In the heart of the ocean, far below where sunlight barely reached and time seemed to move slower, there existed a kingdom of sirens known as Pelagios. It was a realm untouched by the surface world—a world of shimmering corals that danced in the currents, of leviathans that glided silently through the shadows, and of songs ancient enough to remember the stars.
The sirens who dwelled there were not the monsters whispered of in sailor tales. They were sentient, regal beings—guardians of the sea and its secrets. Their beauty was unparalleled: fins that glowed like moonlit waves, eyes deep as trenches, voices that could tame storms or shatter a heart. It was said their songs were born from the skies themselves, for the elders claimed sirens were once stardust—fragments of celestial sorrow that fell into the sea. Their song was a memory of what they lost. And their curse was to remember.
Among them reigned a prince.
Caelum, born of royal blood, was more than a figurehead—he was a symbol. With sapphire scales that gleamed like frozen lightning and a voice so haunting it left silence in its wake, he ruled the kingdom not with wisdom, but with presence. Revered for his power and feared for his pride, Caelum had everything: riches, followers, beauty.
But not kindness.
Arrogant, vain, and cold, he looked down on others as if they were ornaments in his ever-growing collection. Compliments pleased him. Obedience satisfied him. But affection? That was something he neither offered nor truly understood.
All except with one.
Aelius.
Aelius was different. Quiet where Caelum was loud, gentle where he was sharp. He never sought attention, yet Caelum's eyes always found him. His presence was like sunlight through water—soft, necessary, taken for granted until gone.
He had always been there. Smiling faintly beside Caelum, speaking when needed, listening more than most. Aelius was never crowned, never praised, yet he held something no crown could offer—Caelum's heart, though the prince would never say it.
Not when he had the chance.
Not when Aelius stood in front of him day after day, waiting for something—anything—that never came.
And then one morning, the ocean felt quieter.
Aelius was gone.
No message. No trace. Just silence.
And Caelum, for the first time, felt the full weight of it.