The single, molten-gold eye peering through the sliver of the lighthouse door was as terrifying as any legend Neria had heard. A Hellhound. Her siren instincts screamed at her to flee, to dive back into the comforting embrace of the ocean, where her powers were absolute. But her human legs, clumsy and unfamiliar, felt rooted to the spot. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the lighthouse, once a beacon, now felt like a drumbeat counting down her capture.
The door opened wider, revealing a creature of stark, terrifying beauty. It was a massive hound, its fur the color of midnight, its muscles rippling beneath a sleek coat. Wisps of dark smoke curled from its nostrils, and its eyes, two pools of molten gold, glowed with an intelligent, unwavering intensity. It was not snarling, not lunging, but simply… observing. Its presence was a palpable weight in the cold, salty air.
Then, a voice, calm and clear, cut through the silence. "Down, Ember."
The Hellhound, Ember, let out a low, rumbling growl, but lowered its head, its golden eyes still fixed on Neria. The witch emerged fully from the darkness of the lighthouse. She was taller than Neria had expected, her presence commanding, yet not overtly threatening. Her storm-cloud hair was pulled back from her face, revealing sharp, intelligent features and eyes the color of deep sea, shadowed by a faint weariness. She held her gnarled staff loosely, its tip glowing faintly.
"You're a long way from home, little fish," the witch stated, her voice a low alto, tinged with a hint of sarcasm. Her gaze swept over Neria's still-damp cloak, her pale skin, and lingered for a moment on the faint, almost imperceptible gills at her neck. "And on legs, no less. What brings a siren to a witch's doorstep?"
Neria swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Her human voice felt rough, unused. "I… I heard the light," she managed, the words clumsy. "The… the thrumming. It called to me."
The witch raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable in her deep-set eyes. "The thrumming? That's the lighthouse's mechanism. Not a siren's song."
"It was different," Neria insisted, her voice gaining a touch of her usual defiance. "It was… lonely. Like me."
A flicker of surprise crossed the witch's face, quickly masked. She studied Neria for a long moment, her gaze piercing, as if trying to read her very soul. Ember, the Hellhound, remained motionless beside her, a silent, watchful guardian.
"My name is Elira," the witch finally said, her voice softer now, less guarded. "And this is Ember. You are trespassing, siren."
"Neria," she replied, her name feeling small in the vastness of the sea and sky. "I… I mean no harm. I just… I had to see."
Elira's gaze lingered on Neria's face, then drifted to the tumultuous sea behind her. "See what? The dangers you've been warned about? Or something else?" She sighed, a weary sound. "Come inside. You'll freeze out here, and Ember doesn't like uninvited guests lingering on his porch."
Neria hesitated. Entering a witch's domain was unthinkable, a betrayal of everything she had been taught. But the cold was seeping into her bones, and the raw curiosity was a powerful current. She also sensed something else in Elira's eyes, a deep-seated loneliness that resonated with her own.
She stepped across the threshold, the warmth within the lighthouse a sudden, welcome embrace. The interior was surprisingly cozy, filled with the scent of old books, dried herbs, and a faint, lingering aroma of salt and magic. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with scrolls, curious artifacts, and strange, glowing crystals. A worn armchair sat by a crackling fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the lighthouse mechanism was a comforting presence here, a steady heartbeat.
Elira led her to the fireplace. "Sit. You're shivering." She gestured to the armchair. Ember settled at her feet, its golden eyes still occasionally flicking towards Neria, a silent warning.
Neria sat, feeling the unfamiliar warmth of the fire on her skin. It was strange, alien, yet comforting. Elira moved with a quiet efficiency, fetching a steaming mug. "Herbal tea. It'll warm you."
Neria took the mug, her fingers brushing against Elira's. A jolt, subtle yet undeniable, passed between them. It wasn't just the warmth of the mug. It was a spark, a resonance that echoed the strange pull Neria had felt from the lighthouse.
As Neria sipped the tea, its earthy warmth spreading through her, Elira settled into a chair opposite her, her gaze still watchful. "So, Neria of the Tempest Sirens," Elira began, her voice thoughtful. "What is it you truly seek? Curiosity, or something more?"
Neria looked into the dancing flames, then met Elira's deep-sea eyes. "I… I feel trapped by the Mareas del Destino, by the traditions of Thalassira. They say the surface is dangerous, that witches are our enemies. But the hum of your light… it felt different. It felt… like a call." She paused, then, emboldened by the warmth of the fire and the strange connection she felt, she spoke of the curse. "My people are afflicted by the Great Black Tide. We lose our voice, our colors, if we love a witch. They say it's your kind's doing."
Elira's expression hardened, a shadow passing over her features. "And my people say your kind are chaotic, that you unbalance the magic of the world. My coven exiled me for exploring magic related to the sea, for seeking answers they deemed forbidden. They believe sirens are dangerous, that our very presence near the ocean weakens their magic." She gestured vaguely towards the sea. "My own powers… they falter near the coast sometimes. The very sea I draw from, it feels… resistant."
Neria felt a pang of understanding. They were both outsiders, both burdened by the prejudices of their people. "So, the curse affects both of us," Neria murmured, a new thought forming. "But… what if it's not a curse from us, but a curse on us? A way to keep us apart?"
Elira's eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to revelation in their depths. She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "An ancient spell. To separate our worlds. To prevent… what?"
The air in the lighthouse seemed to crackle with unspoken possibilities. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the mechanism became a powerful, insistent beat, a promise of revelation. Neria looked at Elira, the witch who was supposed to be her enemy, and felt a connection deeper than any tradition, any fear. Their forbidden love, a mere spark in the vastness of the world, might just be the key to unlocking a truth that could either shatter their worlds or heal them.