truth

The moon hung high, a pale watcher in the ink-dark sky. Below it, the camp lay quiet — the crew sprawled in exhausted sleep around the fading fire. Even Sawyer, finally resting, breathed evenly under a thin blanket of salvaged cloth.

Syrena sat on an elevated rock a little away, the sea wind tugging at her damp hair.

Harrow climbed up beside her, his limp more noticeable in the quiet night. He handed her a waterskin and sat without speaking.

For a long time, they just listened — to the distant crash of waves, the occasional murmur of a crewmember dreaming, and the soft whistle of wind through leaves.

Then Syrena broke the silence.

"I wasn't just born of the sea," she said, eyes fixed on the horizon. "I am… of it."

Harrow looked at her, wary but silent.

"I'm not just a siren," she continued. "I am the Princess of Sirens."

Harrow's brow rose slowly, but he didn't interrupt.

"My father," she said with a small, bittersweet smile, "is the Ocean itself. I was born in the deepest trench, crowned in coral and gifted the voices of the tides. We were guardians once — not monsters. Not myths. Until…" She paused.

Harrow waited.

"I touched it," she whispered. "That was enough. It cursed me. I couldn't transform anymore. Couldn't sing to the sea, couldn't summon the tides. My people… they need a ruler. Without me, they're losing themselves. Going rogue. Predatory. Wild."

"And this—" Harrow gestured to the coin.

"It's the last piece I took before I realized the curse had bound to me." Her fingers clenched around it. "To lift it, I have to return all the gold... and offer a drop of my blood. Only then will the ocean forgive me."

She fell silent again.

Harrow stared out at the sea. "And the Spaniards? They have the rest."

She nodded slowly.

"They've hoarded the cursed gold. Whether they know its nature or not, they won't part with it easily. But I have to get it back. If I don't... I'll be bound to land. Forever. And the Sirens will keep hunting... until they're put down."

There was a long pause.

Harrow exhaled through his nose. "Hell of a tale."

"It's not a tale."

"I know." He looked at her. "That's what makes it worse."

Syrena smiled faintly. "You believe me?"

"I watched you heal a man with a song. I'm not blind." He paused. "Or stupid."

Another pause.

"What happens if you succeed?" he asked. "You leave us? Go back to the sea?"

She didn't answer right away.

Instead, she tucked the coin away again, eyes on the stars. "Let's worry about getting the gold first."

Harrow gave a soft grunt of agreement, then stood.

"I'll keep the secret," he said, turning to leave. "But I think the Captain's going to figure it out. Eventually."

Syrena didn't look at him, but her voice was steady.

"I know."

He left her alone with the wind and the sea — and the heavy pull of fate lapping at her feet like a tide she couldn't escape.

Would you like the next chapter to shift into the crew regrouping and setting course to track the Spaniards and reclaim the gold?

You said:

make him ask her if she liked him and continue the conversation she does...but she knows he doesn't. Harrow smirks but stays silent.

ChatGPT said:

Of course. Here's the continuation of that same scene on the rock — adding the personal moment between Syrena and Harrow, still grounded in quiet tension and unspoken truths:

Harrow lingered at the edge of the rock, arms crossed as he looked down at the sleeping crew, then back at her.

"You like him, don't you?" he asked suddenly.

Syrena's head turned sharply. "What?"

"The Captain," he said plainly. "Sawyer."

She didn't answer right away. The sea wind carried her silence for a moment too long.

Then, softly: "Yes."

Harrow smirked, just slightly. "Thought so."

"He doesn't feel the same," she added before he could say more. Her voice was calm — not bitter, just honest. "He doesn't see me that way. Not really."

"He sees you," Harrow said, eyes narrowing a little. "More than he wants to."

Syrena gave a short laugh. "Doesn't matter. I'm cursed royalty from the sea. He's a half-broken pirate with a reputation and a death wish. That's not exactly a storybook ending."

Harrow didn't disagree. He just let out a long breath and dropped onto the rock beside her again.

"You know," he said after a while, "I raised that man. Taught him how to sail, how to fight, how to lie. But I never taught him what to do when he actually starts to care about someone."

Syrena looked over at him, surprised.

"He doesn't know how to be... soft," Harrow said, shrugging. "But he's looking at you different these days. Even when he doesn't want to. That counts for something."

Syrena looked down at her palm — where that cursed coin had briefly gleamed — and then toward the shore, where Sawyer lay motionless, still healing.

"I don't need him to love me," she whispered. "I just need him to stay alive."

Harrow didn't press her further. He leaned back against the stone, gazing up at the stars.

"I'll help you get that cursed gold back," he said. "For the ocean princess and the idiot pirate."

Syrena smirked faintly. "Deal."

The wind picked up again, salty and full of fate.