Chapter Text
The Black Wind rocked gently on the ocean, anchored beneath the silver glow of the moon. The crew was gathered on the main deck, raucous laughter and clanking tankards filling the night air. A makeshift feast had been thrown together—stew bubbling in iron pots, stale bread softened with ale, and dried meats that had seen better days. The air was thick with the mingling scents of salt, smoke, and sweat.
At the center of the gathering, the ship’s two cooks sat together: Mitsuri Kanroji, humming cheerfully as she passed out bowls of stew, and Obanai Iguro, silent as ever, stirring the pot with a steady hand.
It was Mitsuri’s voice—bright and casual—that cut through the revelry.
“Captain, can we cook the fish?”
The crew fell silent.
Sanemi, leaning back in his chair with a bottle of rum dangling from his fingers, raised a brow. “The fish?”
Mitsuri nodded eagerly, her pink and green curls bouncing with the motion. “Yeah! Obanai mentioned it first, but I think it’s a great idea! We haven’t had real seafood in forever, and he looks really fresh—”
The realization hit the crew like a cannon blast.
She wasn’t talking about just any fish.
She meant 𝐓𝐇𝐄 fish.
The one shackled near the captain’s quarters.
The siren.
All at once, the air shifted.
A few crew members laughed nervously, others stole uneasy glances toward the dark-haired prisoner bound in chains. Giyuu, stripped of his usual element, was seated on the wooden deck, his tail sprawled beside him, shimmering darkly under the lantern light. His wrists were bound with heavy iron cuffs, attached to a thick chain bolted into the deck.
Though his face remained unreadable, his body was tense, his powerful tail twitching ever so slightly.
Obanai, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke.
“Meat is meat.”
His voice was flat, matter-of-fact, as he ladled stew into a bowl.
Sanemi let out a low chuckle, tipping his bottle back for a swig of rum before pushing himself to his feet. He crossed the deck in a few slow strides, boots heavy against the planks. When he stopped in front of Giyuu, he crouched down, gripping the siren’s chin with rough fingers and tilting his face up.
Giyuu’s lips parted slightly under the force of Sanemi’s hold, but his deep, unblinking gaze remained steady.
“Ain’t got nothing to say?”
Sanemi taunted, tightening his grip, his calloused thumb brushing over Giyuu’s lower lip.
“Maybe I should slice a piece off and let Mitsuri have a taste first.”
Still, Giyuu said nothing.
The crew watched intently, some leaning in, others sipping their drinks, eager to see how this would unfold.
And then—
“You’d regret it.”
Sanemi’s smirk twitched.
“What?”
Giyuu’s voice was smooth, quiet, but firm.
“If you eat me… you’ll never hear my song.”
The words sent a ripple through the crew.
A few men shifted uncomfortably, exchanging wary glances. Everyone had heard the stories.
Sirens were 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲, yes—but their voices were worse.
A siren’s song could drag an entire fleet to ruin, lead men into the depths with nothing but a melody. But there were rarer tales—ones spoken in hushed voices, with both fear and fascination—of sirens who had a different kind of song.
One that didn’t kill.
One that bewitched.
Sanemi’s grip loosened slightly. Just enough for Giyuu to tilt his head ever so slightly, lips barely ghosting over Sanemi’s fingers.
A slow, knowing smile curled at the edges of the siren’s mouth.
“And I think you want to hear it,”
Giyuu murmured.
Sanemi’s jaw clenched.
For the first time since capturing him, something shifted.
It was subtle, but Giyuu felt it.
The slight pause. The flicker of uncertainty in Sanemi’s storm-colored eyes.
He had found his leverage.
And he intended to use it.