Waves lulling. A gentle breeze. A moonless night with nary a star to guide the wayward voyagers lost amongst the tides.

Voices cresting, falling—melodious and melancholy. It began with one, rising with the waves as others joined the chorus. Calling out to sea, lamenting, begging.

Few who hear them ever return. Many never want to.

On they sing, their somber song. Having lost all they knew centuries ago. Awaiting those to hear it so that they may lure them down the depths forevermore.

Kietos knew the legends well. The challenge of the Muses, Demeter’s curse, how Odysseus begged his sailors to untie him so he could find the voices.

His own crew, a meager band of misfits and beggars rowing desperately towards new lives and promises, raised their heads in curiosity. He had promised them refuge. Had Kietos made a grave error by steering them through these waters?

He could see nothing in the ghostly night. His ship creaked and groaned as the men rowed it forward. But the song continued. The men, one by one, ceased their labors.

Kietos himself felt the temptation. It pulled at his heart, tendrils wound tightly in his chest._ I must go._

Then came the first splash. Kietos whipped his head towards the oars, the spell momentarily broken. Crius no longer stood at his post. Then came the next, and Atreus was gone too. Kietos’ voice died in his throat, fear strangling him as one by one his crew disappeared overboard. Some called out—calling out names, begging at the voices to be taken. They soon drew silent, and their movement in the waters ceased. He stumbled from the galley and fell to his knees as the ship drifted to a lull amidst the waves.

The voices, oh so sweetly, grew in both volume and depth. They echoed around him, neverending. In grand crescendo, the song was overwhelming. Kietos crumpled on the deck. He pressed his palms to his ears, trying to silence the temptations.

_Come to me..._ There were no words to the neverending refrain, but they called to Kietos all the same. He raised a shaking hand to grip the bow of his ship. Pulling himself on to trembling legs, Kietos staggered to the ship’s very edge._ Come to me…_ That was Emanés’ voice. She was out there. How could she be out there?

Kietos screamed in rage at the voices in the air, despite hoisting himself onto the bow as he prepared to jump. He stared at the black waters below._ I have to save her… I have to…_ What did he have to do? Emanés was dead. Along with his newborn daughter.

_Kietos…_ her voice crooned amidst the chorus. They rose again, the night serving to augment their sounds.

Kietos screamed again, this time defiantly. Emanés couldn't be out there. He had watched her die in childbirth, taking with her his only daughter. The song's hold on him wavered, and their voices grew louder, desperate. Kietos thought he had felt a brush of wings in the air about him. They were here. But he would not let them have him. He knew the legends.

On he screamed, combatting the sweet voices with his harsh cries. For how long, he did not know. Until suddenly, something crashed to the deck, writhing. It moaned in pain.

_SLAM. _Another hit the deck, breaking through its boards. The bodies began falling. They rained down to the deck and surrounding waters. Kietos strained his eyes through the darkness on the figures rocking back and forth on the ship's deck. He could make out the clawed feet, the mangled wings. The voices had given way to groans and weakened screeches and wails of torment. _Seirenês…The legends…_

He could better see them now, their ugly bird-like bodies quivering in agony. They had not succeeded in making Kietos their prey, and thus, they were doomed to die.

Kietos crumpled then, feeling so alone. Grief built up within him; his men had gone, Emanés had gone. There was nothing left for him on this gods-forsaken sea. And so he broke, letting go a torrent of sorrow that joined the despair weeping from the broken bodies of myth. Silence never took him. His pain joined that of those broken, grotesque creatures, and all they could do was cry.