The vibration rolled through the walls before the sound reached her.
Yve stirred in her bed of woven sea-silk, a low groan slipping past her lips as the heavy stone doors somewhere beyond her chamber rumbled open. The water around her trembled faintly, disturbed currents brushing against her skin.
Voices followed — muffled at first, urgent.
She blinked awake.
"…Mother… whatever it is, it's horrifying."
Ysa.
Yve pushed herself upright, hair drifting weightlessly around her shoulders. Sleep still clung to her thoughts, but something in her sister's voice — tight, shaken — cut cleanly through the haze.
She slipped from her chamber and swam into the corridor, movements slow and quiet.
Light from the living hall spilled across the stone arches ahead. As she neared the corner, she stopped instinctively, remaining hidden just beyond sight.
Her mother's voice answered, calm but heavy.
"I know, dear. Do not tell your sister yet. I will not have her burdened with fear before we understand what we are facing."
Yve's brows drew together.
A hollow feeling settled in her chest.
"I saw the body, Mother," Ysa whispered, voice trembling. "It made my stomach turn. I nearly vomited. What in the tides is happening?"
A long pause followed.
"I will investigate further," Chalisse said at last. "The villagers are already demanding answers. For now, you must rest."
"I feel weak…" Ysa murmured. "I wish I hadn't seen it. My tail still feels numb."
Yve's patience snapped.
She turned the corner and swam toward them.
"Why?" she asked softly. "What have you seen, sister?"
Both women startled.
Ysa's eyes widened, guilt flashing across her face, while Chalisse's expression tightened — not anger, but resignation.
Yve slowed before them, her gaze moving between mother and sister.
"Please," she said, quieter now. "Do not hide things from me just to spare my feelings. Darkness grows worse when I am left alone with my thoughts."
"Yve…" Ysa began weakly.
Chalisse studied her youngest daughter for a long moment, weighing something unseen. Then she sighed, the sound carrying the weight of leadership more than motherhood.
"…Very well. Come with me."
Relief and dread arrived together in Yve's chest.
Ysa pressed a hand to her temple. "I… I need to lie down. What I saw truly shook me."
Yve immediately moved to her side, supporting her gently.
"Easy," Yve murmured, guiding her toward her chamber. "Rest. I will hear everything and tell you later — only what you wish to know."
Ysa managed a faint nod.
Yve helped her inside, waiting until her sister settled before closing the door softly behind her.
The corridor fell quiet again.
When Yve turned back, Chalisse was already waiting — expression grave, eyes darker than the surrounding sea.
Without another word, her mother began to swim toward the outer halls. Yve followed.
The morgue stood near the outer reef, carved from dark basalt and reinforced with ancient coral bindings — a place rarely visited, and never willingly.
A mass of villagers crowded the entrance, bodies pressed close, voices overlapping in waves of panic.
"What happened?"
"Was it an attack?"
"Is it true his eyes were—"
The murmurs shifted the moment Chalisse approached.
They felt her before they fully saw her — the subtle shift in current, the authority embedded in her presence. The crowd parted almost instinctively, sirens drawing back, lowering their voices, making a corridor of space.
Fear lingered in their eyes.
Yve felt it brush against her skin like cold water.
At the threshold, Chalisse turned to face them.
Expressions stared back — dread, confusion, desperation.
A siren broke from the crowd.
She swam forward unevenly, one hand cradling her abdomen, her other trembling. Her long auburn hair drifted wildly around her tear-streaked face.
"Please, Chieftess…" her voice cracked. "Let me see my husband. I need to know if it is truly him."
Yve recognized her.
Flora.
Chalisse's gaze softened — but only slightly. "I will allow you to see him," Chalisse said, steady and composed. "But not before I confirm his identity and assess the condition of his body."
Flora's lips trembled. "I don't care about—"
"You will," Chalisse interrupted gently, but firmly. "You are carrying his child. I will not have you miscarry from shock. Not until I know what waits behind those doors."
The words struck their mark.
Flora's composure shattered. She collapsed forward, kneeling against the curve of Chalisse's tail, clutching her hands. "Please… please… I shouldn't have let him go," she sobbed. "I should've told him to stay… I knew something felt wrong."
Chalisse bent slightly, lifting Flora's chin with careful fingers. "This is not your burden to carry," she said quietly. "Whatever has happened — it was not caused by you."
Her voice lowered further, but every siren present heard it. "I give you my word. We will find out who did this."
A murmur rippled through the crowd — not comfort, but fragile trust.
Chalisse gestured toward one of the male guards at the entrance. "Assist her. Take her home."
The guard nodded solemnly, moving to support Flora as she wept into his shoulder.
The second guard pulled open the stone doors.
The hinges groaned.
A colder current flowed outward from within — stale, metallic, wrong.
Yve stiffened.
Chalisse did not hesitate. She entered.
Yve followed.
The doors closed behind them with a heavy finality, muting the outside world.
Inside, the morgue was dim, illuminated by faint bioluminescent orbs embedded into the walls. Long stone slabs lined the chamber, most empty.
Except one.
At the center.
Covered.
Yve's pulse quickened.
For a moment, neither mother nor daughter spoke.
Chalisse moved forward slowly.
The water here felt thicker.
Heavier.
Two male sirens stood beside the central stone table, posture rigid as they awaited the Chieftess's arrival.
They bowed slightly as Chalisse approached.
"Master Mercedius," Chalisse said, her voice controlled despite the tension beneath it. "Have you discovered anything?"
Lysander reached forward and carefully lifted the veil covering the body.
Mercedius spoke quietly, almost reverently. "I have never witnessed anything like this."
The cloth fell away.
Yve's breath caught.
Haugen's face was frozen in a silent scream — mouth stretched wide, eyes hollow and lifeless. Darkened streaks of dried blood trailed from the corners of his eyes, drifting faintly in the water like fading ink.
Yve gagged, turning her head slightly as her stomach twisted.
Burn-like markings crawled across his body, branching upward from his tail in jagged
patterns resembling lightning frozen beneath the skin. The wounds traced along his torso and neck, unnatural and precise.
Tiny punctures surrounded his face and jaw.
Mercedius gestured toward them one by one.
Chalisse braced a hand against the stone table, steadying herself. Grief flickered across her features — quickly buried beneath rising anger. "What caused his death?" she asked.
Lysander shook his head slowly. "There are no signs of struggle. Nor did he summon his weapon to fight back. Had he done so, traces of energy would remain — his fingertips would show blemishes of red from channeling."
He paused, troubled. "It is as though… he died before he even realized he was under attack."
The words settled heavily in the room.
Chalisse's gaze hardened. "The investigation team. Where are they?"
"Our Haelars are tending to them," Lysander replied. "They are deeply shaken. Two suffered severe wounds. One lost consciousness. The others bear only minor injuries… yet none are willing to speak."
Chalisse leaned closer, studying the corpse. Her eyes narrowed at the punctures. "These holes…" she murmured. "They resemble—"
"Teeth marks," Mercedius finished. "Yes. But none matching any recorded species within our archives."
Yve forced herself nearer despite the unease tightening her chest. She gently took Haugen's cold hand between her own. "It must have been painful…" she whispered. "Who would do this?"
Chalisse straightened slowly. "There are truly no further clues? This cannot be a simple predator attack. Even sharks do not inflict such fatal damage while leaving the body largely intact."
Lysander folded his arms behind his back. "For now, our priority must be defense — strengthening borders and interviewing the survivors once they regain stability."
Chalisse turned toward Yve. "Could this be connected to the surface? Someone from the land?"
Yve shook her head immediately. "No, Mother. I encountered many beings there… but none capable of doing this."
Silence lingered.
Chalisse hesitated, then began, "Can you—"
Yve met her gaze, already understanding. "Yes," she said quietly. "I can perform the autopsy."
A faint, solemn resolve entered her voice. "At last, I'll make use of my Anatomist's Certification."
Chalisse studied her daughter for a moment before nodding. "I will leave the examination to you," she said. "But first, we must obtain Flora's permission. She deserves to see her husband whole before we proceed."
Yve nodded, her eyes drifting back to Haugen's unmoving form as the weight of responsibility settled fully upon her shoulders.
Chalisse and Yve swam through the quiet corridors before stopping at Flora's door. Chalisse knocked gently.
A moment passed before the door opened.
Flora stood there, eyes swollen and red, tear tracks still fresh across her cheeks. Her breathing trembled as she tried to steady herself, one hand resting protectively over her stomach.
Chalisse spoke softly, explaining the condition in which Haugen had been found — careful, measured words chosen to spare her unnecessary shock. She explained the need for an autopsy, the possibility of discovering answers, of preventing another death like his.
Flora listened in silence, shoulders shaking. When Chalisse finished, she closed her eyes, grief tightening across her face. "If it helps you find who did this…" she whispered hoarsely, "…then do it."
Her voice broke near the end, but she nodded nonetheless.
Permission given.
~~~
Not long after, Yve stood alone inside the morgue.
The chamber felt colder now, quieter without the others present. The water barely moved, heavy with stillness.
She moved toward a nearby shelf, carefully selecting the instruments and arranging them beside the examination table. Metal glinted faintly under the pale lights.
Before beginning, she stopped.
Yve approached Haugen's body slowly and folded her hands before her. She lowered her head in respect. "Thank you," she murmured softly, voice unsteady. "For your kindness… and for looking out for me."
Her throat tightened. "Forgive me, old friend," she murmured softly.
Yve reached for the arc blade and pressed its curved edge gently against Haugen's chest. The instrument responded with a faint glow as she guided it downward. The flesh parted cleanly beneath the blade — not torn, not crushed — opened with the practiced precision of a trained anatomist.
A dark line widened into an incision.
Yve set the blade aside and used the tendon spreaders, carefully pulling the cut flesh apart. Ribs glimmered beneath the thin sheen of seawater that drifted through the chamber. She worked methodically, separating tissue, exposing the rib structure until the cavity opened enough for her to work.
Next came the pressure cutter.
With measured movements, she applied the tool along the rib joints. A quiet cracking sound echoed in the room as the bones parted one by one. The front plate of the ribcage loosened under her hands, allowing her to fold it back slightly.
The heart lay beneath.
Still. Pale.
Yve swallowed.
She reached for a small container and removed a pink pearl, smooth and luminous in the dim light.
"Let me see your lifeline, Haugen," she whispered.
Carefully, she placed the pearl against the surface of the heart and pressed it into a small incision along the muscle wall. The pearl sank into place as though the heart itself accepted it.
Yve lifted the electrifying rod and touched its tip to the pearl.
A sharp pulse of energy crackled through it.
The pearl shimmered — then began to soften.
Slowly, it melted.
The liquid pearl spread across the heart's surface like luminous wax, clinging to the muscle fibers. Yve waited until the entire heart was coated in the faint pink sheen.
Then she electrified it again.
The heart jolted under the surge.
A faint glow expanded outward from the pearl residue, spreading through the tissue — searching.
Yve leaned closer.
This was the moment when the lifeline should appear. Normally it manifested as glowing embers — threads of reddish dust weaving through the heart and arteries, revealing the path of a siren's living essence.
But the heart remained empty.
No embers.
No threads.
No glow.
Nothing.
Yve frowned.
She waited.
Still nothing.
Her brows slowly tightened. "That… can't be right."
She leaned closer to the table, watching the heart carefully as the pearl's energy finished dispersing.
Not a single spark appeared.
No lifeline.
Not even a fading fragment.
Yve straightened slowly, confusion creeping into her expression. "The pearl must be defective…"
She reached for another.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she retrieved a second pink pearl from the container.
Once more she inserted it into the heart.
Once more she electrified it.
The pearl melted again, spreading across the muscle just as the first had done.
Another pulse of energy surged through the organ.
Yve stared intensely at the heart, waiting for the lifeline to reveal itself.
Seconds passed.
The glow faded.
And again—
Nothing appeared.
No lifeline.
No fragments.
No residue.
Just the silent, lifeless heart resting inside Haugen's open chest.
Yve slowly stepped back from the table.
Her breath had gone shallow.
The electrifying rod slipped from her trembling fingers. It struck the stone floor with a sharp clink, the sound echoing loudly through the silent morgue.
Yve flinched.
Her hand instinctively reached for the edge of the table as her balance faltered. For a moment she simply stood there, staring at Haugen's open chest, her mind struggling to make sense of what she had just witnessed.
No lifeline.
That never happened before.
Not once in recorded anatomical history.
Yve forced herself to breathe.
Think.
Her gaze drifted to the writing slate beside the table. Slowly, she pushed herself upright and reached for it. The scratching of her stylus broke the quiet.
Observation:
No detectable lifeline after pearl activation.
Test repeated twice. Results identical. No fragments present.
She stared at the words for a moment before setting the slate aside. "Alright…" she whispered to herself. "Next step."
Yve returned to the table.
With steadying breaths, she lifted the arc blade again and extended the incision downward from the chest to the lower torso. The blade parted flesh with the same controlled precision as before.
Layer by layer, she opened the abdominal cavity. The moment the organs came into view, Yve froze.
Her stomach tightened.
The organs looked wrong. They were shriveled. Dry.
The rich, dark coloration that normally filled a siren's internal organs was absent. Instead, the tissues looked pale and brittle — as if life itself had been drained from them.
Yve leaned closer, disbelief creeping into her expression. "It's… dry."
Then she reached for another device — the core scanner.
The instrument unfolded slightly as she activated it. Its crystalline surface emitted a faint hum as it calibrated.
Yve positioned it over Haugen's abdomen, aligning the device with the stomach core, where a siren's energy source resided.
She activated the scan.
A soft beam of light passed slowly over the body.
Normally, the scanner would reveal the swirling presence of siren energy — vibrant currents of color radiating outward from the stomach core like luminous smoke.
But the display remained blank.
No color. No energy.
Only a dark, empty silhouette where the core should have glowed.
Yve blinked. "That's not right…"
She adjusted the scanner and ran the sweep again.
The device hummed. The scan completed.
Still nothing.
Yve frowned and repositioned it.
Again.
And again.
Each scan returned the same result.
Void.
Not even the faintest trace left behind.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Haugen… where's your core?"
Yve slowly lowered the scanner.
Her eyes drifted back to the open body lying before her.
Each new detail twisted the knot in her chest tighter. She steadied herself before continuing.
She reached for a small basin of purified water and a thin strand of woven kelp fiber. Carefully, she began scrubbing away the dried blood that clung to the corners of Haugen's eyes.
The blood resisted at first, hardened into thin crusts along the skin. With gentle, patient motions, she cleared it away little by little until the eyelids and surrounding flesh were visible again.
Once the area was clean, Yve reached for another instrument — a blood analyzer lens, a small crystalline plate mounted on a narrow handle. When activated, faint threads of light spread across the surface, allowing the user to examine the structure of blood at a microscopic level.
She held the lens over the flakes of dried blood she had collected.
The crystal shimmered.
Yve leaned closer.
Her brows slowly knitted together.
Normal siren blood, even after death, retained certain structural patterns — the spiral cellular formations unique to their species. It dimmed, it decayed, but the structure remained recognizable.
What she saw now looked… distorted.
The blood cells appeared shriveled and collapsed, their structure warped as though something had broken them apart from within. It did not resemble the slow deterioration caused by natural death.
It looked violated.
Altered.
Yve swallowed quietly. "Almost like… the DNA was rewritten," she murmured under her breath.
She reached for the slate again.
Observation:
Blood samples fully desiccated.
Cellular structures abnormal and degraded.
Not consistent with natural postmortem decay.
She set the slate aside and returned her attention to Haugen's face.
The wounds surrounding it demanded closer inspection.
Yve leaned in, studying the pattern carefully. Using the tip of a thin coral probe, she traced the tiny punctures embedded across the skin.
They formed a pattern.
A circle.
Dozens of small, deep impressions clustered tightly around the mouth, cheeks, and eyes.
She began counting. "One… two… three…"
The process was slow and methodical. "…ninety-eight… ninety-nine… a hundred."
Yve pulled back slightly.
One hundred.
Hundred distinct bite marks.
Each one narrow and sharp, as if made by thin teeth that punctured deeply into the flesh.
Her eyes shifted to the wounds surrounding Haugen's eyes themselves.
There were two deeper punctures above each eye.
And two below.
These were larger than the others.
Almost like anchor points.
She recorded the details.
Observation:
Approximately one hundred small puncture wounds across facial region.
Pattern forms circular feeding structure.
She added another note.
Four deeper punctures surrounding both eyes.
Her hands moved slower now — not from uncertainty, but from the quiet dread building inside her chest.
She shifted toward Haugen's tail, where the long rows of iridescent scales still caught faint light from the lanterns above. At first glance they appeared normal, but the earlier discoveries had already taught her not to trust appearances.
She reached down and carefully plucked one scale from the outer row.
A soft crack echoed in the water.
The scale crumbled instantly between her fingers.
Yve blinked.
Fragments drifted away like brittle sand, dissolving into the surrounding water.
Her brows pulled together. "Huh?"
A siren's scale was durable — slightly elastic, resilient, designed to withstand the crushing pressures of deep water. Even from a dead body it should remain intact for days.
Yet Haugen's scale disintegrated as though it were dry crust.
Frowning, Yve plucked another.
The same thing happened.
The moment it left the skin, the scale fractured apart, collapsing into brittle fragments that scattered through the water like dust.
Her unease deepened.
For comparison, she glanced down at her own tail.
Without hesitating further, she reached to the outer row of her scales and gripped one firmly.
She gritted her teeth.
Snap.
Pain shot sharply through her tail as the scale tore free.
Yve sucked in a quiet breath, steadying herself before bringing the scale closer to the examination lens.
She placed Haugen's remaining fragments beside it.
The difference was immediate.
Her scale remained smooth, slightly flexible, its surface reflecting faint iridescent light. Beneath the magnifying lens, the microscopic pattern became visible — branching lines spreading through the structure like roots through soil.
A healthy siren scale always carried that pattern.
Alive or dead, the structure remained.
Yve shifted the lens toward the remnants of Haugen's scale.
Her stomach tightened.
The pattern was gone.
Completely gone.
The fragments looked hollow, stripped of the natural branching structures that defined siren biology.
Just empty matter.
She wrote the observation down.
Yve looked back toward Haugen's tail.
A new question formed.
"If the scales were this damaged…what about the muscle beneath?"
She reached for the cutting instrument again.
The blade glinted faintly as she guided it along the length of Haugen's tail, slicing carefully through the scale layer and opening the flesh beneath.
The incision parted slowly.
Yve leaned closer.
What she expected to see was familiar anatomy — thick bundles of muscle fibers lining the interior of the tail. In sirens, these muscles formed powerful structures used for swimming.
Healthy.
Dense.
Strong.
But what revealed itself inside Haugen's tail made her breath catch.
The muscle tissue was shriveled.
Thin.
Collapsed inward as though drained of life.
Instead of strong pink muscle, the flesh appeared darkened — blackish in places, with patches resembling early necrosis.
The central muscle line was still there…
…but it looked brittle.
Weak.
Almost wasted away.
Yve stared at it in silence.
Her stylus moved slowly across the slate again.
Observation:
Internal musculature severely degraded.
Muscle mass thin and collapsed.
Dark discoloration resembling decay.
Yve paused before reaching for the final instrument.
It rested alone on the table — the obsidian magnifying glass.
For a long moment she simply stared at it.
Every other test revealed the same impossible answer: nothing.
Her fingers slowly closed around the handle.
She drew in a quiet breath, steadying herself.
"Please…" she thought faintly. "Let there be something."
She swam toward his head.
The lanternlight flickered across his still face — frozen forever in that final silent scream.
Yve gently wiped the remaining dryness from his eyes before positioning the magnifying glass over one of them. She leaned closer, bringing her own face down behind the obsidian lens.
The device hummed softly as it activated.
Normally, the lens would reveal what the naked eye could not — faint fragments of aura drifting through the eye, remnants left behind after a soul departed the body. Every living being left traces.
Even the dead.
Especially the dead.
The eye, after all, was said to be the window to the soul.
Yve focused.
Waited.
The lens shimmered faintly as the energy within it searched for signs of spiritual residue.
Seconds passed.
Then longer.
Nothing appeared.
Not a single ember.
Not even the faintest dusting of residual aura.
Just emptiness.
A hollow darkness staring back through the glass.
Yve slowly lowered the instrument.
She didn't gasp.
Didn't recoil.
Somewhere deep inside… she already expected it.
The lifeline was gone.
The energy core was gone.
And now the final confirmation:
Haugen's soul left no trace.
Her stylus moved slowly across the slate once more.
Final Observation:
No soul fragments detected.
No residual aura present.
Subject shows complete absence of spiritual trace.
She stopped writing.
For a moment, the morgue was silent except for the faint shifting of water around her.
Then Yve set the slate aside.
The examination was over.
She began carefully closing the incisions she made, restoring Haugen's body with the same quiet precision she used to open it. The instruments were cleaned and returned to their shelves one by one.
When she finished, she gently washed the remaining blood from his skin.
Afterward, she dressed him in burial cloth — smoothing the fabric over his body, arranging it neatly the way their people honored the dead.
Finally, she turned her attention to his face.
Yve lifted the veil again and studied him.
The scream frozen into his features still twisted her chest painfully.
With slow, careful movements, she adjusted his jaw and eyelids, guiding his expression into something peaceful.
Something that looked less like terror.
And more like rest.
When she finished, Haugen looked almost as though he were sleeping.
Yve bowed her head briefly. "Rest well, my friend," she whispered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note:
What do you think happened to Haugen?
Something drained his lifeline, took his core, and left no trace of his soul.
Drop your theories. I'm curious to see who guesses it first.