Chapter 58: Romeo & Juliet.

We all had that one moment in our lives, scrolling through the internet, when we stumbled upon a peculiar drawing.

Mine, for example, was a Xenomorph from the Alien franchise—drawn in an unusual, almost alluring way, its sleek, biomechanical form rendered with an eerie beauty.

When I looked at the comments on the artist's post, everyone was saying the same thing: "Would" or "I can take it."

The phrase wasn't unfamiliar.

I'd used it myself, and so had some of my friends. It's fascinating, isn't it?

The human desire to mate with something completely monstrous, to find allure in the grotesque, to romanticize the unthinkable.

But the obvious reality is that when confronted with such a creature in real life, most would flee in terror.

It's a far cry to think a pure monster would comprehend you, let alone give in to your sexual urges.

Monsters don't operate on human desires—they're alien, primal, driven by instincts we can't fathom.

And yet, this doesn't preclude the existence of courageous individuals—those rare souls who don't just fantasize but act, who bridge the gap between dream and reality, no matter how dangerous or impossible.

What do I mean by all this?

When I finally realized the truth behind Gavriel's actions, the conclusion was clear.

He belonged to that category of courageous ones. Or, in his case, I'd say those who are dreamers.

The Seaborn possess a hive mind—or more accurately, a collective consciousness—called the "Many."

They sometimes refer to themselves as "We Many," a term that encapsulates their race as a whole, driving them toward a singular, ultimate goal: the survival of their kin.

Because they're linked to the Many, the Seaborn lack the ability to comprehend individualistic concepts like art, morality, or emotion.

In their perspective, gaining individual traits means betraying the Many—it's a form of heresy against their collective existence.

"This hivemind is too annoying."

But the Seaborn also have an extraordinary ability: they evolve rapidly, adapting to their environment and the beings they encounter, absorbing traits to better ensure their survival.

It's a trait that makes them terrifyingly efficient—and, in Gavriel's case, a dangerous tool for his desperate dream.

Gavriel was what I'd call a victim—someone who fell in love with a Siren, a Seaborn subspecies so rare, so cunning, that it could mimic a Sankta with terrifying precision.

But his love wasn't just a fleeting obsession; it was a driving force that led him to an impossible goal.

He believed that the Seaborn's evolving traits could transform his Siren into a Sankta, a being like him, capable of understanding love, emotion, and individuality.

He thought that by having her consume more Sankta—draining their energy, their essence, their very nature—she could evolve closer to becoming one of them.

His hope was that once she was a Sankta, they could finally be together, united not just in body but in soul, free from the Many's influence and the divide between their species.

I sat atop the Pathfinder, its massive form now a silent, obedient mount beneath me, its scales cool against my transformed body.

"Poor him, not because I do not understand."

One of my goals, after all, was to try something similar. His may have been a siren, but mine was the God of Seaborns.

The one and only Miss Skadi!

Unfortunately for him, mine was more possible.

The Pathfinder and I together moved through the corridors of the Santa Isabella, the ship's hull groaning as it rested on the ocean floor.

From my vantage point, I watched from afar.

Lemuen, her pink braid swaying as she maneuvered her wheelchair, and Executor, his grey eyes sharp with focus, his white wings folded tightly against his dark coat, stood in a tense standoff.

Before them was a man with blonde hair, wearing a doctor's tunic, its white fabric stained with saltwater and grime—Gavriel Sanctus.

Behind him was a large glass container, its surface fogged with condensation, but through the haze, I could see her: the Siren.

She was truly beautiful, a vision straight out of a myth.

One look at her face, and I understood why Gavriel had fallen in love.

Her features were ethereal—high cheekbones, a delicate jawline, and her skin a pearlescent white that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

Her eyes were a deep, oceanic blue, their depths swirling with an ancient, predatory intelligence, and her hair flowed like liquid silver, cascading around her in the water-filled container.

Tentacles, slender and graceful, extended from her back, their tips glowing with bioluminescent light, and her voice—if she had spoken—would have been the kind to lure sailors to their doom.

It was no wonder Gavriel had been ensnared; her beauty was a weapon, a lure, a promise of the impossible.

Gavriel was trying to achieve the impossible.

He had captured the Sankta, not just to sustain the Siren, but to force her evolution, to make her into something she could never truly be—a Sankta.

Each Sankta she consumed brought her closer, or so he believed, absorbing their traits, their halos, their empathy, and their individuality.

He had abandoned his life as a doctor, as a Sankta, to serve her, to protect her, even if it meant sacrificing his own kind.

The Many didn't understand love, but Gavriel did, and that love had driven him to madness, to acts of desperation that led to the kidnapping of dozens of Sankta, all in the hope that his Siren could one day stand beside him as an equal, free from the ocean's curse.

I watched the scene unfold, my transformed body a silent witness to their confrontation.

Lemuel and Executor were demanding answers, their weapons raised, but Gavriel's expression was one of defiance, of a man who had nothing left to lose.

I thought to myself, I wonder how their story will end.

I wasn't the one to end it all—not yet.

The answer would depend on those two—Lemuen and Executor—and what they chose to do with Gavriel and his Siren.

For now, I should remain as a spectator, a Seaborn-touched observer, waiting to see if love or duty would prevail in this underwater abyss.

***

Lemuen and Executor stood before Gavriel Sanctus in the depths of the Santa Isabella, the underwater abyss pressing in around them, the faint hum of the ocean's pressure vibrating through the ship's hull.

The room was dimly lit, the glow of bioluminescent algae casting an eerie light across the large glass container behind Gavriel, where the Siren lay suspended in water, her ethereal beauty a stark contrast to the grim reality of their situation.

Lemuen's pink braid swayed as she maneuvered her wheelchair, her blue eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and resolve, her sniper rifle gripped tightly in her hands.

Executor stood beside her, his grey eyes cold and unyielding, his white wings folded tightly against his dark coat, his firearm raised with the precision of a Laterano executor.

Lemuen's voice was steady but heavy with emotion as she spoke, her gaze locked on Gavriel.

"Why, Gavriel? Why do this? Why kidnap your own people?"

Gavriel turned to face them, his blonde hair disheveled, his doctor's tunic stained with saltwater and grime.

Dark bags hung under his golden eyes, a testament to sleepless nights and a mind fractured by obsession.

His halo flickered weakly, a sign of his fallen state, and his wings drooped, their once-pristine feathers now dull and tattered.

He spoke, his voice hollow, the words of a man who had lost everything, a fallen villain with nothing left to hold onto.

"You wouldn't understand," he rasped, his tone laced with bitterness and despair.

"During my time in Laterano, I believed I had the potential to be a great person. I excelled in my academic work, and they referred to me as Laterano's future, a beacon of hope for our people. However, the reality differed significantly."

He clutched his head, his fingers trembling as he continued, his voice breaking with the weight of his failures.

"I was pitiful in one area—the one that a Sankta cared about the most—despite all of my accomplishments. I couldn't use a gun well."

"It's an innate skill for our kind, a sacred bond we're born with, but I… I couldn't do it."

"I was a failure, a disgrace. My hopes and dreams vanished, disintegrating into nothingness".

Lemuen clenched her arm, her grip tightening on her sniper rifle, her blue eyes softening with understanding.

She knew that pain—the agony of losing the ability to wield a gun, a core part of a Sankta's identity, a connection to their culture and their laws.

It was a wound that cut deep, one she had felt in her own way after her injuries confined her to a wheelchair.

Gavriel's voice grew more frantic, his hands gripping his head as if to hold his fractured mind together, his words spilling out in a torrent of madness.

"So I was exiled—emotionally, by not only my friends but my own family. Nothing came of the hope and success I had given them."

"Nothing! Being a respected doctor was the only accomplishment I was able to make, but ultimately that was meaningless."

"My destiny was predetermined by the Directors of Pagus Stevonus, who sent me to this forgotten location, Sanctilaminium Ambrosii, where I was aware of what lay ahead."

"In the end, I suffered Errari—I lost my ability to understand another Sankta, to feel their emotions, to connect with my own kind. My life dulled, faded… Until one day, she saved me. On the port. Maria."

His voice softened, a flicker of warmth breaking through the madness as he spoke her name, his gaze shifting to the glass container behind him.

"She was different—an unparalleled beauty, like something out of a dream. She could understand me, even when no one else could."

"She whispered about her love for me, and as time passed, I realized the truth: she was a Siren, a Seaborn. To me, though, that meant nothing. I studied the Seaborn to the brink of insanity before discovering hope."

He pointed at the tube where Maria lay, his expression a mix of desperation and fervor.

"A Seaborn can adapt depending on its type, and luckily for Sirens, they're able to take the traits of what they consume. In other words, she could become a Sankta!"

"The more Sankta she consumed, the closer she got to becoming one of us. I brought them here, drained their energy, their essence, so she could evolve, so we could be together—truly together, as equals, as Sankta, free from the Many, free from the ocean's curse!"

Gavriel's golden eyes flashed with anger as he turned back to Lemuen and Executor, his voice rising in a snarl.

"How dare you ruin my work! How dare you destroy everything I've sacrificed for!"

Lemuen's expression hardened, though a flicker of sorrow remained in her blue eyes as she raised her sniper rifle, her voice steady but tinged with regret.

"I understand your pain, Gavriel—I do. But we can't let this madness continue. I'm sorry."

Her finger tightened on the trigger, ready to end his torment.

But Gavriel smiled, a madman's grin splitting his face, his voice a chilling whisper.

"You can't kill me. You know the law—a Sankta who attempts to kill another will become a Fallen, cast out. You'd lose everything, just like I did."

Executor stepped forward, his gray eyes cold and unyielding, his firearm already aimed—not at Gavriel, but at the glass container behind him.

"You're not our target," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, the voice of a Laterano executor bound by duty.

Gavriel's eyes widened in horror, realization dawning as he lunged to defend the tube.

"No!" he screamed, but Executor's bullets were faster, piercing the glass with a sharp crack.

The container shattered, water flooding the room in a torrent, the bioluminescent glow of the Siren's tentacles illuminating the deluge as it poured across the floor.

But far different from their expectations, the Siren—Maria—wasn't harmed.

She floated into the air, surrounded by a swirling sphere of water, her liquid-silver hair flowing around her, her deep blue eyes glowing with an ancient, predatory light.

Her pearlescent skin shimmered, her tentacles writhing gracefully, and then her eyes opened, locking onto Lemuen and Executor with a gaze that promised death.