Her beauty was captivating—loud as the clamor of life, yet terrifying as the silence of death.
She was the one who stood upon the fragile line that divided them both.
"I wonder… which one are you?"
.
.
.
There—between two shades of blue: the blue of the sea and the blue of its sky—between the intoxicating scent of salt and the echoing rhythm of footsteps—
A ship drifted in the heart of the unknown.
Its crew moved back and forth, each absorbed in his own task beneath the cries of seagulls overhead.
One, dark-skinned, gripped the sail firmly.
Another, sharp-eyed, scrubbed the deck.
A blond man sharpened swords, while another polished the cannons.
And above them all, one stood upon the mast, scouting the horizon.
The unspoken pact of silence was broken by the sound of footsteps emerging from the cabin that occupied the farthest end of the ship.
A slender man stepped out—so lean one might mistake him, from afar, for frail.
He bore green eyes, sharp in gaze, with blond hair and a face carved with a measure of sternness.
Moments later, another man followed.
Similar in build, yet auburn-haired, with honey-colored eyes and an air of indifference draped across his features.
The first lifted his gaze and called out to the one atop the mast, his calm voice contrasting the raging crash of waves against the ship:
"Hey, Hawk… do you see our desired target?"
Hawk raised his head toward the sky before answering at once, unable to conceal the burning excitement in his voice:
"Yes, Captain. The target is within sight… and it sails exactly along the course we anticipated."
A lazy smile crept upon the captain's lips as he murmured a single word:
"Good."
He turned on his heel to face his crew, then stepped forward, his voice booming:
"Move! Each of you, take your positions. The real work begins now. And remember—any mistake will earn you a one-way trip into the merciless depths of the sea."
He spoke with a sly, mocking smile—
one that quickly spread among them.
They were long accustomed to such speeches from their captain—
the man who refused anything less than dragging them, step by step, toward the very peak.
For this was the Siren Ship—
not named for beauty, but for the cunning of those aboard it.
They seized their spoils, lured you into believing you had won…
then vanished like a legend, leaving behind nothing but the bitter realization—
that you had been deceived.
After his words, he turned his back to them and headed toward his cabin, leaving one final command:
"Max, take the helm from the rear… and steer our ship toward that cave."
He issued his order, and the auburn-haired man followed without hesitation.
.
.
.
.
.
The moment the man with forest-green eyes entered, his companion spoke in a voice meant for him alone:
"So… do you truly expect me to believe you?
That your target is the Agate Ship?"
he raised—no, rather—she raised her fiery brows as she removed what rested upon her head, letting strands fall freely—threads colored like the earth itself.
Then she met his gaze with eyes that had claimed the very hue of her homeland's trees.
"No.
I do not merely seek it… I seek him.
The one cast down by the night sky from the delight of its smile.
Do you think I would set my sights upon anything lesser?"
She spoke, her face glowing with a hue stolen from the joy of his mention, while her gaze shimmered with cunning—
as though she gambled for nothing but the most precious of prizes.
A sigh of weary resignation escaped the honey-eyed one.
What had she to do with the madness of this woman—
a woman whose identity many might not know…
Yet she was great enough
for fingertips to begin, even now, writing her story....