagers claim that her skin was covered with scales, but it cannot be seen through the naked eye, and one could only guess.

That night, a different storm was cooking under the heavy clouds, waves that are impossible to cruise in. The siren was awoken by a hum, of a lonely fisherman who claimed to have ruptured his own eardrums to avoid hearing her speak, or sing. He threaded past the dangerous rolling billows of water, drenched in high waves and pouring blood. His lips are tight as they vibrate a rhythm he heard in his dreams.

Lips ripe as the berries in June, red the rose.

Skin pale as the light of the moon, gently as she goes.

Eyes blue like the sea and the sky, water flows.

Heart burning like fire in the night, gently as she goes.

The side of his face is covered in blood, running down to his chin, dripping to his hands fisted into two golden spears. He doesn't hear a thing when they are face to face, and she crumples and turns into a different kind of monster, where beauty fades and all that’s left is terror. Her face is like that of nightmares, with scales climbing up to her waist, and then to her neck, with fangs so long it reaches her chest, and she couldn't close her mouth because she's screaming, it's enough to wake a whole village. The ship rises from the tides, and he becomes leveled with her eyes, of something blue and vivid, it's clear and sparkling and the fisherman wastes no time. He throws the spears at an impossible aim, and they plunge into her eyes and pierce into her head.

And she wails, and she wails. She cries out a name as the middle of the ocean opens and swallows her body, down to the bottom where she'd kept all the men she pulled to their death. Just like them, she was never seen again.

The legend was told in different languages, passed onto generations after generations. Some retell it from a different perspective, where the fisherman is the villain and the siren as the victim slain helplessly without mercy. But it all ends the same, with the ocean birthing a sapphire gemstone—resembling her blue eyes, only to be found by the same fisherman as soon as the middle of the ocean closes.

But this time though, the retelling takes a different turn. Before he could even raise his arms and throw the spears, his ship gets wrecked into a thousand pieces, all by extreme wrath she possesses. She takes him by the neck as they slowly sink into the water, muffled screams drown as they go mute. He feels her fingers crawling on his chest, and her long nails piercing through his skin, deeper and deeper until she could touch his heart.

She rips it out in a single breath.

"Joaquin," A woman calls, but he was already drowning, breathless, hopeless, heartless. He gasps for air but to no avail, there’s only water everywhere.

"Joaquin."

He opens his eyes, and he breathes.

Rubbing his face with his palm as he wakes up, he scrunches his nose and smiles. "What time is it?" He asks.

It has become a normal occurrence to dream about everyone he'd come across with in the past, especially this year. Joaquin thinks it might be because it was a full moon last night, but frankly so, he knows there's going to be something interesting laid out for him. The more vivid the dream gets, the closer whatever the entity is.

"What year is it?"

Jinny gives him a look. It's the same one as that of when she digresses or purposely avoids a question by asking another question, and she wants decent answers. Witches always have a knack for getting what they want.

He tilts his head and squints, "What? Today?"

"No. The dream."

Joaquin clicks his tongue, pretending to think. What year did the siren-slaying happen?

"1870–something."

He pops his lips playfully and then smirks.

"1876. It's the siren this time."

It was a statement. Jinny probably takes note of who appears in his dreams for the past six months. It's either someone he left to die or someone he killed himself, and they're all after revenge. It doesn't really bother him because they have all been long gone and bitten the dust, but it gets tiring to wake up with beads of sweat despite being in a fully air-conditioned room every single significant day. Joaquin's over it.

"Yeah, bummer. I was hoping for some cute action, but you know how shit turned out in that story. Very short."

He gets up from his bed and heads to the bathroom, closing the door.

As per usual, there are bruises on his chest, nail marks from when Naya, the siren, clawed her way into his heart to rip it out in his dream. He watches it heal on its own, regenerating a brand-new skin… and then he washes his face and brushes his teeth. He lets it be.

The thing is, back in 1876, he had compelled a witch (one that isn't Jinny because the woman wasn't even born then yet) to stop his body from healing, and that's why his ears didn't go back to normal when he physically ruptured it. It means he only has one chance to finish her, because if she had gotten a hold of him like what happened in his dream last night, he would've been dead.

Or, at least, dead before his body restarts a new life again.

But it wasn't like he was worried about what would happen before. There were so many instances where he tried—and successfully did—to rip his own heart out. It's not really considered suicide if you're not dying. He always woke up in a new day, a new heart, a new life. A never-ending cycle for a thousand years.

He retrieves a grey long-sleeved Henley shirt in the closet and comes out just in time to see the dining table already prepared. It helps to have compelled mortals doing mortal work in the house. Jinny had forbidden him to feed on them though, which sucks because he always liked a bit of flesh. She was the one who scoured for them anyway, so he lets it slide, it’s not like he’s blood deprived. If anything, he gets more than what’s necessary. He became a beneficiary at a nearby hospital so he’s intact with their blood bank without much fuss. Joaquin takes pride in the connections he had managed to form through Jinny’s help, of course. Mortals are too curious for their own good and if he happens to show himself offhandedly, they’re going to start wondering why he never ages.

"Any news on the witch Jun's been spying on?"

He pulls a chair beside him, mouth stuffed with bread.

"Well, that."

Jinny stares at him, eyes suddenly narrowing as if unsure if it was the right time to say something. Joaquin cocks a brow in interest.

"You're right about him being a White Lotus witch and Jun's bringing him home tonight."

Running a tongue along the seams of his lips, he nods, face breaking in a smile.

"Gather the troops, clean the house."

He claps, and then he leans in to whisper in the witch's ear. "We're going to have a celebration."