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Chapter Text

They were going to die.

Screams and shouts of rival pirate gangs echoed across the island. What was left of Hongjoong’s crew charged headfirst into battle. Cutlasses and axes cut through bone. Heads rolled into waters. Blood dyed the sand in crimson.

A few feet away, a tall and muscular member of the Declaration swung his heavy axe, chopping an enemy’s arm off with a strike. Just as he flashed Hongjoong a gold-toothed smile, two stubby men lunged from behind. One restrained him. The other sliced his throat open.

He stretched his arm toward Hongjoong, blood pouring. Then, he fell.

Deep guilt welled within Hongjoong’s chest. Lush coconut trees thick with shade. Bushes ripe with delicious berries. A man once claimed that once your feet touched the warm sand, all rivalries were forgotten and weapons never unsheathed. 

A bitter chuckle. It was his fault for still believing in that traitor. 

His heart ached, but there was no time to mourn. There was someone he had to find. He had to make sure he was safe.

Alive.

Every breath was fought for as he dragged himself across the beach. His twisted left leg was a deadweight. Blood from sand stained his bruised face. The fractured ribs reduced his breathing more and more. Still, he defied death.

All his loyal men’s bodies surrounded him. In this moment, he had no right to die.

That’s when he saw the man he was looking for.

“Wooyoung?” the Captain called softly, flinching at a fractured rib digging into his body.

Jeong Wooyoung, his Navigator, lay on his back, breath shallow. His black mullet was matted with blood and his clothes were shredded to pieces.

A deep gash trailed across his chest.

“Wooyoung.” The Captain’s heart raced. “Wake up! Woo —!”

A teasing smile. “Yes, Captain Hongjoong?”

Despite the agony reading through his body, not once did the childlike admiration in his eyes die. In fact, like a madman, it grew deeper.

Hongjoong gritted his teeth. “Why? Why are you looking at me like that?”

A cheeky giggle. “Like what, Captain?”

“Stop calling me that,” Hongjoong demanded, his voice cracking. “I lead you all to Hades. I brought you to death.”

A body fell behind them. They didn’t flinch.

Blood leaked into Wooyoung’s delirious grin. “I saw how you fought, Captain.” (Hongjoong swore he’d kill him before he could say that title again.) “You didn’t leave us. You fought with us despite the risk. That’s a Captain worth dying for.”

Who cared about that? Who cared if all of them were going to die?

He wanted to challenge the undying admiration dancing in his eyes, but guilt forced him to swallow it. How could he say that to a dying man? One that loved him until death, in fact.

The screams died down. The fighting came to an end. All he heard was wind. It was over.

It was all over.

Yet, it felt unnatural. The sudden stop. Pirates just don’t stop fighting without a cause.

A sweet scent wafted up his nose. Too sweet. Bile rose in his throat. This strange scent was stronger than the smell of the fallen.

Something was wrong.

Through his blurring vision, a member of the enemy crew went still. He dropped his weapon. His eyes were glazed over, looking at the ocean. Then, without a fight, he went towards it.

The sea wrapped him in its cold embrace. First, it was his ankles. Then, his torso. Then he was gone.

More followed. Enemy pirates. Half-dead or whole crew mates. They moved without resistance, abandoning their weapons. They went into the sea as if it were home.

The lack of willpower. The hypnotic song. A creature that was thought to only be a legend — a sailor’s tale.

“It can’t be.” Hongjoong’s mouth went dry. “Sirens?”

At first, their words weren’t clear. It was a soft, strange melody floating on the wind. Slowly, it snaked through Hongjoong’s pain and sank into the recesses of his mind. Then came the words— longing, saccharine, honeyed. A lullaby.

Ancient one, lonely one,

come rest your head.

I’ll hold you gently, safe in death’s grasp.

I smile upon you, my weathered champion.

Come ancient wanderer, come home.

This is your hour.

His body rose. Pain dulled. The ocean shimmered like starlight.

Yes. That’s where Hongjoong belonged.

The sea.

A laugh from Wooyoung — light, dazed, free. “Hey, Captain. We had a good run, right?”

That was not Wooyoung talking. His voice was no longer his own. Yet, as the last of Hongjoong’s will died, his lips curled into a smile. “Yes. We did. Let’s go home, Young-ie.”

Hair flowing like ink in water. Skin glowing like moonlight. Sirens, breathtaking as ever, increased the pitch of their voices as they saw them draw closer and closer.

The waves kissed their ankles. Then, their knees.

Then—

A crack.

A chant tore through the spell like a blade.

Hongjoong gasped — the ocean no longer sparkled. Pain burned in his limbs again. The fog clouding his mind blew away.

He grabbed Wooyoung’s hand, dragging him back to shore as the sirens shrieked and vanished into the waves.

For a moment, everything was still — all he could hear was crashing waves and his ragged breathing.

Where? Where did that powerful chant come from?

He turned, searching. His blurring vision landed on a figure in the distance.

On a jagged rock formation, a boy with cerulean hair stared back at him. He was swaying back and forth on the edge of the highest rock. His voice replayed in Hongjoong’s mind — commanding, rhythmic, and enchanting; a sword that cut through a siren’s spell.

He tried to stand, but buckled. “Who are you?”

The boy tipped over the edge, falling.

Just in time, a broad-shouldered man, fast as lightning, caught him.

Chest heaving and coughing out water, San looked at Hongjoong. “What do we do with him, Captain?”

Hongjoong blinked hard. The pain was becoming unbearable. Blood dripped into his eyes. Still, he looked at the limp boy and took time to think. What is it that he felt? Awe? Confusion? Fear?

His knees buckled. He gripped his side. “Bring him to my ship,” he rasped. He used the last of his strength to raise his voice. “The wounded, too. Now! Don’t leave anyone behind!”

The moment he said that, his body hit the sand.

Still, his crew obeyed.

They scurried to carry the wounded and their Captain — what was left of the Declaration’s crew. Amidst the aid, they moved as if filled with a renewed sense of purpose. All of them were glad to be alive.

Yet as they worked, they all had the same question.

Who was that boy? The one who saved them — the one who undid the siren’s song.

Chapter Text

SEVEN YEARS LATER

Nothing was more tragic than knowing you’re just a weapon to those you once trusted.

From the crow’s nest, you could spot island in the distance and catch how sunlight makes the ocean glisten like jewels. Once upon a time, the crew break from their daily routine and admire its beauty from there. Now, they avoided the once coveted nest.

It was no longer a spot for daydreaming. It was for the lookout — the Siren Watch. The one whose voice protected the crew against a siren’s song.

To others, it’d be a punishment to be stuck up here. But For Jeong Yunho, a tall man with cerulean hair, this was freedom. Even if it was technically banishment.

Taking a deep breath, he let his steady humming fill the air. A soft, yet powerful and rhythmic tone protected the ship like a shield. He could feel the sirens’ eyes on him, waiting — hoping — that’d he let his guard down for even a second.

Of course, he didn’t until he no longer felt those preying eyes. Then, it was back to reality.

The cloudless sky was a plain shade of blue, the sun threatening to scorch the men alive. Crew members mopping the deck, grumbling their lives away, or carrying recent plunder to the storage room. All of them were going about their day. As if nothing had happened.

As if Yunho hadn’t watched bodies surrender to icy waters as his voice turned raw from trying to sing.

Caramel goo from hard candy slid down in stomach. He stretched his long, scarred arms, earned from years of battle. Then, his gaze bore into the endless sea. The gorgeous waters, dolphins playing with each other, and a sense of freedom beyond man’s imagination.

A long time ago, he had that — freedom.

Is this what he’s forced to do for the rest of his life? Be trapped in this crow’s nest like a caged bird?

“Jeong Yunho!”

Yunho groaned, looking down at the voice below.

The First Mate’s sharp, narrowed eyes and defined nose has made maidens twirl for him. Or was it his towering height which matched Yunho’s, the only difference was that one looked intimidating than the other with a rusting cutlass and combat fit for a renowned soldier? Song Mingi — or, as the crew whispers in the dark, the opposite of Yunho.

Yunho raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Captain wants to talk to you.”

A groan came deep from Yunho’s chest. “No.”

Mingi raised his eyebrows. “You sure that’s what you want me to report back, mate?”

Fear twisted in Yunho’s chest as Captain’s cold glare came to remembrance. He fought to ignore it, but it was too late. The memory was too strong and felt too real.

Grabbing the rigging, he weaved down like a gliding portia, landing with a thud. “He threatened to cut my tongue off if I ever left the nest again.”

Worry flashed in Mingi’s eyes. He quickly masked it. “You know Captain didn’t mean it like that.”

Yunho laughed, but without joy. “And how can you be so sure when you know the relationship between him and I now?”

No response.

Right now, Yunho could retreat to his quarters. He could ignore those orders and bury himself under tough blankets, away from everything and everyone. However, he knew how that would end. 

The last thing he wanted was to be accused of mutiny.

So he forced one leg in front of the other, praying that it’d be short.

As Yunho drew closer to the stern, a familiar laugh perked his ears. Two men who he came to know over the years came into view.

Captain, a man of short stature cocked the helm to the right, the Declaration shifting underneath the soles of their black boots. Strays of shortened blond hair refused to stand down, as if a part of him wanted to defy the laws of the ocean.

The other man was Jung Wooyoung — slick-backed mullet and worn, black clothes. He held the yellowed map like a treasure. As the Navigator, he advised Captain on which routes to take and warned him of dangers ahead. His laugh could be heard from the crow’s nest — a nice break from the sounds of the sea. But today, he frowned as he narrowed his eyes at the map. Clearly, he was confused and trying to figure out a problem not clear to Yunho.

Not like there’d be any help from him, anyway.

Just as Yunho turned on his heels to bolt, Captain’s voice rang. “No sirens today?”

Footsteps grew closer. Floorboards creaked. Yunho turned around.

Captain had tied himself to the helmsman in a blink of an eye. His cold, blue eyes held nothing but scrutiny.

Yunho took a deep breath. Don’t react. “No, Captain.”

As Captain’s look ate at him, a horrible feeling flooded Yunho. Right now, he wasn’t the ship’s protector — he was Kim Hongjoong’s enemy; more abhorred than the sirens who led people to slaughter. Worse, he felt like vulnerable prey.

A prey that wasn’t known to be a predator.

Frustration overtook Yunho. “What have I done now? I followed your orders! All I want for you is to leave me alone!”

“Watch your tone, Siren Watch,” Wooyoung warned, yet not quite meeting Yunho’s eyes. “If you were truly nothing to Captain, you’d be keelhauled.”

Torn to pieces from the barnacles under the ship. Back and neck broken by the sharp keel at the bottom.

Captain held up his hand. “Focus, Wooyoung. I’ll deal with him.”

Wooyoung huffed. His grip tightened on the map, but he obeyed Captain and turned his back on them.

Relief flooded Yunho for a moment, but he refrained from showing it. He wanted this to be quick, not questioned for every move he made.

No more reactions.  

Don’t react.

Captain crossed his arms, looking out at the endless water. The calm breeze stirred his coat, yet his shoulders were still tense.

“I know you followed my orders,” Captain hummed. “There’s just something I want you to confirm. Answer and I’ll let you go.“

An obvious lie, Yunho thought. “Fine.”

Silence.

Captain’s voice dropped an octave. “You can see sirens from miles away too, right?”

Yunho hesitated.

Captain noticed. “Answer me.”

“Y…yes, Captain.”

A beat.

“You warned us to stop the ship because they were surrounding her. That was to protect us, right?”

A nod.

“Was it, Yunho?”

Another nod. 

“Then why?”

Yunho tilted his head. “Why what, Captain?”

Silver flashed. Captain’s cutlass was drawn. “Why didn’t you stop them from killing my men!”

“Captain—?”

“You were being too obedient, too eager to go to the nest. From there, you can see them from even farther away. Do you take me for a fool? Your voice was perfectly fine today — you planned that attack! You’re the reason most of my crew was murdered!”

Murdered?

“My voice was taken from me!” Yunho shouted, begging to be believed. “Something took my voice. For that one moment, something took away my power. I would never send your men to Hades. You know that!”

Captain stared him down. “Do I? Do I really know you?”

Yunho moved closer. “Captain, please—“

Suddenly, the tip of his cutlass kissed Yunho’s throat. “Back. Off. Siren.”

Siren.

Yunho staggered back, falling. Not from the blade, but betrayal.

People gossiped that Kim Hongjoong, the King of Piracy, has claimed more lives than the ocean herself. And right now, Yunho felt that in every fiber in his being.

He was going to die here.

Just as Captain rose his blade, a voice cut through — familiar, urgent. “Hongjoong!”  

Captain paused.

It shouted again — closer, heavier, like thunder. Boots slammed against the wooden deck, unapologetic and unrelenting.

San.

In one motion, he shoved himself between the cutlass and Yunho, arms outstretched like a barrier.

Captain blinked. The blade lingered. 

Whatever look San was giving Captain, it made him stand down. Everyone on board knew not to anger Captain Kim Hongjoong — they didn’t dare provoke Choi San to wrath.

The weapon trembled in Captain’s hand. “You dare commit mutiny, San?”

Silence.

“Enough,” San seethed. “Put. It. Back.”

Captain held on for a little longer. Then, he sheathed the cutlass.

San turned and lifted Yunho off the ground with one arm. “Are you okay?”

Yunho nodded, trembling. He still felt the tip of the cutlass at his throat.

San’s loving smile reached his eyes, turning them into half-moons. He gave Yunho a gentle hug, then spun him away from Captain. He draped his arm around his waist.

“This isn’t the right path.” His voice was calm, resolute. “Tell Wooyoung he has the wrong map. He’s leading us to Tortuga instead of Port Royal.”

As they left Captain on the stern, Yunho’s thoughts began to weigh him down. Guilt, abandonment, restraint — each of them shackled him like a captive.

He could leave. He should. There was just one problem.

He can’t.

Siren Watch. A title for the one whose singing can undo a siren’s seductive song. If he left, the sirens would claim the last of the Declaration. Worse — walking away meant admitting guilt for something he didn’t do.

But, if he stayed, he’d rot. Piece by piece. Stripped of peace.

He almost let out a cry. That’s exactly what Captain would want. And he wanted to deny it.

Forcing Yunho to sit on the bed, the click of the door sounded as San locked the door. Nothing but an eerie silence stood between the two — suffocating, like poisonous gas.

Then, San broke it. “How are you feeling, Golden?”

Bitterness tainted Yunho’s dry laughter. “Golden,” he mocked. “What’s golden about what just happened, San? He called me a siren.”

San glanced back and forth between the door and Yunho. As he sat with Yunho on the bed, he wrapped themselves in the only blanket available. It was a worn blue, with holes big and small, but it shielded Yunho from the wind at night. It comforted him during times like these, where his bruised heart bled openly.

San rubbed Yunho’s shoulder. “I trust you, hyung. What happened to our crew was horrific, but it was an accident. Don’t let the guilt weigh you down. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then whose was it?” Despair sank into the wounds of Yunho’s heart, sinking in its fangs of blame. “And what if something like that happens again?”

San hummed. “Is that really your concern, or are you scared of losing the last of Captain’s trust?”

Even if the last of it was already gone.

Yunho flinched. San always knew the truth. All he could feel was shame.

San took a long, deep breath. He grasped Yunho’s hand. “Listen. He may give you candy, and even the Captain’s Quarters all to yourself, but it’s time to face the truth. Hongjoong no longer sees you as family. I don’t know what he would’ve done if I hadn’t saved you.”

Yunho stared at him in disbelief. “Then why would he let me keep this room — the biggest room that’s meant for the captain of a pirate ship — and my favorite candy? Why?”

San drew his lips into a thin line. His eyes showed nothing but condolence. Then, he whispered the answer in his ear.

Yunho’s heart shattered more.

San stood. “You knew the answer already, Golden,” he reprimanded softly. “You just didn’t want to accept it.”

Yunho grabbed the hem of San’s shirt. San turned, startled.

“If it’s true, and I accept that truth, then where will I go if I…” The forbidden word stuck to his throat. A thing he never thought of. And from the look shared between them, both knew what it was.

A tense silence stood between them, stretching for an eternity.

San lowered his voice. “I can’t help you until you admit that truth.”

Each part of his heart hurt more and more. Yet, he knew there was no other choice.

Yunho finally said it. “Captain only continued doing those things because it kept me from leaving.”

San nodded in agreement. He continued standing, crossing his arms. “Hongjoong will have me run errands tomorrow to restock our supply. I can ask to bring you along. Port Royal is the only escape I can offer.”

Yunho felt like he could breathe again. “Thank you. Thank you so much, San.”

San gave a ghost of a smile. He took the blanket off of Yunho. “I can get Wooyoung to sow this by tomorrow. I’ll go get you mine.” His hand grabbed the cold doorknob.

Yunho watched him stand there for a moment, trembling. “San—?”

“I mean it, Yunho,” he said. “Tomorrow is your only chance. Don’t waste it.”

With that, San got the blanket, gave it to Yunho, and left.

Tomorrow is your only chance.

Why tomorrow was, Yunho didn’t know. But the urgency in San’s voice didn’t leave room for questioning. It was time to leave the Declaration behind.

Besides, what San whispered was right.

“A gilded cage will always be a cage.”

Chapter Text

Calling a place The Wickedest City On Earth would make the hardest of pirates chortle. However, there’s a reason why Port Royal, Jamaica, earned that infamous title.

It was a year after Yunho had saved the Declaration and her enemies from the sirens. He had gotten lost. An elaborate, church-like structure caught his eye. While the columns mimicked a temple, his gut told him it was where sinned thrived.

The people who settle in Port Royal were lustful, greedy. If the ocean turned into alcohol, they’d waste no time drowning in it.

But how could a building as beautiful as this harbor people with bad intentions?

Two words were etched into a stone plaque: Aphrodite’s Brothel.

Brothel. A familiar word — hadn’t Hongjoong warned him of these kinds of places? He couldn’t recall. No one he knew was with him to help out. Most of the crew was waiting for him back on ship.

He took a deep breath, knocked wooden on the door, and waited.

A lady with red ringlets opened the door, eyes slowly trailing his lean body; lips cherry red and manicured nails painted the same color as Yunho’s hair. Her silk dress hugged her figure, exposing just enough skin to leave enough to the imagination.

“What’s a boy like you doing here?” she questioned, voice velvet. “Were you left here as a gift?”

Yunho blinked. The look in her eyes — it made his stomach twist; not from fear, but something cold. Slick. Slimy. He didn’t know what to name that feeling back then.

But there was nobody else but drunken men and shady merchants around whatever area he was in. She was the only one who could help.

He gripped his pant leg. If only San hadn’t gotten sick. “Do you know where the Meat Market is? I need to buy fowl.”

The woman from Aphrodite’s Brothel drummed her nails against the door’s frame. A coy smile spread across her face. “We could help. Want to come inside, love?”

“I’m okay out here, ma’am.”

She moved her fingertips to his neck. Slowly, they trailed up to his cheek. She cupped it, stroking his face. “It’ll only be for a moment. Aren’t you cold?”

The smell of candles caught his nose. They smelled nice.

He gulped, the gut feeling inside twisting further. It’d only for a moment. Then, he’d leave.

Just as he took a step inside, someone yanked him back.

He gasped and turned. Hongjoong was glaring daggers at the woman.

Both of her hands were cut off.

That was the first time Yunho saw the fury of their captain — back then, it protected him from harm. He never thought that, one day, wrath would be turned against him.

He was lectured again about the wickedness of the city that night and wasn’t allowed by himself in Port Royal since. Which worked out — with him on ship, no one would worry about a sudden siren attack catching them off guard.

A sharp gust of salty wind hit his face. He blinked. He was back in the crow’s nest.

No one had woken him last night. Even Captain. Until morning, where he was dragged back up there against his will.

Just yesterday, this view was his comfort. This nest felt like home. Now, the sea wasn’t shimmering. It was a grave. And the crow’s nest was an oubliette.

Yunho’s chest ached. Since when did he feel so trapped, so stuck? The sea wasn’t a monster, but a victim — more spoke about her danger than its beauty. She homed beautiful dolphins and ginormous whales. Who could do that better than her?

And the crow’s nest?

It was just becoming the only place Yunho felt safe in. Where, unlike his bedroom, he didn’t feel like such a caged bird. There was freedom up here. There was—

“A gilded cage is always a cage.”

“Tomorrow is your only chance.”

San’s warnings were echoing, reminding Yunho of a grim future if he decided to stay.

In this distance, an island could be seen. Figures stood at the port, waiting for them. Some would be women, others merchants aching to trade.

Port Royal, and his one chance of escape, were near.

The Declaration came to a slow, steady halt. Rusted chains jingled as the anchor was thrown overboard, hooking to the seabed. Most of the crew ran off, excited to explore the sinful island. Some would come back drunk, too deep in the alcohol to care about the consequences.

One may not be coming back at all.

After a lot of resistance, Captain eventually approved. However, San had noticed something in Captain’s eyes — a suspicious look, one that made a cold pit churn in his stomach like a hurricane.

Why, he didn’t know. And Captain didn’t say.

What if Captain already figured out their plan? If so, was he waiting for the right moment to strike? What would be the consequences for their sin?

What type of punishment would San face for daring to release the bird from its cage? Death?

However, now wasn’t the time to spiral. Yunho followed San’s instructions — dress plainly, find some gold coins, and tie a bandana around his hair. It made him stick out like a sore thumb; for this to work, he had to look like any other man.

Both stood at the stern. Seagulls cawed overhead. Grey skies loomed over them.

San looked at Yunho. “Ready?”

Was he?

I have to be. “Yes. I am.”

The two stepped off the gangplank.

“San.”

Yunho’s breath hitched.

Captain.

San didn’t turn around — he clenched his fists, knuckles whitening. “Yes?”

Captain’s arms were crossed. Sunlight glinted off his gold-lined black coat, highlighting the look in his eyes — a warning behind a smile.

“The journey’s going to be long —  a year’s worth of food, materials for altars, and ammunition are going to be a lot to carry, even with your strength. That’s why I allowed Yunho to help,” Hongjoong explained. “Our journey to Cape Sounion goes straight through siren territory. We need to be prepared for all circumstances.”

San grimaced.

“Cape Sounion?” Yunho questioned, the name familiar. “Why are we going there?”

Captain looked at Yunho like he just noticed he was there.

“Oh. Forgive me, Siren Watch. I made you pay attention to your singing more than the places we went.” Captain turned to face him. “I may be the Pirate King, but Poseidon’s king of the sea. Therefore, I go to his temple to offer sacrifices. Whenever I spill blood, I must apologize to him— the sea is his wife, and Amphitrite is the sea. He’ll kill me if I don’t say sorry for getting blood on his wife.”

Amphitrite — the soul of the oceans; the sea herself.

A moment of silence passed before it dawned upon Yunho.

As the Declaration faced sirens waiting to kill them, Yunho would be bathing in the glow of his freedom. Indulging himself with roasted meat and divine fruits, dancing barefoot to the sound of lyres and on Palisdoes — no man to chain him. No captain to cage him.

But for his crew? One hum. One song. Sirens would strip the last of their will. The ship, found abandoned — if found at all. News about the death of the King of Piracy would spread and reach Yunho.

Survivor’s guilt would creep in as the gossips whispered in the dark: “Their Siren Watch abandoned them. He knew the risk and still turned away.”

Just before he had a panic attack, San’s voice cut through. “Golden.”

Yunho snapped his head up. San stood a little ahead — Captain, farther behind.

In his panic, he’d stumbled. Now he caught in between two futures.

He saw the look in San’s eyes — firm, but soft. Despite the lack of words, he could see what he was saying based on expression alone: “Are you ready?”

This is why San told him today was his only chance. He knew Yunho’s heart. If he didn’t go now, he never would.

He felt Captain’s stare. He felt the weight of decision upon him.

Yunho thought a little longer. Then, he stood. Slowly, he went to San.

San’s eyes widened in surprise. He masked it, looking back at Captain.

“Yunho will be safe,” he said — a half-truth. “You have my word, Hongjoong. I promise to make sure no harm will come to him.”

Captain hummed. He quieted. Then, he walked off.

A question came to mind. “How are you going to help me, San?”

In response, San chuckled, shaking his head. “Someone here owes me favors. I told him that I didn’t need any, but now I need them more than ever.”

As they walked into Port Royal, all the possibilities of what this person was like ran through Yunho’s mind. Was he a governor? A brothel owner? Maybe a rival pirate?

Yet one thing was clear — the man adored San with all his heart. And Yunho couldn’t help but wonder what it was like to experience that deep of a love.

Far from the docks, on High Street, there was a tavern with a dilapidated roof. The only thing separating the outside from the inside was a thick, white curtain acting as a door.

Women standing outside winked at passerby’s — including Yunho, and especially San — with their long lashes and blew kisses. Drunkards flirted with them, promising wild nights and riches beyond compare soon.

Yunho felt like a boy again — a dove untouched by the world. In a way, he still was. Despite his seven years of piracy, he never stepped foot in these kinds of places.

San chuckled at the look on Yunho’s face. “Cute,” he said. “You really never drank behind Hongjoong’s back?”

Yunho eyed San. “You’re being bold for someone that can’t handle alcohol.”

San’s ears turned red.

“A-anyway, like I said earlier, somebody here may or may not owe me a few favors. Wasn’t planning on using them, but he always insisted that I should.” Another chuckle. “Guess it’s time. Welcome to Apollo’s Tavern.”

Without warning, San grabbed Yunho’s hand and led him through the curtain.

Yunho expected chaos — any kind. But he was surprised.

Inside, people sat at wooden round tables. All they were doing was talking loudly, clinking beer glasses, and laughing. The curtain was hard to see and Yunho had been too distracted by what was outside.

A boy polishing glass with a white cloth was adorned in a white blouse and black, narrowed trousers. Dark bangers covered his forehead. He looked calm — serene.

Then, he looked up. Sparkles twinkled in his eyes as a wide smile spread across his face. He leaped over the table and ran right into San, wrapping his arms tight around him.

“Hyung!” he cheered, laughing. “Is it really you? I can’t believe you’re here!”

San’s smile grew. He hugged him back. “I’m glad to see you, Gyuvin.” He pulled back. “However, I can’t stay long. I’m here for a favor.”

Gyuvin heard the urgency in San’s voice. He pouted. “Do I have to close down the bar again?”

“No!” San answered. “The crew’s leaving tomorrow, anyway. No need to worried about another incident.”

Yunho scrunched his eyebrows.

San felt Yunho’s eyes. “Don’t ask.”

Gyuvin tilted his head. “What do you need from me?”

He ushered the boy closer. Gyuvin leaned down as San whispered a request — he went from playing around to focused.

He gasped. His eyes were wide at he looked at Yunho. “The bandana threw me off. I didn’t recognize you at all.” Sweat dripped down his temples. “How long do plan on hiding here?”

San answered for Yunho. “Until night. When tomorrow comes, stow him away on a cargo ship.“ Silence. “I’ll stop by before we leave.”

Yunho’s heart sank.

Now it hit. The fact that later would he the final time he could talk with San in the open. After? It’d be too risky — he should’ve known that staying in Port Royal would be too dangerous. He had to go somewhere far, far away. Where pirates never bothered to go.

A look of sadness showed in San’s eyes. It was so raw, open — he was comfortable enough to show it for that moment. Then, he gave Yunho a hug.

No words were said, neither tears shed. Yet so much was said with that hug.

San broke away first. Grabbing Yunho’s hand, Gyuvin gave a gentle tug.

It was time.

San mustered a smile. “I’ll visit you before we leave. I promise. Stay hidden, Golden. Be safe.”

Another tug.

Yunho nodded. “I’ll see you later, San-ie.”

They’d see each other again tonight. No tears would be shed until then. For both of their sakes, no tears would be shed until then.

So Yunho ingrained San’s smile — the man who freed him from his cage — into his mind, using that image as encouragement. San seemed to be doing the same thing, even if there wasn’t a smile on Yunho’s face.

While Yunho didn’t recognize it, someone did love them deeply. It was the friend who sacrificed his Captain’s trust for the sake of freedom. A love like that would sacrifice a god.

A love like that never burnt out.

Chapter Text

How long has he been down here? Minutes? Hours?

He didn’t know — all he felt was his legs cramp from sitting so long.

The cellar walls were lined with bottles of alcohol; the air itself intoxicated Yunho, smelling of rotten wood and spirits, burning his lungs. Water leaked through the floorboards above — each cold droplet that landed on his head felt like a strike. That was the only reason he managed to stay awake.

He had to.

The cargo ship could come at anytime.

If only he had brought his worn blanket. It’d offer warmth — something familiar to hold onto. He’d been so focused on escaping that he hadn’t thought to take anything with him.

Everything was left behind the moment he defied Captain — his role, his crew, and his most precious friend who made this dream come true.

Guilt was whispering — ”You still have time to go back.” He could climb up the creaky stairs and run to the ship. Surely, Captain wouldn’t be angry. Neither would San. They’d understand why he came back.

After all, he was their only lifeline.

“Stay hidden, Golden. Be safe.”

That encouraging smile. Those last words.

Yes, San wouldn’t be angry. But if he saw Yunho willingly return to the cage, the look of disappointment in his eyes would haunt Yunho for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to see what that looked like. He wouldn’t survive it.

And Captain? He’d display Yunho’s head on a spike as a warning. 

Even if it he was cold and the dark made it impossible to tell time, he forced himself to stay strong. San said to stay safe — those words were comforting, but they were also an order. That no matter what thoughts come to Yunho, he must not give in to Guilt’s lies.

When San comes to see him one last time, he wanted to show him how brave he’d been. He wanted to give him the same bright, encouraging smile that he did before he left.

In order to do that, he had to stay strong.

Guilt would not get to him.

He had to stay strong.

Something twisted in Hongjoong.

A pit in his chest — a silence that clung too long. On the surface, he remained calm. Inside, something uncoiled.

San’s fists had clenched so tight that they turned bone white. Yunho’s stumbling, the war in his eyes. The moment his Siren Watch went to stand by San instead of returning to him, he knew.

An escape had been planned.

Right now, his men would be searching for Yunho. Every tavern, brothel, and market turned on its head, each one left a skeleton of what it once was. Even Zeus’ fury would pale to the litter of corpses left in his wake.

One would think that the King of Piracy would’ve given the order by now. Instead, he stood at the docks, watching at the sunset — poised, inert, like a statue.

Why?

It wasn’t Yunho that concerned him.

That boy’s guilt would gnaw at him until he caved. Eventually, he’d come crawling back like a beggar — hands open, mouth shut, like a worthless mutt.

What was bothering him, then?

Simple.

Compared to the one who rarely left the ship, Choi San knew the streets of Port Royal well. The Cabin Boy, running his usual errands — preparing the Captain’s uniform, cooking and serving meals, buying necessities. During those seven years, San had always been back before nightfall.

Now, the sun had long set.

Even the Navigator noticed something was wrong. Wooyoung stood by him, voice low. “Where’s San? We need the supplies.”

“I know.”

“He knows we won’t leave without them or him.”

“I know.”

Wooyoung curled his lips. He fidgeted with his shirt, neckline clinging to damp skin. “There’s a chance he’s late because Yunho got lost again, y’know. I don’t know why you allowed him off ship again. This could delay us.”

Hongjoong stayed silent.

There was no need to tell Wooyoung the truth — why worry him? San’s plan would end up falling apart, anyway.

Hongjoong’s head tilted up. The color in the sky was beginning to die, shifting the sky to pure black — lanterns burnt bright on the docks.

What was this slithery feeling in his chest?

This was Port Royal — a place where sin thrived. Most likely, San was slowed down by Yunho because of strange women and men wanting to sleep with them. Worser people than the siren Yunho denies himself to be.

San was fine. He’d be back. This paranoia was unbecoming of a Pirate King.

Winds changed. Wooyoung’s ear twitched. “Crew’s back.”

The sound of laughter caught their ears — taunting, drunken, loud.

Pairs of the crew came staggering, full bottles in their hands as their arms were latched around shoulders. Others staggered alone, reaching for invisible railings.

Wooyoung leaned in to whisper. “One of them must’ve seen him. Ask.”

The crew, ever disobedient. Hongjoong wanted nothing more than to discipline them one by one — his Quartermaster wasn’t here to beg for their lives. Ever so kind and innocent he was, always giving second chances.

But if he wasn’t here, what was stopping him from using his way to get information out them?

Nothing.

Hongjoong caught one by the collar and dragged them into the light.

“From dusk till dawn, you all will scrub blood and bile off the deck with your tongues for disobedience — for daring to test my patience a hundred times over.” He leaned in. “My mercy has long been gone.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “Captain—?”

“But as for you?” His voice dropped lower, colder; his eyes smoldered with a promise of ruin. “If you lie, Hades will regret leaving your soul in my hands.” His grip tightened. “Where is San, Yeonjun?”

Silence.

Hongjoong gripped his cutlass. “Where. Is. San?”

A blink.

Then, a giggle — careless, drunken. Alcohol made Yeonjun too lax, too loose with the tongue. “ Sillyyy Captain! You’re soooo strict!” he slurred, smiling. “ Someone will pick him up from Apollo’s before night. He’s probably just too drunk to walk,” Another drunk giggle, higher this time. “Don’t wooorryyy ~! He’ll be alright.”

Quiet.

Hongjoong’s voice cracked — faintly. Very faintly. “It is night, Yeonjun. He’s not here.”

Yeonjun blinked again.

Color drained from his face. “He’s not?”

Wooyoung mumbled, “Then where did he and Yunho go? Where are they?”

Members who overheard no longer laughed; they felt the dread in the air, the time running out. Their alcoholic daydreaming was over.

A haunting thought crossed Hongjoong’s mind.

Their Cabin Boy may be in danger.

Apollo’s Tavern — the last place he could be.

Hongjoong let go of Yeonjun. “Take me to that tavern. Now.”

Back pain jerked Yunho awake. He was sprawled out on the floor, eyes crusted over.

Oh no. Did I fall asleep?

Immediately, he sat back up. What if San had come by? What if he missed his last chance of seeing him — his friend, his reckless hero?

Yunho pictured San — a small, sad smile as he looked upon the dreaming Yunho. Too kind to wake him; he would simply whisper goodbye, climbing the stairs and closing the door quietly with the finality of a coffin.

No.

Slowly, he drew in a deep breath — one, two, three, four; four, three, two, one.  Anxiety, fleeting. Fear, drowning.

San had audacity to plan this escape — a bold, heartfelt recklessness that refused to be a bystander. If it was their last moment, he would steal, not spare, him from it.

He hugged himself, squeezing his shoulders. He’ll come. He promised.

Silence.

He laid back down. The floor wasn’t cold anymore — it soothed him. Fear sank into it. His eyelids got heavy, breath swallowing—

“Where is he?”

He shot up.

Quiet — one that comes before grief.

Heart lodged in throat; head dizzy with confusion and fear. No. That can’t be him. He’s on the ship. They should have left.

But that voice.

“WAIT!” Another voice pleaded. “Please! Don’t go down there!”

Gyuvin.

There was only one person Yunho could think of if Gyuvin had to shout like that.

The ceiling groaned in agony, as if mourning Yunho’s ill fate. Boots pounded the floorboards; a chorus of pleading and fury crescendoed. It was too loud, too sudden, too—

“Yunho.”

Time stopped.

There was light. A harsh light split through darkness. His mind had blanked from fear, all senses temporarily shut down. He neither heard the hinges cream, nor the footsteps coming down.

His worst fear sprung to life.

He had hoped to see San, arms outstretched in that light. But it was him — the serpent. Not kindness, nor mercy.

Captain’s eyes swept over Yunho — his Siren Watch, filthy and frayed. He felt like rot beneath that gaze.

Captain took ten steps forward. Without breaking eye contact, he crouched down — a calculating, cold viper. “You know where he is.”

Blood roared in Yunho’s ears. His throat dried.

“I know that he wanted to help you escape. His heart bleeds too much to see someone suffer — even when it comes to you.” Hatred burned in Hongjoong’s eyes. “This is the last place he was at, yet all I find is a traitor crying crocodile tears. Play dumb, and I’ll turn you dumb. Where is he, Yunho?”

His mind begged him to say something — anything. “…Who?”

The cutlass touched his throat. A final warning. “Where’s Choi San?”

It pressed against his throat. Suddenly, he was on the ship. Wooyoung’s back turnt; Captain, about to kill. San, swooping in to save him.

San wasn’t here.

“Captain!”

A familiar voiced. A strained, heartbroken voice.

Both turned their heads.

At the bottom of the steps was their Quartmaster— breathless, brown hair wind-tossed, eyes—

His eyes.

His eyes held loss.

Grief.

Yeosang stepped closer, slower, as if walking through grief. “He’s gone.”

His voice had no rise or edge. Just the tone of someone who lost their heart.

Yunho curled his hand around the tip of the cutlass as his world caved in. His hand bled, flowing like the tears on his face. “Who’s gone?”

The flickering oil camp shook in Yeosang’s. Everything stilled.

The name passed his lips in a faint breath. And Yunho’s world shattered.

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, there was a strange tale.

A man strolled along the Palisdoes — the sky, a daring grey, waves crashing against his bare feet. Even though he was far, the harmonies of accordions and flutes overpowered the song of the sea.

This man wasn’t just any man — he was a disgraced pirate. Someone who sold his crew into slavery for wealth. Even Port Royal recoiled from the stench of his sin.

As punishment, Plutus, the god of wealth and abundance, cursed him with an unbearing loneliness that followed him like a shadow. So the cursed man’s plan was to jump into sea, far from The Wickedest City on Earth— never looking back, never regretting, because the loneliness was driving him mad.

But there was something about those beautiful flutes.

Something about those lovely accordions.

The melodies were inhumanely beautiful.

By those notes, he was lured back. Passerby avoided him like the plague; some acted as if he never existed. But for once, that gut-wrenching ache wasn’t slowly killing. He was in a trance.

Finally, he found where the symphonies came from. A tavern.

Ignoring the way people turned away from him, he pushed forward. Paused. Took a breath. Then stepped through the doors.

He saw her.

An ethereal woman with hair the color of hydrangeas in bloom. Her voice was gentle, soft; her dress, lavender and silk. Musicians were beside her, but darkness covered them. Their hair color was also different than normal people’s. Yet no one seemed to care — they danced with wild energy, a new sense of purpose. Of life.

When the woman saw the man, her eyes glowed like her hair. All she said was this: “This is what freedom is.”

She skipped out the tavern, continuing to sing. The man, desperate to know what she meant, chased after her.

He was never seen again.

In Yeosang’s hand was a weathered, yellowed parchment; the black text faded in and out, worn by sweat and time.

On it was a painting. A man with hair as red as ripened apples; around his lower waist, a translucent himation billowing in winds drawn by curved, smooth lines. Around him, women and men stretched out their desperate arms, falling over one another for a chance to touch his soft, dark skin.

There was a moment where the world stopped, as if letting them have their last moment before everything changed.

“Sirens,” Yeosang rasped. “They wear our skin.”

No.

Yunho clutched his chest. “Yeosang, that’s just a tale—“

Yeosang’s voice trembled. “A man saw someone pull San aside when he left Apollo’s. Man or woman, he couldn’t tell.”

No.

“He noticed the purple in their hair, but thought nothing of it. Recently, hair dye has become a trend.”

No.

“By the time he remembered the story, they were long gone. It was too late.”

It has to be a tale. Stories don’t take people. Sirens can’t walk.

Right?

Yunho couldn’t help but look at the drawing — that man was beautiful.

Too beautiful.

It had to be a myth. But what if it wasn’t?

Ancient one, lonely one,

come rest your head.

I’ll hold you gently, safe in death’s grasp.

I smile upon you, my weathered champion.

Come ancient wanderer, come home.

This is your hour.

Was that them?

Were they here?

It was so soft, so gentle. A whisper. Then, it went as fast as it came.

Is that what Yunho was — a deceiver? A tempter? Gods — was that why Captain treated him like a curse? A creature that would lead to their ruin?

Captain rose.

His jaw tightened. Eyes, unreadable. No longer was he focused on the Siren Watch. Instead, he looked right at Yeosang.

Silence stretched between them.

“I gave you an order.” Captain sounded like Death. “You disobeyed me? For what? A seducer’s sympathy?”

Seducer. Yunho wished he could disappear.

Yeosang’s expression faltered — he didn’t back down. “I know why you wanted to keep this a secret, Hongjoong. But we can’t hide it anymore. Not when San is in danger.”

They knew?

Why? If they wanted to hide it from Yunho due to a lack of trust, he’d understand. But the crew — what about them?

Were they so scared of Yunho finding out that they’d risk everyone’s lives just to keep it from him?

That hymn — the one that siren’s sang when they were leading the Declaration to ruin.

He was immune.

He was the only one immune.

To them, it was blood to sharks. Desire to flesh. A fight they couldn’t win.

If a siren could lead someone to drown, what can they do with legs? How many lives have they actually taken?

What if it was too late to save San?

Footsteps broke through the noise. He raised his head — an outstretched arm. Taut. Still. Waiting.

Yeosang.

An expression unfamiliar to Yunho was on his face. His eyes, red and glassy; it was like he was haunted by his past. The way his arm trembled, stretching like Yunho was his last chance at repentance.

That expression.

It was one Captain would never show — remorse.

“I’ll understand why if you choose to stay here. None of us have treated you with kindness recently. As for me, I abandoned my morals for my sake,” he confessed softly, like he was afraid of his own self. “It’s your choice, Yunho. Do you want to come back with us? Do you want to help us find him?”

Did he?

Taking Yeosang’s hand meant going back. No chance of escape. No chance at freedom. No chance of ever being seen as human.

But if he stayed here, he’d never know if San made it home. If he was safe.

If he was alive.

Guilt had long left. Selfishness masqueraded as San’s last words — stay hidden, be safe. He’ll be fine.

That was an obvious lie.

Yunho stared at Yeosang’s hand like it was a dagger. He didn’t want to take that hand. He wanted to run. But there wasn’t any other choice.

His hands twitched. His heart screamed at him to reconsider.

To his hurt, and with ache, he took Yeosang’s hand.

The guilty Quartermaster looked at their hands, as if Yunho willingly coming back was just his imagination. Meanwhile, Yunho’s hand bled in agony, begging to be released from Yeosang’s grip. Begging to die by infection rather than holding that hand longer.

Even his body rejected the idea of return. 

With his free hand, Yeosang motioned someone from the crew over. A blue-eyed boy rushed over, hoisting Yunho off ground. Nerves painted that boy’s face, as if hives spiraled up his skin from brushing up against Yunho.

”Thanks, Hyuka,” Yeosang mumbled.

Yunho pictured San again — sea-wet hair, coughing up salt water, telling him he’d be fine.

He shoved that lie away.

The Declaration was no longer home to him, but it was still San’s. And if San was still out there — somewhere — Yunho would sacrifice his safety for San’s.

Even it if meant trapping himself in that cage.

Seven years ago, the gasping, cerulean-haired boy jolted upright.

Memories of fish-people singing and him falling flashed before his eyes — the last thing he remembered before fainting. A cold tide rose in his chest; he heaved, wildly turning his head left to right.

Where was he?

No — where was the sun?

Rough, white cloth suspended by hooks and rope; pine wood loomed above and stared from below. The only source of sunlight poured through a small, rectangular cutout carved into the ship.

Bile swam up his throat — everything swayed around him. He tried to hurry to the window. Rope snagged his foot. He pitched forward — vomit burst out his throat as his chest slammed onto the floor.

A creak, then footsteps padding.

They came from above, then sounded from a passageway — wood stacked upon wood, leading to the heavens. Someone was coming.

He reeked of bile, spit, and sweat. The world spun around him — he was too hot, too dizzy, too weak.

Very weak.

Black boots halted just out of reach. He craned his neck, stretching his blurry vision to see who came down.

A blond man. From his tense shoulders to furrowed eyebrows and wide, blue eyes, he look surprised. Worried. Apprehensive.

Yet such a strong, strong presence.

“Yeosang!” he shouted, still keeping his eye on him. “Come down here! He’s awake!”

At once, deliberate footsteps shot down the blocks of wood.

It was another man.

Such a beautiful man, with eyes as green as luscious palm trees and brown, half-tailed hair flowing in waves.

He showed no fear, nor apprehension. His eyes sparkled in relief and curiosity, even as he cleaned the vomit off the boy’s face. His touch was careful, gentle, like the patient in his hands was glass.

There was only so many ways to describe such an emotion — so soft, so deep, so visible in those lit, green eyes.

Wonder.

Awe.

Chapter Text

Kang Yeosang was the Quartermaster, the second-in-command and mediator between Captain and crew. What confused Yunho was this: despite his position, he spent more time in the sick bay than on deck.

Eventually, Yunho caught on. The gorgeous man was more Pirate Surgeon than Quartermaster.

That’s why he always smelt like herbs and gunpowder. Why he stitched wounds one moment and disciplined the crew the next. That’s why Yunho hardly saw him.

How did he even balance both roles?

Simple — he couldn’t.

If he played one, he had to abandon the other. So when he brought Yunho back to the ship, the first thing he did was drag him to the sick bay. The gash across Yunho’s hand was deep; it needed disinfected immediately.

Yunho sat on the hammock, conflicted, legs dangling, stomach tight; each time Yeosang dabbed the wound with rum-soaked cotton, he winced.

Fire ant bites stung less.

Knowing that sirens walked amongst them stung more.

Yeosang glanced at him. “How have you been since that incident?”

A whirlwind of emotions tightened Yunho’s chest. His mouth dried. In guilt and shame, he looked away. “Not okay.”

Something flickered in Yeosang’s eyes — a split of regret and mourning, like he realized what he had asked. “Sorry.”

Silence.

Yeosang switched subjects. “Is the alcohol burning too much? I can stop for a minute.”

Relax. Yunho shook his head. “No. I just haven’t been down here in a while.”

“Ah.”

A beat.

“Hm,” Yeosang hummed. He threw the last piece of cotton out the window. “I’m glad I don’t have any other patients today. This could’ve been risky.”

“Why?”

“Influenza’s been going around.”

“What’s that? I don’t think I’ve ever caught—“

“That’s a good thing.” Yeosang grabbed a needle and thread. “Influenza is a horrible sickness. If you caught it, you wouldn’t make it.”

Threading the needle through, Yeosang knelt on one knee. He flattened Yunho’s hand onto his thigh, steadying his hand. Then came the first sharp prick.

Yunho’s thumb twitched — it didn’t hurt much compared to being cut by swords. Still, something about Yeosang’s calm made the air feel heavier.

“Why wouldn’t I make it?”

A pause. Then, Yeosang looped the thread back into a stitch — a backstitch. A stitch meant to close wounds for good. “Your body may still suffer from lack of immunity. I’d worry if—“

“You’d worry?”

Yeosang’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but he continued stitching. “Yes?”

Tenderly, Yunho’s fingers brushed against his throat. “About the crew? Because I could lose my voice again?”

Another pause.

Then: “Not just that.” Finally, Yeosang tied the stitch. “I’d worry about you.”

A beat.

“You’re one of us, too.”

The words came out before Yunho could stop them. “You think of me as a person?”

It was like falling off a cliffside. Together, they were impaled by jagged rocks. No one dared to even choke on their blood — that would count as response.

Yunho’s blood ran cold. He was too obvious, too desperate to be seen as human. Kang Yeosang was the Quartermaster — the second-in-command and mediator between Captain and Crew. The one who, along with Captain, hid a horrible, horrible truth.

The one who, at any cost, could not be trusted.

What if he reported this back to Captain?

Yeosang’s lips thinned. He stared at the Siren Watch’s hand — then, in one swipe, cut the thread.

Fear sank its teeth into Yunho’s spine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just—“

“We’re still going to Cape Sounion.”

For a moment, Yunho thought his misheard. He stared at the Quartermaster, waiting for him to repeat his words.

“Why?” Yunho breathed. “There’s no point in going anymore, right? We don’t even have supplies. What about San?”

“Captain’s getting them. We can’t risk leaving here without the stuff for the altar,” Yeosang reminded. Another beat. His voice quieted. “And Poseidon’s the only one who may know where San is — if he’s dead or alive.”

Dead or alive.

Hope sparked in Yunho’s heart. “Thank gods. We have a faster way to save him.”

A dark look crossed Yeosang’s eyes. However, he said nothing. Instead, he took a step towards Yunho. He clamped a nervous hand onto his shoulder, like he wanted Yunho to forget the daring question he asked.

Daylight poured in.

“Be honest with me,” Yeosang began, voice unreadable.

Yunho stiffened. Was he going to question his identity? Humiliate him? Threaten him?

“During these seven years,” Yeosang said, “were you ever taught how to cook?”

Yunho opened his mouth. Then, he closed it. “…Huh?”

An apron, a stove, and a knife.

The galley.

A place where the best meals were cooked. Food bought from the market made for creamy chicken stews, delicious ham sandwiches, and slow-roasted meats. (Thankfully, not rats. Never rats.)

San, as their Cabin Boy, was the one who made food for them. No one knew how he made such good food with few ingredients. No one cared that much, though — it didn’t kill anyone and it wasn’t hard tack. Dirt bag, they were grateful.

Now that he wasn’t here, someone had to step up. Yunho knew that, then thought nothing of it.

Good news: he was right.

Bad news: he was right.

Him? Cooking? He wasn’t even sure if Captain would want him near the stove. What if it suddenly got poisoned and Yunho was blamed? With everyone alreadywary of him, it wouldn’t take much. Captain would kill him at any cost.

In a state of shock, Yunho had agreed to learn. It wouldn’t be too bad, right?

Horrible news: Jung Wooyoung would be his teacher.

Wooyoung slapped steak onto the cutting board. “Score it.”

Yunho looked at the meat. He looked back at his teacher. “Scare?”

Wooyoung raised his eyebrow. “No. Score it.”

For a solid minute, Yunho stared at the meat. He thought about it. Then: “An eight out of ten. Looks someone lost a chunk of their arm.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. His mouth dropped open, scandalized. “You don’t know anything about cooking, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Hestia would be ashamed of you.”

“Captain already is. Nothing new.”

Somewhere in the galley, pots clanged against each other like they couldn’t handle the tension.

Wooyoung rubbed his temples. “I can’t believe you just said that out loud. I said score the meat, not share your trauma.” Grabbing the knife, he guided it across the meat. “Scoring means making shallow cuts. When you do this, it helps more flavor soak into the meat. I like to make my cuts deeper, though. Allows for more flavor.”

Yunho nodded, watching. “Makes sense. The deeper the cut, the more it hurts.”

Silence.

“Oh my gods. I’m talking about the flavor, Siren Watch. Flavor.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Likely story.”

Yunho eyed him. “A likely story is you not wanting me dead.”

Wooyoung gave him a thousand-yard stare. Then, without a word, he snatched a pot from the cabinet and slammed in onto the stove. “Okay. Potatoes are next. All we have to is cut them into fours, then—“

“I wonder if Captain would’ve cut me into fours.”

Wooyoung let out a loud groan. He snatched the knife from Yunho’s hand. “I don’t understand why you’re acting like this! Do you hate me? Is this a set up? Have I been cursed?”

Yunho slowly blinked. His voice was quiet. “I’m the curse, aren’t I? That’s why you were about to let Captain kill me.”

Wooyoung froze. Steam waved off the pot. It hissed in pain, wishing the fire would stop burning.

“All I did was follow orders,” he said. “He didn’t want me to interfere. Therefore, I didn’t.”

“Even when I was about to die?” Yunho asked softly, voice cracking. He wasn’t mad — all he wanted was to be heard.

Nothing.

“Remember those nights we spent on deck, just talking about constellations? You telling me stories about the gods? Did none of that mean anything?” He looked away. “Do I not matter to you anymore?”

Another forbidden question. Yunho definitely knew that Wooyoung would report this back to Captain. Right now, he didn’t care. He needed to know where Wooyoung stood — if two days ago was just a fluke. A mistake.

That Wooyoung believed in him.

Wooyoung’s mouth opened. It closed. Then, his eyes shifted to the steaming pot. He looked dead. Exhausted.

Haunted.

“It’s complicated now, Yunho. Hongjoong’s right — we don’t know what or who you are anymore. If your voice truly just disappeared and came back, then you’re dangerous. Whatever’s after you may fall upon us, too.”

Yunho’s blood froze.

“Wait.” His voice was thin, breaking. “Truly? You think I let that happen on purpose?”

Nothing.

His hands trembled. “What about this incident? Do you think I killed San, too?”

At that, Wooyoung’s eyes flew open. It looked like he wanted to deny it. But his silence was louder. The final answer, buried beneath the shock, was clear in his eyes — “Yes. I do.”

Yunho let out a dry chuckle. “Dangerous,” he muttered. “A murderer. A siren.  I see it now. None of you trust or want me anymore.”

Silence hung in the air, raw and bleeding.

Finally, Wooyoung sensed the damage he caused. “No. I meant—“

Yunho picked up carrots from a stack of other veggies beside him. “No, I understand. Let’s just keep going, Navigator.”

Navigator.

Wooyoung opened his mouth again, probably to shout at Yunho for calling him by his title. It was sterile. Stripped of friendship.

Instead, he closed it, watching Yunho drag the blade across the innocent carrot. Thick, orange ribbons fell to the ground, landing with a soft thud. It looked like Yunho was taking its life.

“Whoever taught you how to peel carrots like that needs to be keelhauled,” Wooyoung joked — sort of. “They clearly hate vegetables and themself.”

No response.

Wooyoung sighed. “You’re going to ignore me now, aren’t you?”

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

Scrape, rotate, scrape, chop. A mindless rhythm of depriving the veggies from life. An earthy scent wafted in the air, meaning to calm the mind. Instead, it reminded Yunho of reality. A reality he wished he could change.

After watching Yunho scrap them into the pot, Wooyoung took the knife to rinse it. “Do you know why I’m teaching you?”

Yunho looked at him, silent.

“Do you?”

“You’re not Captain. I’m not afraid to respond with silence.”

The steam began to fade away.

“If you learn different skillsets, Hongjoong may keep you alive for longer,” Wooyoung confessed, sincerity pouring through. He let the confession linger. “Yeah, you’re our Siren Watch, but it’s clear that he no longer cares about that. Sang-ie wants you to stay alive. He’s the only reason I agreed to help. Otherwise, I’d be with Captain right now.”

The same Quartermaster who avoided my question, Yunho thought, is the one who wants me alive.

Again, he wanted to laugh. “Sometimes, I can’t tell whether you’re a Navigator or the First Mate. You’re more obedient than Mingi ever has and will be.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Don’t compare me to him. He’s different — too kind to hide his worries from people.”

“Of course somebody that shows the smallest bit of empathy is too kind for you. It’s an insult to even compare him to you. He hesitated before telling me that Captain wanted to see me.” He looked Wooyoung up and down. “As for you? I don’t even know. You don’t even act like I’m a human anymore.”

Finally, the steam vanished.

The one tied down by Captain’s hatred and the one bound by undying loyalty stared each other. Both saw the light of their friendship pass away; their hearts separating, chasms away.

All because of one terrible event out of Yunho’s control.

“See Gemini, Yun-ah?”

Up in the night sky, a constellation was shaped like an innocent snail searching for love. It twinkled in response to their admiring gazes, basking in the quiet glory it was showered with.

Moonlight paled Yunho’s hair. His eyes reflected the stars; he looked like he wanted to absorb their beauty, to become one with them. “It’s so pretty, Wooyoung. Who created them?”

“The stars?”

“Yes. Did they just appear one day?”

Tilting his head in thought, Wooyoung stared out into the dark sea. Strands of his hair clung to his skin; rosy red bloomed across his cheeks from the breeze.

“Some say the gods,” he answered. “Others just say one God did. I believe in polytheism more. If I was the only one controlling the universe, I’d snap.”

God.

Yunho leaned against the wooden railing on the main deck and closed his eyes. Warm sea air brushed against his face. “I think I’d rather have the love of one God than deal with the lust of many, though,” he murmured. “That’s more beautiful than anything.”

Wooyoung laughed — not mocking him, but from how innocent he was. “Yah! How are you even a pirate? You’re too pure for your own good.”

All Yunho did was chuckle.

Wooyoung looked back at the sky. “Gemini symbolizes a lot of traits; for example, connection, duality, and communication. No matter how different people are, it’s possible to talk. All you have to do is make a connection. Man complicates it out of pride.”

Pride.

Wooyoung looked at Yunho. He frowned, noticing his friend’s sadness. “What’s wrong?”

At first, Yunho didn’t say anything. Hesitation ate at his mind, whispering that communicating would do more harm than good.

But Wooyoung? Harming him? He’d never.

Wooyoung was too thoughtful to do that.

Gently, Yunho’s fingers reached for his own throat. He gave it a soft pinch with his finger pads. “My throat feels weird, like something’s stuck in it. I’ve been wanting to talk about it with Captain, but he’s been acting strange around me. I don’t want to annoy him.”

Back then, Yunho didn’t notice it — the panic in Wooyoung’s eyes and how he swallowed his nerves. How his response was too fast, like he expected Yunho to notice.

“Captain loves you,” he said, fidgeting with his collar. “You can talk to him about anything.”

Yunho shook his head. “It’s like he sees me as someone else — not Yunho, for some reason. Maybe I should just solve this on my own.”

Wooyoung thought for a moment. “Hm.” A pause. “Maybe you need to take it easy. We know that you don’t need to rest your voice, but maybe you got sick.”

“What’s sick?”

A loud, happy laugh suddenly erupted from Wooyoung, echoing. “You don’t know what sick is?”

Yunho shook his head.

Wooyoung reached for Yunho’s shoulder, standing on his tippy-toes so that he didn’t stretch his arm out too much. “Then have fun finding what that is then, Yun-ah.”

Yunho shouted at him as Wooyoung ran off, laughing like a child. He sighed, but a smile was on his face.

Maybe he was worrying too much. If this “sick” was just messing with him, then it’d go away soon. Right now, he had a job to do: protect the Declaration — the ship that taught him how deep humanity’s love goes; the crew that he trusted and devoted himself to with all his heart, mind, and soul.

His very purpose of being alive.

All because of one man.

Yes, Hongjoong was acting strange — distant, distracted, like a ghost was haunting him. Yet he still praised Yunho. He still smiled at him. Things have changed a little, but he was still the same Captain Yunho came to know.

While Yunho personally didn’t know the weight of being a Pirate King, he learned that leaders keep burdens a secret. They don’t want to worry their members and lower moral.

When Hongjoong returned to his normal self — a calm Captain with a guarded, yet soft, heart — Yunho would tell him the problem with his voice.

That was a promise for his savior.

He climbed up to the crow’s nest, standing on its ledge as his hand gripped the mast. Soon, they’d be close to Port Royal. Only one more week until they reached Caribbean waters.

Until then, Yunho wouldn’t rest. Sirens could attack at any time, and he knew that they were always waiting for Yunho to be distracted.

So, when he saw their images in the water—

I smile upon you, my weathered champion

—he shoved down the last of his worry.

Today, he’d no longer just hum with the wind. He would use lyrics —words so rhythmic and protective that sirens would tremble at the thought of the Declaration.

He took a large, deep breath. His sang the first two words—

O, Cacodaemons—

—before two ghostly hands wrapped around his throat.

At first, he thought they were an illusion from anxiety. Then, they tightened.

He opened his mouth. Silence.

He tried to scream. Silence.

It was like swallowing needles and glass each time he tried to speak.

No sound. No song. Not a single note came from Yunho.

And the sirens’ song was getting louder.

Corkscrews. Sponges. Anything to block their ears. He had to get down there. He had to warn them.

The song was getting louder.

Since when was his hearing so sensitive?

His nails tore at his own skin. The hands were translucent. He couldn’t pry off the hands. He couldn’t escape their grasp.

He was trapped.

The song was getting louder.

The air smelled too sweet.

The sirens howled and howled and howled—

And he heard the first splash.

Just as his world was about to turn black, they softened their grasp.

Splash.

He still couldn’t sing. It was as if their, not the choking, had stolen his voice away. But he could move his head.

So he did.

On the deck, the crew was jumping off. One by one, sirens dragged them under the water. Screams and gurgles echoed in Yunho’s ears. Those with protected ears dived in to save their friends.

But what made Yunho’s heart drop was this:

Wooyoung had a smile on his face. His eyes were glazed over, the song luring him to Death. He whispered something to himself — something only Yunho could hear.

“I see him.”

Then, as his voice returned and he screamed Wooyoung’s name, Jung Wooyoung plunged into the water.

Chapter Text

Today, Kang Yeosang the Quartermaster was queried on a question he never thought he could answer — did he view Jeong Yunho as one precious pirateers?

As part of the family?

As human?

Oh, how he thought about how sinister the ways of mortals; what a tragic thing, to ponder about who deserves humanity and who doesn’t. For the Quartermaster, that question should have been easy to answer. Didn’t he worry endlessly for the crew, eyes sparkling in glee when praised for his efforts?

Didn’t he love San? 

After all, that’s the sole reason Yunho came back with them. Oh, how deep their agape was, flowing like the blood in capillaries. Even at the cost of insanity, Yunho would search the deepest parts of Hades if it meant finding San and bringing him home. 

Eyes shifting to slits, San’s white smile brightened under the moonlight. “ You’re doing great, Yeosang. I’m glad we made you Quartermaster.”

San needed to come home.

Also, what hard-working human wouldn’t put forth such effort to make such a thick, hearty stew with meat and vegetables as tender as a saint’s requiem. Thyme, carrots, steak, cilantro. Yeosang wanted to kneel and worship the blessed meal.

So much patience was put into this, as if Yunho’s life depended on it.

And it did.

If it tasted the slightest bit off, the Pirate King would put Yunho to the sword. That’s why Yeosang poured himself another bowl; not because it was spiced with longing and warmth, but to make sure everything was perfect. For the Siren Watch’s sake.

Maybe even San’s.

And for his own conscience.

“Yeosang.”

The sound of that voice made Yeosang choke.

The only authority above him.

Hongjoong.

The Siren Watch was reluctant to return.

Hesitancy leaked through his pores like pus. He was staring at Yeosang’s arm like it was a viper prepared to take the final, deadly bite. Fear whispered into his ears; anxiety made him sick with an unknown future.

And whose fault was it? Was the Pirate King the only one to bear the sin of abusing their guiding light? To bear the possible loss of a protector?

No.

Yeosang didn’t want to admit it — that he lost his morals the moment he chose to be Quartermaster; kind-hearted, sacrificial Kang Yeosang choosing to sacrifice the protection of one for the love of others.

If he chose to veto the Pirate King’s request to have the Siren Watch keelhauled — if he dared lean into the authority of this role— what would await him on the other side of more disobedience? Would it looked like he valued Yunho over San? A siren over a human?

Answer: he didn’t know.

A different answer: more of the wretched truth would begin to be set free.

The bitter truth shouted at him to continue impressing Pseudologoi. However, he shoved that voice deep down. For what felt like an eternity, he waited for Yunho to take his hand. 

And waited.

And waited.

Until, with aching eyes, the Siren Watch grasped his hand. He became one with the ship once more.

Yeosang wanted to celebrate. After all, Yunho’s help in San’s vanishing would be fantastic. However, he felt the Pirate King’s wrath radiating.

Yeosang looked right at him, pretending not to notice. “What should we do now, Hongjoong?”

It was like waiting for a cannon to strike. From the crowd, Yeonjun watched, leaning onto his friend Hueningkai’s to keep him from stumbling over in drunkenness. His lips were quivering as he looked the Siren Watch.

Hades was condemning him for his big mouth. After all, didn’t the gods want Yunho free?

Or — Yeosang dared to ponder — did they even want San free?

What if their Cabin Boy didn’t want to be found? What if he, gods-forbid, he planned his death in a place nobody would ever find him?

Hongjoong lowered his voice, to the point only Yeosang could hear.“First,” he started, sliding the weapon into his hilt, “we’re going to talk back on the ship. Privately.”

He took a step closer.

“Second — the seducer trembling on the ground is responsible. Who else was the last to see San other than it?” He crossed his arms. “But tell me, Quartermaster — should he be spared from the sword? Or should I take this as you being mediator again?”

Yeosang thought on it. The risk he was taking defending a possible murderer.

Grasping the Siren Watch’s wrist, he chose what was right. “Just as I pull dying people from Hades’ doorstep as Pirate Surgeon, I will do the same as Quartermaster and spare our Watch’s life.”

For one reason only.

He was the bridge between Captain and Crew, the voice that carried one to the other. No matter what the Watch was, he was part of that crew.

He deserved a fighting chance.

A chance to prove his innocence and that he’s worthy of protection.

For a moment, Gaia stopped Earth for them.

“Surprised to see you out of the bay,” Hongjoong commented, his tone lacking the threatening edge. “Distracting yourself, I assume? Guilt always finds company, anyway.”

Silence.

Yeosang sighed. “The truth had to be set free, Captain.”

“Hm?” Hongjoong hummed, tone sweet as spoiled wine. “What truth, Yeosang? Is there something I’m unaware of? Something not meant to be brought to light, like what you did with my crew? Or did you fix what I wanted broken?”

“Hongjoong, please—“

Merciless was the stare of Hongjoong’s cerulean eyes. Angry. He was angry. “Do you remember why I made you Quartermaster?”

The air around them froze.

Yeosang looked at the ground.

“Do you?”

“No,” Yeosang lied, voice twinged with plea, even though the truth was carved into his heart. Please don’t say it, Hongjoong.

Sensing fear slithering up Yeosang’s bare bones, Hongjoong put a hand on his shoulder — gently, like calm before the storm; a horrid, life-ending storm.

“Sweet, like fresh Ambrosia,” Hongjoong whispered. “Strategic, like Athena guiding Odysseus until he thought his ways were superior. Fair, unlike the Fates. You choose what’s best for the Declaration even if it goes against who you are.”

That’s not why.

He was Quartermaster because of the crew. They chose him. They chose him because of another they lost — a man love incarnate. That’s why he kept this dagger in, why he chose not to forfeit this role.

Just as Yeosang was about to retort, Hongjoong let one question slip: “Is that thing human to you?”

A nail in the coffin.

His silence was a hymn of regret. Stilled, he held his breath — exposed, guilty, stripped. Hongjoong saw it all.

“It does have your eyes,” Hongjoong murmured like Medusa. His ring-clad hand brushed along his jaw. “Such precious, beautiful eyes. You look at it just as I once looked at you.”

Yeosang’s heart flinched. Memories of them laughing with tankards of spiced rum in hand flooded to the surface. A private wound — the last string tying Captain and Quartermaster.

“They adore you,” Captain revered, voice low. “Your strikes sting with punishment, yet drip with mercy. That’s why they beg for your hand — not mine. Never mine.”

Yeosang’s throat burned.

Captain leaned, voice impossibly cold. “So I wonder, Quartermaster — do you love Yunho more than my crew? Do you wish all of them had died that day instead?”

No.

No!

“No!”

Hongjoong tilted his head. “No?” He paused. “No what, Yeosang?”

Shame crawled in his belly. Yeosang’s conscience shouted at him to keep his mouth shut. Yet Survival begged him to stand down.

Even at the cost of his morality, Survival begged him to stand down.

“No,” Yeosang whimpered. “I don’t. I don’t wish they all died that day. I love them, Captain. I really do.”

Captain’s stare lingered a little longer.

“You do,” he mused again. “What else?”

Inquietude wrapped around Yeosang’s body, snatching the last of his will. Shame smiled as he opened his mouth, knowing what he was about to say.

No — not shame. Shame was too tame. It was Submission, and it burst through like a curse.

“And—“ His throat dried. He swallowed. He forced the words through. “—he’s not human. I will never see Jeong Yunho as human.”

A cruel smile stretched across Hongjoong’s face. He stepped back.

“For a second, I thought I’d need to promote Hyuka to Pirate Surgeon,” he said, the threatening edge returning. “No need for that anymore, though. My trust in you is restored,” he spoke. Turning on his heels, he pretended as if he was heading back upstairs.

Then, he stopped.

He turned back around. “One more question.”

Never has Yeosang craved so much for Hades to condemn his sin.

“I said one more question, Quartermaster.”

Nor has he wanted so badly to drown in silence. “Yes, Captain?”

“If you don’t see Yunho as human,” Hongjoong started, “then why did you save him? Was it San’s sake?”

A question to drive the dagger in deeper. One he had no choice but to answer, less his lie be exposed.

He mustered the most inhuman, pirate response. “He’s a weapon. Weapons that weep become weak. Besides, at any cost, we cannot kill what we claimed ours.”

Steam rose from the cup like mist, announcing the tea’s pleasant presence. A soft, floral sweetness wafted from a glass cup painted with a blossoming pink rose, curving with the glass. Warmth bit through his hands. Grounding him. Reminding him of who he was on inside.

Hongjoong was at the helmsman — far away from Yeosang, and maybe even Yunho. He prayed Athena shielded the boy.

The one whom he denied humanity in private.

That denial was to protect him, he thought to ease Guilt’s phantom.

Survival whispered back the opposite: You did it to protect yourself and still be Pirate Surgeon.

He shook those thoughts away. Later, he’d focus on easing his guilty conscience. Someone else needed the Pirate Surgeon. A patient.

Up on the rigging — the ropes that lead to Yunho’s prison — perched a round-faced, focused Boatswain. Sunlight burned at his temples, yet his eyes didn’t deter from the fraying ropes. He frowned at the small holes in the sails — a sign that the Declaration needed proper maintenance.

Captain was too occupied to notice, though.

Mucus dribbled from the corner of the Boatswain’s mouth as a wheeze scraped his chest. From the way he gripped his chest and leaned over, somehow balancing on the ropes, he was fighting the urge to vomit.

Yeosang wanted to cry at the sight. But if the Quartermaster cried, the Boatswain would cry, too.

Then, he remembered.

The horehound and clove pink tea in his hands — the reason he’d come.

Right now, he wasn’t a Quartermaster. He was a surgeon.

Surgeons wept.

But he fought those tears. He’d cry later, in the solace of his hammock. “Jongho!”

Jongho’s eyes widened. He snapped his head down, quickly swiping mucus from his face. Then, he looked up and gave Yeosang a gummy smile. “Hyung!”

Yeosang gave a faint smile back. Balancing the tea in one hand, he climbed up to him with the other, muscles flexing.

Immediately, Jongho took a sip — too fast. “AH! HOT—!” His ears tinted red. He coughed. “…I…I mean…it tastes good. Like wood. Did you add honey?”

Yeosang fought back a laugh. “Don’t tell you ate wood again. How many times have I told you to check your food?”

“Ugh, you sound like Huening,” Jongho muttered. “Who’s to say that I didn’t leave it in on purpose?”

“I dare you do that next time.”

“You know I’ll do it, hyung. Don’t test me.”

Their laughter echoed, drawing glances and chuckles from the crew cleaning below. Jongho shot a look at them. They looked away, suddenly interested in scrubbing the deck.

Yeosang scrunched his eyebrows at the sight. “Did you punish them?”

“Captain told me to. I just punished the ones who were drunk the most,” Jongho answered with a shrug. “Yeonjun’s in his room. I would be, too, if I thought Captain still wanted me to scrub the deck with my tongue.”

Yeosang blinked, leaning back on the rigging. “Forgot Boatswain’s could discipline, too. Thank you for doing that.”

Words unspoken: I’m glad that they were spared from my hand.

Jongho chuckled, not sensing the message underneath. Then, Yeosang noticed an unusual amount of sweat seeping through his shirt. He was griping onto the rigging like his life depended on it.

Yeosang panicked. “Are you okay?”

Jongho’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m fine.”

Yeosang looked at him for a few moments. “Drink your tea before it gets cold. Hyuka just made it.”

Jongho nodded. Slowly, he raised the cup to his dry lips.

A wheeze — then his body jolted. The glass slipped from his hand.

A wet cough tore through his throat, splattering across his pants. Phlegm and vomit clung to his collar, stringing from the corners of his mouth. He doubled over, gagging, heaving, as if cinnamon scorched his lungs.

He looked like he was dying.

Horror spread throughout Yeosang. He launched his arm out, catching the boy before he could fall. His heart already fell from his chest.

“You told Mingi that you were getting better.” His voice broke, barely above a whisper. “Jongho. You told Mingi and I that you were getting better. Why? Why did you lie to us? How long has this been going on?”

Jongho looked like his soul had ripped from him. His body trembled — whether in shame or guilt, Yeosang couldn’t tell.

“It was for a reason, hyung,” Jongho whispered.

Yeosang gripped his shoulders. “Your health comes first! Why did you hide this from us?”

Jongho said nothing.

But that look in his eyes.

Yeosang recognized it.

It was how he looked after Hongjoong ordered Yeosang to hide the truth about sirens; when his heart palpitated, sweat crawled down him, and his ears cursed that day; when he had no choice but to hide, knowing the consequences of revealing it.

Except Jongho wasn’t Yeosang. This wasn’t about sirens. And he had a choice.

Somewhere inside, Yeosang knew. If Jongho had been silent for this long, something was terribly wrong.

“Please,” Yeosang begged. “Tell me.”

“I don’t want you worrying,” Jongho said.

Yeosang’s grip tightened. “I’ll always worry for you, Jongho. Please.”

A gust of wind swept through the sail.

Jongho’s lips parted, as if to speak.

Then, his eyes rolled back.

He fell.

The crack when he landed echoed. Crew gasped.

Yeosang stared at the sight below.

Jongho was bleeding.

“Bring him to the bay,” he murmured. Louder. “Get him to the infirmary! Now!”

Chapter Text

This was the consequence of shunning their Watch in private.

That’s why Jongho grew worse without his knowledge. No ordinary sickness spread like this. Pneumonia never devours. It slowly poisons.

His once warm and sun-kissed skin shifted to a sickly pallor. Cracks split his lips. His eyes, once full of stubborn will, were hollow and glazed over. Second by second, he drifted in and out of consciousness like a sailor lost at sea.

No longer was this Pneumonia.

It was Apollo.

Apollo wanted Jongho dead.

Daemon! Yeosang thought. Why? Why Jongho? He’s the most devout amongst us! If punishment must fall, let it fall upon—!

He shoved that thought out. No self-blaming. Not now. There were things to do.

“An altar!” Yeosang ordered. “We need an altar!”

One offered dandelions, ten lyres, Jongho’s paintings, fresh wine; another rushed in with two golden idols of Apollo, a yellow tablecloth, six sunstones, and clusters of juicy grapes. The table gleamed, scrubbed to the bone with hurried hands.

The site. The altar to Apollo.

It has to be perfect. He’s watching.

Shownu — the fifth pirate who helped clean the table — looked at Yeosang. He set up the altar fast as lightning. Then, it was set.

A flash of worry. Shownu looked at the Quartermaster. “How’s this?”

Yeosang and Shownu stood in the small gap separating Apollo’s altar and ailing Jongho. Incense wafted in the air. More fruit was placed on it.

“I pray it is,” Yeosang whispered.

Because no matter how he felt about the so-called god of healing, he could not afford bruising that ego. Not a grimace. Not an eye twitch. One misstep, and what then?

“Yeosang!”

Mingi burst into the room, slamming against the door frame for balance. Sweat rolled down his face, muscles twitching, pupils blown wide. He snapped his eyes to the unconscious Jongho.

“Please,” Mingi whispered. “Tell me he’s not dead.”

The agony in Mingi’s eyes held a cauldron of ghosts — ones only Yeosang could see. He could see them clawing their way back to life at the horrid sight of their youngest.

A crack split through Yeosang’s heart.

A single tear slid Yeosang’s right cheek. Oh, he longed to cry like a weeping prophet.

To wail. To beg. To curse the gods.

“No,” Yeosang answered, voice low and controlled. He turned, facing the Navigator. “Have the winds picked up?”

Mingi shook his head.

“No thunder, either?”

A nod.

Relief. Brief relief. “If anything changes, let me know.” Yeosang’s eyes flickered between the altar and Navigator. “Get Hueningkai down here. I need one more person for this.”

It was clear Mingi wanted to ask why, but he digressed. In minutes, Hyuka joined Shownu and Yeosang.

Worry shone in Hyuka’s eyes. “He’s gotten worse?”

His helper looked to Yeosang for guidance. His helper, who has shown faithfulness as he crushed herbs and spices for medicine. He wanted to be thankful for his presence. 


Yet it would just take one mistake, and Hyuka would take his position as Pirate Surgeon. The only thing that reminded him of who he truly was before a different man’s disappearance.

The rest of the crew was pushed out. The remaining three formed a straight line and fell onto their knees, outstretching their arms, palms facing the ceiling.

“This will please him,” Shownu said, placing another sunstone. “Right?”

Desperately, Hueningkai stared at the idol of Apollo. It stared back. “He’ll like it, Shownu. Why else wouldn’t he spare a loyal follower?”

They choose to save who they please.

That thought echoed in Yeosang’s mind, clinging to the crevices. A thought of a guilty sinner. One he desired to wear with pride, but shoved his desires down.

Yes, he’s never liked the gods. Maybe they didn’t like him. However, he had to hold on to the mustard seed of hope.

Many of the crew perished from the sea. He won’t let their Boatswain be stolen by the pestilence in the air.

The three closed their eyes.

Then, Yeosang said the prayer.

Phoebus Apollon,

Healer of Souls.

Your devout servant, Choi Jongho, has fallen into Hades’ grasp.

Why, O Apollon, does he suffer for my sin?

If sacrifice will appease your wrath, I offer my life in his stead.

Forgive me for daring to question the god of healing, who has mended us through our deepest wounds.

I will listen for your voice.

Your answer,

I beseech.

Every praise felt like poison. The prayer disgusted him.

Yet this was their last chance — Apollo’s mercy was their only hope. Even if his knees and arms ached, the posture of submission must be shown like their devotion. He must listen to their cries.

For Jongho’s sake, he’d mask as a servant instead of a sinner just to hear Phoebus Apollon’s answer.

When Yunho rushed inside the sick bay, pain squeezed his heart.

Choi Jongho was paler than himself. In fact, he looked like a ghost. A nightmare worse than a loved child made an orphan. Worse than losing the black sheep of your family.

Why?

Why did they want the Declaration to suffer for his failures? Aren’t the gods humanity’s lovers — ones that would sacrifice their immortal bodies for one human’s sake? Don’t they see how rooted their devotion is?

From what Yunho saw in front of him — three members stretching their calloused hands to Olympus, ignoring their aching bodies  — they looked ready to even down incense for Jongho’s sake.

And what did Yunho choose to do amidst this chaos?

Bring a bowl of stew. His homemade bowl of stew.

Wooyoung had complimented it — “Tastes good for a first-time chef.” It was warming over a fire still. Maybe it could help Jongho.

After all, he’s seen Yeosang feed patients broth. That had to mean something, right?

When Shownu and Hueningkai opened their eyes, candlelight flickering against the idols’ faces, only then did he see how long he’d stood there — a scared, confused, and naïve dove.

Tears brimmed in the two’s eyes — thick, helpless.

But Yeosang?

It took a while for his eyes to open. Yunho hurt at the sight. They were red. Puffy. Still, his shaking arms refused to lower.

Yunho clutched the cooling bowl tighter. This is the first time I’ve seen him cry.

In the corner of his eye, Jongho twitched his finger. Just as relief flooded Yunho, his heart broke.

A wail of agony came from the depths of Jongho’s soul.

Yeosang rose from the floor. So did Shownu. None of them seemed to  notice Jongho’s brief movement.

Jongho didn’t stir again. Not once.

“Hours.” On his bruised knees, Hueningkai took an idol off the altar. He brushed off dust, hands trembling. “It’s been hours, Quartermaster. Shouldn’t he have answered by now?”

Hueningkai turned the statue of Apollo in his hands.

Finally, Yeosang let his arms down. A look of disgust coiled in his eyes; he looked at the idol with inhumane hatred. “Put the idol down.”

Hueningkai tensed. He looked at Yeosang as if he’d heard wrong.

“I said put the idol down.”

Scared, Hueningkai placed it back. He backed away from the table.

Yunho looked at their Quartermaster. “Will Jongho be okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Yeosang said. He turned to the other two. “I need to talk to Yunho.”

Slowly, the candlelight began to die. Sunset poured through the window, only highlighting Apollo’s statues.

Hueningkai and Shownu glanced at each other, shifting around.

Yeosang crossed his arms. “I just processed that you two never acknowledged Yunho. Now, you’re ignoring my commands. Should I count this as insubordination?”

Hueningkai nudged Shownu.

Shownu rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor. “We’re just concerned, Yeosang. He seduced San. You have a soft heart. We don’t want you to end up a victim, too.”

No wonder, Yunho thought. They shared Captain’s sentiment.

Everyone seemed to.

Yeosang immediately grimaced. “Is that what you think of me — a weakling who couldn’t resist lust?”

The rhetorical question sucked life out the room; for a second, Yunho thought lightning would strike.

Grabbing Hueningkai’s hand, Shownu and him rushed out the bay.

As the scent of meat wafted up Yeosang’s nose, he stared at the bowl in Yunho’s hand. Thoughts danced in his emerald eyes before he spoke. ”Why should I cure the mortal of the purpose we gave him?”  

Confused, Yunho tilted his head.

Those words didn’t sound like Yeosang’s alone.

“That was Apollo’s answer,” Yeosang muttered, voice thinner than air. “For reasons unknown, Apollo doesn’t want to save Jongho.”

A thought came to Yunho’s head, refusing to let go. “How did he even get sick?”

A long pause.

Yeosang looked away. “From being in the ocean too long.”

That’s when Yunho remembered.

Longer than it took Apollo to answer, they searched for victims of the Siren Incident hours on end. For Wooyoung, it took minutes.

For Jongho, hours.

Hours later, he was found — the last one found.

That cold, salty water marinated his lungs in sickness as his body grew colder and colder.

Apollo saw that. He saw all the pain they went through, yet he refused to help.

All because of a supposed purpose.

“What was the point of this?” Yunho whispered, voice cracking out of frustration.

The altar. The dandelions. The paintings. All of it — just to be mocked by those above.

“To them, there was no point,” Yeosang replied. “Sometimes, there never is.” He looked at the stew again. Then, at Yunho. “But we had to try.” He turned to Jongho, who remained unmoving. “That’s all we ever do — try. And pray it matters.”

His words resonated within Yunho’s body. Try — like how he tried to escape his prison; like how he tried to please Captain, hoping one day they’d go back to what they once were.

A painful cycle: Try. Pray. Repeat. Never give up. Never surrender.

No matter how much you wanted to.

“If that soup’s for Jongho, feed it to him quick,” Yeosang warned. “Hongjoong thinks Hyuka made the soup, and for good reason. If he knew that you made it, he’d think it’s poisoned.”

“But I’d never hurt Jongho.”

A small, sad smile. Yeosang patted the Siren Watch’s shoulder. “Hongjoong will think otherwise.”

Of course he would.

One day, the Captain would trust him again; but that day wouldn’t come anytime soon.

Yunho nodded. “Okay. I’ll be quick.”

Gently, Yeosang squeezed his shoulder. Then, he left.

With his strength, Yunho adjusted Jongho’s body to make his head sit up. He adjusted it, making sure his neck wouldn’t ache.

“Hi, Jongho,” Yunho greeted.

Jongho twitched his fingers again in response.

Yunho’s eyes sparkled. He snatched the bowl off the ground. “You’re the youngest on the ship, right?” I’m acting as if he could respond. “While we still don’t know how old I am, I feel like your older brother. That’s why I don’t mind being called a hyung. I want to help anyway I can, especially when it comes to you.”

A moment of silence passed.

Holding the back of Jongho’s head just in case, Yunho spoon-fed little by little. Soup stained the corner of Jongho’s lips. Still, he swallowed. He took his time eating.

Without fear. Hesitation. Distrust.

“I made this, y’know,” Yunho said, the final spoonful in his hands. “You don’t think I put a love potion in it? Or poison?”

You don’t think I’d hurt you?

Even if the thought went unsaid, it seemed like Jongho sensed his unease. His trauma response.

The look in Jongho’s eyes held trust — one meant for a child and father, who would devote his life to his son.

It was unfamiliar. Scary. What did Yunho do to deserve such childlike trust?

Even so, one person still trusted in him. It made him feel what he hadn’t in a long time on this ship — safe.

Chapter Text

As much as Pride wouldn’t let him admit it, Jung Wooyoung was avoiding the sea’s eyes; it sensed Fear and traitors.

The sea always remembered traitors.

Many bodies lay beneath the waters, forgotten by Poseidon and time. Somewhere deep in his chest, he knew Amphitrite was sick of swallowing mortals’ blood. She despised stinking of rotten flesh and iron. One would think they’d honor the goddess of the sea.

That one would be a coward.

Each man Captain killed deserved worse than Hades.

I chose Captain’s side for a reason, he reminded himself. Yun-ah’s dangerous. Better keep my distance.

Keep distance from the same boy who risked Captain’s wrath — again — just to feed soup to their Boatswain. He’d heard about it from others.

Wooyoung rubbed his temples and  gripped the map — technically, the sailing chart. It’s just that mal was easier to say five times faster.

His compass still pointed northeast from Port Royal. No storms in sight. A year’s worth of food stored in the galley. All of the materials for Poseidon’s altar were stored somewhere below ship.

Somehow, they did it without San.

His hands scrunched the sides of the map. It should’ve been me.

Ever since that truth about sirens came out, Guilt threatened to consume Yunho whole. If only he wasn’t caught up fixing a telescope. If only he knew and intercepted that stupid risk of an escape plan.

Oh, if only they were close as they once were.

San was one who should be here. Who shouldn’t have been kidnapped.

Who shouldn’t have fallen for Yunho’s facade.

Wooyoung’s thoughts spiraled in panic. “What’s with that lunatic, anyway?” I’m sick of him acting like a victim! That siren— he could—!”

“None of you trust or want me anymore.”

His breath caught. Yunho’s voice cut in — the hurt in his eyes, clear as pure crystal.

For a siren, Yunho was taking his sweet time to seducing them. Blue usually meant peace. Maybe he was just waiting to strike.

“Woo.”

He jolted. Although, his eyes sparkled to life because of who called his name. “Yes, Captain Hongjoong?”

Captain’s eyes fixed ahead, hunting the next threat that could claim another soul. Sunlight kissed his bejeweled vest, illuminating the crisp, white blouse underneath. He looked better than gods.

Glorious as glory.

“We’re still going the right way, correct?” he asked. “It takes a couple months to get to Poseidon’s temple.”

Wooyoung unfolded the map again, a little too eagerly. “We are! The seas’s calm, so it looks like we’ll get there earlier than expected! Our First Mate’s been reciting the Homeric Hymn to Poseidon, so we should be fine.”

Captain hummed. “Good.”

Wooyoung blinked. “Yeah. Good.”

Something was bothering Captain.

Nothing new. With growing tension on the ship, he needed to remain firm. No softness. No cracks. He couldn’t afford to let petty pleading melt his resolve.

Yet it didn’t help that the suspect was on board with them. Walking around, as if San’s blood wasn’t on his hands.

Only Wooyoung, who always had courage to look at Captain’s face, saw what others couldn’t: swollen edges around his eyes, harsh pink tinting beneath them.

The red blossoming from said pink.

The puffiness.

Signs of grief in a man who didn’t deserve to go through this agony all over again.

He didn’t point it out.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t bear to see his god suffering.

“Is everything okay, Captain?” Wooyoung asked, voice gentle.

Captain drummed his fingers against the helm. Then, “Don’t call me Captain. Say Hongjoong. It’s just us.”

Wooyoung ignored the sudden tightness in his chest. That time where he almost died by sirens. Where they first found the boy with blue hair.

Where Guilt proclaimed that he was unworthy of the title Pirate King.

“H-Hongjoong,” Wooyoung stuttered. Saying his name was blasphemy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Captain shook his head. “I’m not mad. Just—“ He cut himself off, as if something wanted him to him from asking the question. “Nothing’s wrong, right?”

Wooyoung scrunched his brows. “With the crew? Everyone’s pretty divided due to recent incidents.”

Captain gripped the wheel harder. “I know that, Wooyoung. I’m talking about you. Are you coughing? Are you sick?”

The worry was there — fleeting, but bright in Captain’s eyes. It felt like an honor, but sacrilegious. Captain looked right through him, yet into his soul at once. He was prepared for any answer.

For any future.

“I was only in there for a few minutes,” Wooyoung answered. He looked at the map again, tracing the custom path with his fingernail. “Someone pulled me out. No water got in my lungs.”

Captain narrowed his eyes, searching for lies. When he confirmed his Navigator wasn’t lying, his shoulders eased. “Good. Someone made soup. If you feel weird, just eat that. It’s still hot over the stove.”

In that moment, all Wooyoung could was mask a smile.

Captain liked the soup. His lesson with the Siren Watch didn’t go to waste. Sang-ie’s plan wasn’t for nothing.

Soon, Sang-ie could reveal that Yunho’s wanted to be more useful — not just a pretty, protecting voice. Trust would be restored. Captain would look at Yunho like he did with  him — the one who defined what charity truly was.

If that was even possible for Captain to do that again.

With the crew no longer divided, they could find San faster. Save him from sirens. Sirens that could shape-shift.  Could take. Could become more powerful.

Wooyoung blinked. “Captain?”

Captain raised his brow.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung forced out. “Is there a reason you hid the truth about sirens from us? From me?”

As seagulls cawed overhead, waves licked the ship again, still begging to be spared of spilled blood.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened. His knuckles whitened on the helm.

Minutes passed.

Still, he said nothing.

I don’t think he heard me.

Yeah. That was it.

He didn’t hear him.

Concentrate. Once again, Woo unfolded the map. Sang-ie used those puppy eyes. Of course I gave in. Next time, I’ll—

Wooyoung paused.

His stomach churned. Gross. Has the texture always felt this sticky?

He looked at his hands.

A yelp tore from him. He fell, scrambling back from the tainted paper.

Black goo seeped down the map, blackening each island, each continent. It dripped bit by bit, little by little, until it covered the entire paper.

In his panic, Wooyoung scrambled to it. This was his handiwork — the most precious item on ship. He couldn’t let it be ruined. He had to save it.

He had to protect it.

But his hands.

Slowly, he looked at them.

It swallowed his hands. Slithered around his lips. Shoved itself down his esophagus — crawling up his legs, his torso, his throat—

Where was Hongjoong?

He turned his head, resisting the restraint of the sludge. He gasped in horror, inhaling more in.

The sludge bound Captain’s wrist and gagged his mouth. He was reaching for Wooyoung, eyes widened in horror. Crying.

It made him itch. It muffled his screams.

Death was taking them.

“Woo.”

Wooyoung gasped.

Seagulls cawked overhead again. Dolphins jumped in and out the waters. He gasped. Air— not sludge — filled his lungs as he tried to ground himself.

Was his anxiety manifesting into hallucinations?

Captain stood next to him, rope around his waist. He resembled Michelangelo’s David. Untouchable. Sacred.

But irritated.

Wooyoung looked at map. It was clean. His hands, dry.

Sludge still stung his lungs. Salt stained his tongue. He blinked up at the sunlit ocean line, heart pounding, eyes finding the familiar outline of—

Captain pinched his nose bridge, hand on hip. “Look at the compass.“

Why was Captain so angry?

How did Wooyoung wrong him?

Wooyoung stared at the compass shaking in his hands. When he noticed it, he gulped.

From Port Royal to Cape Sounion, it’s northeast. It was northeast.

But it was pointing southwest.

Towards Tortuga.

No. No, no, no. This was wrong. It was pointing northeast. It had to be.

Wooyoung shook the compass, praying it was broken. It still pointed southwest.

“I swear I was paying attention,” he pleaded. “Captain. Please.”

Captain only stared.

The waves licked the sides of the ship, slower. Gentle.

It felt nice being loved. Captain’s affection was worth his own organs. He couldn’t bear that disappointed stare — it hurt. He couldn’t.

A deep, lax voice cut in. “Got a minute, Captain?”

From the corner of his eye, Wooyoung saw who it was. He snapped his head down, face burning with ten times the same shame as Song Mingi approached them, hands in pockets.

He paused a few feet away from them. Confused about the tension, Mingi glanced between the two. “Something’s off. You’re staring at that compass like it called you a slur. Should I go?”

Captain rubbed his temples. Heavily, he sighed, recomposing himself. “No. What is it?”

Painfully obvious doubt shot through Mingi’s eyes. He tried to mask it as if Captain didn’t have eyes. “Any chance we could stop at Tortuga?”

Wooyoung shot him a glare, as if Mingi was mocking his mistake.

Captain tilted his head. “Why?”

“We need to get more herbs,” Mingi explained, though his voice was straining. “I was going to make my own food, but there’s not much left. I asked around and found out most of our stash was used to make an altar today.”

Captain didn’t react right away.

“Who was that altar dedicated to?” he asked slowly. “And why?”

Sadness flickered in Mingi’s eyes. “Apollo.” He paused, sensing that Captain saw through him. He let the truth out. “Jongho got worse. All we wanted was answers. Now, there’s barely enough to make medicine for Jongho. We can’t keep sailing without risking him dying, Captain.”

Wooyoung opened his mouth to argue. Then, he stopped. He remembered buckets of sweat soaking Jongho’s back as repaired the fraying rigging. How hoarse his voice had gotten, only regaining strength when the crew slacked off during punishment.

Choi Jongho was stubborn — for a Boatswain, that’s a given. In his position, leniency meant risking the ship’s upkeep.

Captain recrossed his arms, finger tapping against forearm. A chilling smile crawled across his face. “May I ask you something?”

Mingi gave a slow, single nod in response.

“Not a single one of you reported to me that Jongho’s condition got worse.” A murderous glint crept into Captain’s eyes as he stepped forward. “Care to explain why?”

Mingi didn’t flinch. Wooyoung, however, did.

Usually, Captain had eyes and ears everywhere. No wonder he pressed Wooyoung to talk about his condition. He thought someone else was lying to him.

“We thought Apollo would give us a solution,” Mingi answered. “I was going to tell you after—“

”After?” Captain’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I would’ve made your intestines into mop-heads had I been told after.”

Wooyoung shivered.

After a beat of silence, Captain took off his hat, sweeping back his sweaty hair. “You said practically. If we had the herbs he needed, we wouldn’t have to stop at Tortuga. What specific herb does Yeosang need?”

Mingi tapped his foot against the floor in thought. “Marshmallow? I don’t remember. Some type of root.”

Captain looked toward the sea liked it had handcuffed Jongho’s soul to its graveyard of a seabed. His eyes flickered in thought as sea air whisked past their noses.

“One hour,”  he said. “Thats how long I’ll give. It shouldn’t take long to buy one herb.” He paused, voice dropping. “We need to ask Poseidon where San is before it’s too late.”

Untying himself, he looped the rope around Mingi’s waist. “Your turn to take the helm.”

Envy twisted in Wooyoung. So tenderly, Captain checked that the rope wasn’t suffocating Mingi’s body. He finished the knot with fumbling fingers. Sunlight cut across the bruised hollows beneath his eyes like parasitic worms gnawing at his conscience.

Before Captain left, Mingi grabbed his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Mingi said out the blue. “Really, I am. Next time, I’ll report back to you. I promise.”

Captain didn’t turn around. He stood still. Wooyoung couldn’t see his face.

Then, he walked away.

As the sound of Captain’s footsteps grew quieter, Wooyoung clenched his fists. “Quit treating him like he’s stupid , you lily-livered, bilge-rat of a knave.”

Mingi shook his head, chestnut hair brushing against face. “Admitting my mistakes doesn’t correlate with disrespect.”

“Obviously, Captain knew you were sorry,” Wooyoung snapped back. “Who wouldn’t? Then again, you’re a siren-sympathizer. Their eyes always give everything away.” He wanted to spit. He wanted to scream. Instead, he let venom drip sift like a lullaby. “Maybe your ears aren’t the only thing he’s charmed.”

Mingi looked at Wooyoung for a few moments. Then, without a word, he curled his fingers around the helm, tilting it left.

Well, I got my point across, Wooyoung thought with glee. He’ll act right next time.

Just as he went to follow Captain, Mingi spoke again. “Stay, Wooyoung. You’re the Navigator.”

Now I want to die.

Wooyoung dragged himself beside Mingi. More silence blanketed the two.

Then, Mingi let go of the helm, the rope now guiding the ship. He tilted his head just enough to meet Wooyoung’s eyes. “You let San protect Yunho, Wooyoung. Deep down, you know that Yunho’s not a siren. If he was, you’d be dead by now. He’s smart.” A pause. “And what kind of siren saves you from drowning?”

Below deck, Yunho rinsed the bowl in silence.

Tortuga. A perfect island for trading. A place San had loved most.

Yunho listened to the ship’s creaking groans and conversations. Above deck, Hueningkai lamented about the crew’s division. In his own quarters, Yeosang’s continued to plead with Apollo, soft cries wracking his chest.

In times like this, San would show up. Right on cue, like Hermes sent a personal message. He’d pretend to have finished a chore, then poke Yunho’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh.

“Do they talk about how handsome I am? Or about pranking Hongjoong? C’mon, Golden! Just one thing! I swear on my favorite plushie that I’ll never ask against!”

So mischievous. So bright.

With his undying love for San, Yunho wanted to spill everything. After all, San deserved the universe wrapped in pink ribbons.

But San’s curiosity was never satisfied. He’d ask to know what they said about Yunho, too. Pushed until they playfully bickered. Teased until Yunho almost gave in.

Thankfully, he never did. No one has.

Because even before the Siren Incident, Yunho learned one thing: there were worse things to be called than seducer.

A part of him was surprised to hear Mingi defending him. However, everyone knew about Yunho’s hearing. He can’t get his hopes up.

Wooyoung already crushed that.

Still, it felt nice to be loved again.

Wooyoung’s eye twitched. He didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

Swine defend swine, he wanted to say. Yet all he could about was the last conversation he had with Yunho when they were still friends.

“Man complicates it out of pride.”

Yes — man do complicate communication out of stubbornness. Unfortunately, there was another truth to that.

Man also complicate it once they recalled where there loyalties lie.

Chapter Text

There was a rumor whispered in Port Royal. Hongjoong overheard it while buying supplies there.

French engineer Jean La Vassuer redefined debauchery. In Fort de Rocher , built with his own wicked hands, he made the reduit Dovecote . What could a name like Dovecote hide?

An iron cage.

Little Hell. Not tall enough for one to stand, nor wide enough to rest their head. No one knows why he built it, but to the Pirate King, it was obvious. A pirate’s used to open air. Claustrophobia would force the right one to reconsider their faith.

So what was the rumor?

Something was in said cage —  that’d force Poseidon to kneel on the ocean floor.

Hongjoong stood on the bow. Night fell. Stars twinkled. But tonight, those same stars that’ve guided the Declaration for ten years felt wrong.

For a moment, he let silence sit heavy in his chest. The deck creaked beneath him. Not from age, but warning him against a brewing plan.

He told himself it was paranoia.

Finally, he tilted his head skyward, and exhaled. “Sorry, Woo,” he murmured. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Wooyoung never messed up. His navigation was uncannily precise — men would kill just to capture him. But Hongjoong couldn’t let him know the truth — that it wasn’t fault. That the gods changed the ship’s path.

For San and Jongho’s sake, they couldn’t continue on to the temple. Time wouldn’t wait for things to improve. He needed one thing.

Leverage.

If there was even a sliver of a chance that rumor was true, then Little Hell meant opportunity. No matter how ruthless Poseidon was, he wouldn’t want this thing to be at a mortal’s mercy. Once Hongjoong got ahold of it, he could make demands to his heart’s content. He could challenge a god.

He’d be the one in control.

Of course, Vasseur’s men were wary of him. To infiltrate or negotiate peacefully, he needed a man who radiated purity— one who seemed like they couldn’t hurt a fly.

Yeosang.

That disgrace.

Hongjoong waved his hands to shake off wrath. “He’ll be dealt with,” he muttered to himself. Then, he refocused. “If the two of us go, who’ll fetch the herbs?”

Jongho will be in Hyuka’s care. Most likely, Wooyoung’s trying to fix the compass while wallowing over his “mistake.” Mingi only knew his way around Tortuga. Hongjoong had tried to force herbs into his skull, but Mingi was hard-headed — always insisting on taking his time.

That’s the problem.

They didn’t have anymore time.

Who was a fast learner? Who was eager enough to get the job done?

Pacing. Fingers drumming. The ship offered no other answer.

It could only be Yeosang.

With haste, Hongjoong entered the sickbay. “You’re coming with me to the fort.”

Yeosang looked up from the floor, brows furrowed. “Why?“

“Why?” Hongjoong repeated, curt. “Should I let the crew decide instead — the ones who dared to disobey orders days ago?”

Yeosang’s knuckles whitened around the broom as he found his voice again.

“Assuming we’re talking about Fort de Rocher,” he said slowly, “Vasseur is not the type to negotiate. Mingi is our best gunslinger. An ambush would give us the advantage.”

For just a moment, Hongjoong looked like he’d consider it.

“The Declaration vs. the French — a war which ends in us gibbeted,” he shot back. “I need a skilled negotiator, not a gunslinger. Tell me — who else can represent my best interests but—?”

Yeosang dropped the broom. The clatter echoed louder than it should’ve. “I need to make sure that I get the right herbs, Captain. Jongho’s life is in my hands — I won’t choose charm over soul. If stopping by Rocher is so important, then take Mingi with you. I don’t want any part of whatever you are planning.”

Hongjoong gripped his pant-leg, close to reprimanding Yeosang over his arguments. Out of everybody onboard, he needed him. No one else was as good as negotiating like Yeosang. But reprimanding him for back-talk would cause backlash.

Think.

An idea.

Hongjoong sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the door’s frame. “You’re really worried about Jongho, aren’t you?”

Yeosang bit his lip. Then, as if Hongjoong hadn’t spoken, he sank to his knees. Gently, he wiped crusted soup from the corner of Jongho’s mouth.

Wood creaked underneath Hongjoong’s steps — steady, deliberate. Slowly, he crouched down, voice soft like lullabies laced with hemlocks.

“Hyuka’s been your apprentice for years. Don’t talk about him like Hades cursed his hands. He’d rather commit seppuku than see any of my men dead.”

Pause.

Step.

“I’ve watched him sew men back up mid-battle, hands shaking, slick with blood and tears. Does that remind you of the past, Yeosang? When you ran straight towards me to escape your father?”

Yeosang froze.

Hongjoong’s ring-clad hand gripped his shoulder — heavy, metallic, stinking of the sea. The crossbones insignia scraped against skin. “You know exactly why I took you in. I could’ve left you — should’ve. He begged me not to. I still turned my back. But just when I was about to sail off, you did what no prince should ever do.”

Hongjoong got closer.

“You begged. On your knees. You saw me as a god. And I finally decided to hear your cries.”

Nightmares flickered behind Yeosang’s eyes. A tear slid down his cheek.

Hongjoong brushed it away with the back of his fingers.

It wasn’t enough.

There was fight in his eyes. His mouse was still twitching.

Spitting threats would ignite more fire. Pleading, weaken his strategy. In this key moment, he desired one thing — Yeosang’s silence.

Silence that’s the fruit of too much pressure.

“I believed in you once,” Hongjoong said, quiet as confession. “So does Jongho. Why else would he hide his pain from you? He didn’t want to be a burden. He put the ship over himself.” Pause. “What I’m saying is this: your words move mountains. That’s why I need you. I don’t want a surgeon. I need a Quartermaster.”

Yeosang’s eyes dulled. In that moment, all rebellion in him died.

And Kim Hongjoong, the python, finally loosened his coils. The mouse had gone limp.

“Once this is done, we’ll be fine,” he said, rising. A beat. “We will. I swear on Poseidon himself.”

Yeosang didn’t move. Not even to blink. Just the creak of floorboards and the python’s shadow stretching behind him.

Hongjoong headed to the deck.

A voice cut through the quiet — thin, desperate. “Captain. Please. ”

Hongjoong looked back in confusion.

Kang Yeosang rose from the ground like a remorseful Titan. His throat clicked. A whisper, choked and breaking.

“We both know this isn’t just about San. I’ll repeat what I said five years ago — you will not reach your goal. You need to move on. The deadman you’re chasing made his choice — and it wasn’t you.”

From the bow, San looked at the sky. His crinkled eye-smile caught moonbeams.

A sigh of longing. “I miss him, Hongjoong. Really. I wish he hadn’t died so soon.”

Yeosang didn’t have to say the ghost’s name.

Wrath flared in Captain’s chest like wildfire licking dry timber. His fingers curled around the pistol at his hip — a quiet promise.

His voice came low, molten. “We both know why I’m chasing that man.” He turned his head. “When your tongue’s raw and bleeding, don’t blame me for the consequences of your disobedience.”

Footsteps.

Wooyoung entered. “We’re here, Captain.”

Hongjoong nodded.

It was time.

Now, they’ve arrived in Tortuga.

Chapter Text

Cayonna, Tortuga.

Farmers plowing their lush soil, preparing to plant crops for trading; fresh coconut milk trickled down two kid’s lips as they drank from coconuts. Other natives avoided heat, dozing beneath palm trees with haystacks and wide leaves for makeshift pillows.

For Yunho, this breathtaking view was a gift — nature sensed that he needed comfort more than ever now that he was back in the nest. Tortuga, with a bright smile, opened its arms, inviting Yunho to its pearly sand and the cool breeze. It promised renewal — a chance to relax.

He couldn’t.

Back then, when the Declaration would dock, San’s footsteps pounded against wood and sand, leaving dust clouds in his wake. Hours later, he’d return with bags of fruits and foreign spices. In the galley, flour stuck to his fingertips like speckled glue. Apple filling sang with joy, butter melting into crust. The smell would pour throughout the ship, even reaching Yunho’s quarters.

Now, all he smelt was tobacco.

To not see San running back. To not hear his childlike laughter— it was a different kind of torture. In this moment, he longed to be called Golden once more.

A sharp poke woke Yunho.

Confusion and half-asleep, he swatted lazily at what was poking him, exhaustion heavy his bones. “Just a mosquito,” he murmured softly, exhaustion taking over.

The next jab bit deeper.

Gasping, Yunho whipped his head around. His eyes caught it — the cold glint of a blade.

Free hand braced on the rigging, Captain’s gaze stayed steady and unblinking — he tilted Yunho’s head up with the cutlass. A bead of blood crawled down his neck. “Sleep well?”

Yunho’s lips parted. He smacked his hand over his mouth, vomit threatening to burst from his throat.

Don’t react,  he thought. Don’t raise your voice again. Give him no reaction, no matter what he does to you.

He ignored the blade’s kiss. “What do you want?”

Captain lowered it, sheathing with neat efficiency. For a moment, he just stared at Yunho, eyes dark.

Slowly, he slithered like a predator, climbing higher on the rigging, eyes never leaving Yunho. Then, he invaded the nest — he jumped in.

Yunho stepped back. “C…Captain?”

One foot caught another. Wind roared past Yunho’s ears. Hair whipped in his eyes. The world tilted. Sky above. Sea  below. His heart thundered like war drums. Adrenaline galloped in his veins.

“CAPTAIN—!”

Air swallowed him whole.

Just as Hades was about to claim him, Captain’s hand clamped around his shirt. Yunho was suspended above waves, held by a man who could choose to spare or end his life.

Captain leaned in. Yunho’s heart pulsed in his ears.

He waited for him to speak. Nothing — only wood creaking. This wasn’t right. Something didn’t feel right.

Captain twisted the fabric. Yunho flinched, feeling himself being lowered. Nausea swam in his chest.

Then, he was yanked back to his feet.

Hot tears burned in his eyes. He gripped his shirt exactly where Captain did. Captain, who turned his enemies into lost history and believed Yunho was feigning innocence; who ruled the seas with an iron fist, damning souls who tested his limits.

Whose lips would curve into a rare, warm smile. A voice that once told him, “You’re doing great, Yun-ah. Thank you for everything.”

Yunho struggled for air, pain ripping his bruised soul open. Why? Why did he always react even when he told himself not to?

Captain’s icy stare lingered for longer. Finally, he spoke, voice light — too light: “I have a task for you.”

Perplexed, Mingi tilted his head as he saw Yeosang, Hongjoong, and Yunho approaching him, tension thick as smoke from a galley fire. Even the arrogant waves slid back, not wanting anything to do with the drama between Captain and crew. It looked like Helios dimmed the sun’s light, too.

Hongjoong took the lead of them — those slow, measured steps with evil precision. He paused mere inches from Mingi, wind no longer making his coat billow.

“Yunho’s coming with you,” he said. Not a request, nor command. A fact.

Mingi’s brows rose above Olympus. “You’re allowing him off ship again? Even after he tried escaping us?”

Hongjoong said nothing, like he was waiting for somebody else to answer for him.

Even before Mingi looked, Yunho’s body language betrayed him. Shoulders and neck were as stiff as planks. Shallow, clipped breaths, each inhale needed permission. Thumbs circling over one another.

Then there was the wound on the side of his neck.

When Hongjoong stepped forward, Yunho’s made two steps back. He stayed close to Yeosang — not hiding, but like the Quartermaster was his only shield left.

“I know what marshmallow root looks like,” Yunho said dryly. “I ate it when I lived on my island, along with other herbs.”

“Explains why you’re still skin and bones.”

Yeosang’s jaw flexed.

Mingi winced. “Sorry.”

He read Yunho’s lips as he mumbled to himself. “Skinny is better than siren.”

For Yunho’s sake, he thought it’d be best to not acknowledge that comment.

“You gave us one hour. One ,” he stretched, switching subjects. “No offense to Yunho, but Yeosang’s much faster, knows more about herbs, and won’t wander off like a sheep. Can’t he come with me instead?”

Yunho’s entire body froze.

Thumb pressing against his lips, Hongjoong exhaled slowly. “You never learn to hold your tongue.” He rolled his shoulders back. “Next time, I’ll let Yunho come with me. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find another thing like him.”

If looks could kill, Yeosang would be tried on the spot. Still, his voice stayed even: “He wants help negotiating, Mingi. That is why I’m not coming with you.”

Oh.

No point in arguing, then. One thing was clear: Yunho didn’t want to be close to Hongjoong.

“Fine,” Mingi relented.

A bit of surprise shone in Hongjoong’s eyes. He collected himself, pleased.  “You chose obedience over sacrifice. Thank you, First Mate.” He looked at Yunho. “Earlier was a warning. If you’re not back before the hour’s up, forget the temple — the sea’s a perfect altar. I’ll sacrifice you.”

Yunho dug his nails into his skin. No response.

Mingi ushered him over. “C’mere, Yunho. We need to be quick.”

Just as he took a hesitant step towards him, Yeosang said, “Wait.”

From his pocket, Yeosang pulled out a pouch and dropped it into Yunho’s hand. Yunho blinked in confusion — then, he gave it a shake. Coins rattled in odd harmony.

He whispered. Then, left with Hongjoong.

Yunho lowered the pouch to his side. A moment of silence stretched between them before he spoke. “S till think he wouldn’t cut off my tongue?”

“He wouldn’t,” Mingi defended. “And won’t. For the crew’s sake.”

Yunho touched his neck. His eye twitched upon touching the bruise.

In their conversations. Yunho was always ready to spit something back at his expense. Whatever laments he buried, eventually, came onto Mingi like ichor. Mingi expected the usual — a complaint or insult, a desire to go against Captain.

Yunho parted his lips. He paused. Something hopeless flickered in his eyes.

“Sure,” he said, voice below a whisper. Grief held him by the throat. “For the crew’s sake.”

“I think the ocean has eyes.”

Hongjoong’s own narrowed. While sitting on a rickety stool playing with his weird hair, Yunho nestled between his legs. On his left was Yeosang, eyes glinting with sharp curiosity as he studied the mysterious creature they dragged aboard a year ago.

Wooyoung cackled, playfully rolling his eyes. “Guess what else has eyes?”

Yunho’s eyes sparkled. “What?”

“Me!”

Mingi smacked Wooyoung upside the head. Still, he couldn’t hide the twitch of an amused grin.

Hongjoong gave a light tap on Yunho’s shoulder to draw back his attention. “You’re saying we’re in danger?”

He blinked, baffled. “No? Is it normal to be?”

Yeosang picked a fallen strand off the floor, twirling it between his fingers like treasure. “Fascinating. How can one’s hair be this color? It should be impossible.”

“First, he answers me,” Hongjoong snipped lightly, amusement also on his face. His gaze sharpened. “Are we being watched, child?”

Yunho tapped his finger against his chin. He hummed, swaying his body back and forth in deep thought as though the weight of the question  didn’t warrant urgency.

“Give him a break,” Wooyoung said, slinging an arm around him. “If I was alone for that long, I’d call nature my best friend, too.”

Finally, the boy responded. “No, Captain. We’re not in danger.  It…” He chewed at his lip, nervous. “…It just feels like it’s expecting something to happen.”

Hongjoong stilled.

The ocean’s eyes — divine eyes. To this boy, it was a wonderful phenomenon. But Hongjoong learned to know when enemies were close-by, even if they didn’t want to be seen.

To see him treat it like a curious bystander made him feel strange. This boy was an anomaly — would he be a blessing, or another Pandora’s box? Was he risking his friend’s lives by letting him stay here?

Yunho tilted his head back, wide eyes looking into Hongjoong’s soul. “Captain?”

“Hm?”

“Can I call you Hongjoong?”

“What a wonderful name. May I call you Hongjoong?”

That voice — that sweet voice unheard for so long looped in his head like torture.

Everyone’s eyes widened. Wooyoung and Yeosang looked at each other. Mingi scooted a few inches away, as if bracing for something.

Minutes of tense silence fell upon them.

Hongjoong adjusted Yunho’s head. Combing his hair back, Hongjoong yanked the thin, satin fabric off his own wrist. He parted the hair, tying the top half into a neat ponytail. “It needs washed again,” he mumbled absentmindedly.

Yunho blinked again. “Captain?”

“Yes?”

“Did you hear me?”

”Should I have not asked that?”

Hongjoong looked down at him. So strange, yet pure. Unstained by humanity.

He let out a small laugh, rubbing Yunho’s head as sadness pinched his heart. He thought before responding.  “Yes, I did. I just need more time to answer.”

Chapter Text

Jongho swore infected welts were going to detonate in his chest.

Each cough knocked air out of him. Every twitch made his bones crackle and ache. Now, scarlet scratch marks went up his arms from itching so much. He swore that Apollo was waiting until everyone left to make things worse.

Yet the one thing that sickened Jongho most wasn’t ailment. No — it was the altar mocking him.

That disgusting altar, waiting for him to die. The wine was souring. Grapes, molding. Statues, avoiding eye contact. Not out of guilt, but disinterest, as if they wanted to say: “Why’s this squirming scum taking so long to die?”

Many times had Jongho wanted to get up and burn all the offerings to ash. Unfortunately, he was weak. Too weak to turn away, he had to face the wickedness before him.

”Why should I cure the mortal of the purpose we gave him?”  

Jongho gritted his teeth, ignoring the ache. “Mortal?… H-Ha! So you d-don’t… even count me as a follower?… You… s-spineless…w-whore.”

A sunstone caught light, blinding him.

He hissed, blinking in place of rubbing the pain away. Behind each blink, he saw Yeosang’s despair-filled tears. Jeong Yunho, feeding him hot soup with nervous hands. Mingi, about to perish from panicking.

Then there was Hyuka and Shownu.

Cowards. He wanted to strangle them. If he could kill them for treating Yunho like dirt, he would. Captain wouldn’t risk earning his wrath. Why risk angering the man who repaired the ship?

Why destroy another friendship?

He stretched his neck. Sharp pain, but manageable. Slowly, he rolled onto his back. Laying gnarled hands on his stomach, he bore his gaze into the ceiling, distracting himself by diving deep into thoughts.

At least his family was doing everything to keep him alive.

Giggle.

His ears perked. What was that? “Mingi?”

Giggle. Crescendo.

Jongho sighed. “Mingi, I swear—“

It doubled.

The laughter got higher — a high-pitched cacophony of torture. It tripled. Quadrupled. Soon, the sickbay reverberated with it, curling into his ears like smoke.

Grapes burst with putrid rot. Flowers mushed into blackened pus, spilling over the cover. Sunstones, shattered to pieces — one caught too bright of a light, striking his eyes. He shielded his eyes, pain throbbing behind them.

Two sharp, thin blades pierced his throat.

No — more. It had to be. They dragged down the sides of his neck, lacerating it. Purposefully, they did it slow. Blood gushed down like waterfalls. He attempted to move his arms, ready to kill whoever dared to attack him.

He couldn’t. His limbs were wax. Though his eyes were covered, the vision burned behind his eyes — a blackened ceiling, dry flowers petals circling him, and two hands with long, transparent fingers and needle-thin, curved nails.

A voice — measured, deliberate. “A dove’s life weighs more than gold.”

That wasn’t Apollo.

Nails burrowed into his throat. Blood leaked through the hamper.

“Your paths lead to Judgment,” the voice prophesied. “The past poisons the future. Fear not for yourself — fear what comes. Fear the gods. All paths lead to Greece.”

His vocal cords were ripped out.

Jongho screamed.

Birds flew away. The ocean stilled.

His heart thumped against his ribcage. Breathing, ragged. Slowly, he looked at the altar, preparing himself for what may come next.

But the altar was normal.

Fresh grapes. Happy dandelions. Polished sunstones.

Jongho reached for his throat. He touched the sides of his neck. He checked under himself. Each movement was torture, but his mind was scrambled. What just happened? He just died.

There was no way that was just a dream. He needed to confirm.

First, he swallowed. He took a deep breath — Boatswains don’t fear. This was his ship as much as Captain’s. Whatever he’d see, he promised to protect the ship until the end.

Slowly, he looked at the ceiling. His fears blossomed to life.

There wasn’t any blood, yet his throat throbbed in agony. And the taste of iron still faintly lingered.

As the final coin clinked in Yunho’s palm, Jongho’s shriek tore through his soul.

Waves, silent. Sky, frozen. Gulls, erased. Wingbeats, cries, and the rest of nature was holding its breath. Silence pressed in, choking him.

“That was Jongho,” he whispered.

Mingi moved in closer, voice sharp. “What was Jongho?”

Yunho looked back at the Declaration, a mile away from him. That scream. Vocal cords shredded to pieces — choking on your own blood, staining your throat with your final regrets. That couldn’t have been his imagination. It was too vivid, too realistic. The unnatural sounds replayed in his mind like torture.

He’d heard men die and beg for their lives before — that wasn’t new. What sickened him was the faint, pitiful weep threading through his ears — a slow, lullaby-like sonata that wasn’t Jongho’s.

“We need to go back,” Yunho pleaded. “Please. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Mingi stared Yunho down, observing the desperate flicker of fear in his eyes.“What did you hear, Watch?”

“I need to make sure he’s alright,” Yunho mumbled, chills seeping through his heartbeats. “I hear crying. Jongho doesn’t cry. If that isn’t him, then who—?”

Another shout.

Not a scream — words laced with resentment. Two familiar men shouting at each other as if the gods decided their final judgement. Then, that fragile wail.

Song Mingi looked ready to tell the Siren Watch he was mad, but Yunho’s paling face silenced him.

He stared at him longer, as if begging for this to be an act. In that moment, it was like he wanted Yunho to not be a dove, but a snake.

The next wail made Yunho whisper, “Please.”

Mingi dropped his bags. They sprinted.

Their desperate feet hammered against the wet sand. Sunless, grey clouds giggled at their faces — their fearful, pleading faces. Aeolus’ winds made them stumble, howling with laughter at their cursing. Thunder lit in delight, watching with its counterpart. All were excited. Waiting.

The Siren Watch’s legs burned, but the sound — the memory of that blood-curling scream — pulled him forward. Every time he blinked, he saw Jongho’s bleeding from his eyes. Every time he faltered, sounds of men drowning and sirens laughing parroted in his head.

The Declaration groaned, its black sails blowing sadly. Its boards creaked in despair. It had witnessed something, but couldn’t say what.

Yunho and Mingi came to a stop. As they stood in front of their home, both noticed something: the quiet. Now, it was too quiet.

Mingi drew his cutlass. “I’ll go check on Jongho,” he said. “Stay out here. Guard.”

Not having a chance to protect, Mingi rushed inside.

The arguing echoes Yunho heard earlier drew to a close. He glanced to his side.

His heart stuttered.

Veins throbbed against Yeosang’s temples. Hardened, yet gentle Yeosang’s shouts and trembling body struck fear in Yunho. In front of him was their Captain, shouting back. Refusing to back down.

Though, his heart didn’t stutter because of that.

In Pirate King Kim Hongjoong’s arms was a woman, adorned in intricate, golden net like woven sunlight. Her body draped in white silk, hair as brittle and dry as straw. Those pitiful wails were coming from her.

Yunho didn’t know her, nor why Captain held her. All he knew was this: something was wrong. Hongjoong had doomed them.

And the depths of his being, Jongho’s cries still echoed.