Lord of the realm

"Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to move along," Petrus said more firmly.

"This is a place of business, and—"

"Silence!"

The word carried such authority that Petrus actually stumbled backwards, his mouth snapping shut as if compelled by power. It was said in a tone that was low-pitched and sharp.

The siren's attention returned to Jaenor.

"You don't belong here, land-walker. These waters have been ours since before your ancestors crawled from the mud. Perhaps it's time you found somewhere more... suitable."

Jaenor kept his face straight and said in a flat tone, "I have every right to be here. I work honestly, I pay my taxes to the Earl, and I bother no one."

"Ah, but you do bother us," the siren said, beginning to circle his station like a shark scenting blood.

"You and that woman you share a bed with. Oh yes, we know about Odessa. The entire port knows about your little domestic arrangement."

The mention of Odessa sent a spike of protective rage through Jaenor's system.

"Leave her out of this!"

"Or what?" The siren's laugh was like breaking glass.

"You'll do something rash? You'll show us all what you're truly capable of? I think not. You're trying so hard to blend in, to pretend you're just another common fishmonger. But we can smell the otherness on you, land-walker."

Jaenor felt the Origin power responding to his rising anger, a crimson warmth building in his chest.

These sirens were infamous along the coast, notorious for their cruel games with humans. They prowled the harbor not for trade, not for need, but for sport. To them, tormenting mortals was a pastime sweeter than wine, a melody of shrieks and laughter that never grew dull.

And none dared raise a hand against them. Not the guards, not the merchants, not even the sea-folk themselves—for behind every siren's laughter loomed the shadow of their queen. Her will was law upon the waves, her vengeance swift and merciless. Those who dared strike her daughters seldom lived to tell the tale.

Even the Earl feared her.

So here in the bustling harbor, they were untouchable. They needed no reason to torment Jaenor. His humanity alone was an excuse enough, a target painted upon his back the moment he walked these salt-stained streets. To them, this was fun—a cruel jest, a game where only they could laugh, and their victim was expected to endure it in silence.

It had been a while since they came to the surface, and the very first sight they laid upon was Jaenor, making him their target.

The siren woman tilted her head, her sea-green eyes gleaming with cruel delight.

"Oh, are you getting angry?" She purred, her voice rolling like waves over jagged rocks.

"Why don't you go and crawl between her legs and calm your little head, little human?"

The laughter of her companions rang sharp as gulls' cries, but Jaenor said nothing. His jaw tightened, his silence deliberate. He had no desire to fight them here, not in the middle of the harbor where every gaze could turn into a storm.

Her amusement only grew at his quiet.

She sauntered closer, hips swaying with mocking grace, until she was close enough for the brine of the sea to cling to his skin.

Then, quick as a whip, her hand snapped across his cheek. The crack of it drew a few gasps from nearby onlookers.

The sirens laughed harder, their laughter a song with no melody—ugly, twisted, echoing with malice.

"Pathetic," she sneered, her lips curling as she leaned near his ear. "You humans always—"

She never finished the sentence.

Jaenor's fist caught her across the jaw with enough force to send her staggering backwards, the sound of the impact echoing across the market. The glamour flickered for just a moment, revealing a glimpse of scaled skin and gill slits before reasserting itself.

"You want to see what I'm capable of?" Jaenor snarled, his origin power flaring to life. "Keep talking about her. Please."

The siren wiped a trickle of blue-tinged blood from her lip, her ocean-deep eyes blazing with fury. "You dare strike one of the Deep Court? You pathetic, land-bound worm!"

Her companions materialized as if from nowhere, their human disguises dropping partially to reveal webbed fingers, shark-like teeth, and eyes that glowed with fury.

They moved with inhuman speed, but Jaenor was no longer the untrained youth who was kidnapped in the forest six months ago.

The first attacker lunged at him with claws extended, but Jaenor sidestepped and delivered an uppercut that lifted the creature clean off its feet. His enhanced strength, augmented by months of origin power integration, was far beyond human norms.

Another one of them charged at him, but Jaenor simply kicked her, crashing her onto the floor.

Seeing how he was strong, the former siren thought quickly.

"Get him into the water!" the lead siren shrieked.

"Take him where we have the advantage!"

They swarmed him then, six pairs of inhuman hands grasping and pulling. Despite his newfound strength, they managed to drag him toward the edge of the platform. The wood splintered beneath their combined weight, and then they were falling—Jaenor and the furious sirens plunging into the dark waters of Basmonte harbor.

The shop was present above the seawater.

The shock of the cold water stunned him, making him gasp for air. He quickly summoned his Origin power, and then his body removed the cold and made him feel better.

The sirens, however, were now in their element.

They surrounded him in the murky depths, their human disguises completely abandoned. In their true forms, they were creatures of terrible beauty—scaled and finned, with luminous patterns that pulsed along their elongated limbs. Their hair flowed like kelp, and their eyes burned with the cold light of deep-sea predators.

They attacked him one after the other, but Jaenor was still able to beat them, his body glowing with the faint red haze.

He wasn't having a hard time with breathing; the Origin power made it easy for him to move and let him control his body underwater.

The lead siren's anger rose as she watched him. She quickly ordered her members and told them to act as one.

"Now you die, land-walker," the lead siren hissed, her voice somehow clear despite the water. "Let the harbor be your tomb."

They attacked as one, sleek forms circling like they were the hunters of the sea. Clawed hands and scaled arms lashed out from every direction, dragging him into their embrace. Their nails bit into his flesh, their laughter echoing strangely beneath the waves.

Jaenor kicked, twisted, and tried to break free, but their grip only tightened, pulling him down into the cold, merciless depths. Under the water, he couldn't quite take on all of them. They were much stronger here.

The surface grew distant.

The sun above faded to a dim smear of silver as the water swallowed its light.

Deeper and deeper they pulled him, until the sea turned into a vast and crushing darkness. His lungs burned, his chest convulsed, and bubbles burst desperately from his lips, fleeing upward like spirits racing toward the sky he would never see again.

The sirens laughed, their voices a haunting choir.

To them, his struggle was nothing more than a performance, another mortal flailing before the inevitable.

"Struggle more," one whispered with cruel delight, her face inches from his. "It makes the drowning sweeter."

They enjoyed killing them slowly.

Jaenor's vision blurred.

His limbs weakened, leaden and slow. The world narrowed to suffocating darkness and mocking laughter.

Fifty feet down.

A hundred.

Two hundred.

Yet somewhere inside, buried beneath fear and exhaustion, something stirred.

Something that had slept within him, waiting for a moment of true desperation.

And then—it snapped.

The chains of mortal weakness shattered, and from the very core of his being a flood of power surged outward. It was not gentle, not calm, but a violent eruption.

His Origin Core blazed awake, crimson light flaring from within his chest, its glow cutting through the abyss like fire in pitch.

The sirens froze, their laughter breaking into gasps and shrieks as the sea around him trembled. The water itself seemed to recoil from him, boiling with raw energy as his body convulsed with newfound strength. Six wings of light, crimson as blood, unfurled like burning banners from his back, forcing the waters aside.

Jaenor opened his eyes, and they no longer looked human. They glowed with the deep, all-seeing light of the Origin—an ancient, terrible brilliance that pierced the ocean's depths.

The Origin power that he had kept so carefully controlled suddenly erupted from his core like a crimson star going nova. The water around him turned red with energy, and the sirens were sent tumoring through the water like leaves in a hurricane.

But they were resilient creatures, and they adapted quickly and moved away from the incoming torrent.

The Origin power had always been there, flowing through his veins like liquid starlight. But now it was more than power—it was becoming part of his essential nature, rewriting the very structure of his being.