After Alton was born, it became common for sirens to visit towns along the Violet Region coastline. They used their winter change to pretend to be human and made their living as musicians and performers. After a few years, they were given the opportunity to perform large plays within the Fogbloom theater.

It was three years ago that the nomads chose to raid the palace. Their leader was none other than Prince Wulfric Aconite. He had snuck them in under the guise of putting on a performance for the king, then ordered for the nomads to cause a distraction so that he could make an escape with a prisoner.

Wulfric had taken measures to order those closest to him away for the winter. He had sent Enzo as his emissary to the Coral Kingdom along with Paladin Arbutus as his guard. Prince Duxton was originally supposed to leave as well, but he had made an excuse to stay and sent Shaw in his place.

It was impossible to judge what the original plan was, but the rescue had turned into a bloodbath. When Emogene realized that their plan had failed, she used her magic to kill both herself and Wulfric. The storm she conjured decimated their bodies, so much so that they were nearly indistinguishable from the guards that had been in the room with them.

The massacre was blamed on the nomads. From what Nicolas had pieced together upon his return, Emogene had brainwashed Wulfric. Nor did anyone know the fate of the prisoner they had attempted to safe, only that everyone had assumed that they had also died. Since then, no siren has left Lyrhea, and their island became guarded by horrific storms.

Alton held his hand against his mouth. The news made his stomach churn. He felt like he was about to vomit. Sirens were peaceful, his mother especially so. What could have happened that would have forced their hand and cause such an attack?

“Who was the prisoner?” He looked up at Zaniyah. “He has to know… It’s possible that he lied to you, Zan. We can’t trust them to tell us the truth about what happened.”

“He said that the guards were convinced that it was a person, but he thought that maybe it was Bellia? Bellia is a sword though… At least, I think that would explain why the reports on the prisoner were so conflicting. There wouldn’t have been a body and the guards didn’t know they were supposed to be looking for a sword.”

“My parents had access to Bellia’s temple. My mother was the damn priestess. There was no reason for them to attack,” hissed Alton through his teeth. He was growing more agitated by the minute.

Sybil inhaled sharply. “Uhm...” She wrung her hands together. “Duxton mentioned that he was in the palace when Prince Wulfric died. I thought it was a lie, Alton, so I never told you. I thought he was only telling me a lie in order to hurt me.” She then shook her head. “... He said that the prisoner was Lady Lydia Larkin.”

“But that's impossible,” replied Lydia. She was just as surprised as Alton was.

“I agree with you. Duxton is a liar... There is no way for her to have been in Fogbloom.” Alton stood up and leaned against the table. Lydia was also a liar, but she always admitted to the truth once it was revealed. She didn’t believe she was in Fogbloom, thus Alton had no choice but to agree.

“Duxton claimed that he had been ordered to hide in a room during the attack. Lydia managed to slip underneath the door because she could use mist magic like me. He said that she was crying and that she kept apologizing for what had happened... I-I don't know anymore, Alton.

Of course, I don't believe him, I truly don't... But, Tria said something that made me think she knew my mother. My grandfather had a direct connection to the gods and now us as well. What if it’s somehow the truth?”

Alton shook his head. “I'm sorry... I'm not upset at either of you, but I need to be alone right now.” He took a moment to make sure his harp was on his hip, then frowned as Sybil stood up. “I’m going to take some time to straighten out my thoughts. Follow through on Stonetoe’s orders and run some laps. Be sure to be back for the meeting.”

He hurried out of the room and headed towards the stable. Fetching Bibi, he chose to ride out as fast as he could. Bibi was the horse that his father had gifted him. The harp was a gift from Enzo, but his mother had taught him to play it. Memories of his youth were flooding his mind. Alton had taken so much care to keep everything he had inherited from his parents alive and thriving.

He had spent so much of his life fighting for a way to return to a home that no longer existed. What would've happened to them if he had never been banished? He would’ve been fifteen at the time of their death. Maybe… Maybe something could have been different.

And poor Sybil... The thought of her mother somehow being alive and responsible for the death of his parents must have been eating away at her, yet he had run away because he was far to torn up inside to comfort her.

Alton dismounted near one of the far training fields and sat down on a broken wall. He unfolded his harp and began to play a melody. His voice wailed out the lyrics. Words of longing, of separation, of casting away all one knows and love in order to accomplish the greater good. Even after the song ended, his fingers continued to pluck the strings. The sensation of their vibrations was much more calming than Lydia’s presence.

“That's a lovely song,” she whispered. “I don't recognize it. Is it one of your own compositions?”

Alton's fingers froze and his jaw tightened. “It’s my mother’s,” he replied.

“Ah! So she was also a composer!” She said.

He shook his head. “Sirens are blessed with magic. When they come of age, a song is etched into their soul, and it will lead them to their soulmate. They will then sing a duet, forever knowing that they are now complete. This song is then taught to their children, so that they can better understand their roots as sirens.”

“What a wonderful ability.” Lydia smiled gently. Her smile was always gentle, but it didn't ease the pain that Alton was feeling at the moment.

He looked off into the distance. “Though such songs are meant for celebration, hers would never fail to make me cry. The lyrics speak of departure and of trying to overcome obstacles that she would always fail to surpass. My father never learned our tongue. He never knew how painful it was. I did my best to sing with her, but often the only thing that ever put her mind at ease was the sound of Enzo’s piano.”

“... I see.” Her smile faltered for the briefest of moments. “Are the words to your song also painful?”

“I first heard it in Volo Refuge... When I met Sybil,” he replied. His fingers began to absentmindedly strum the melody. “It’s a melody best left without words.”

“The siren tongue isn’t far off from the language used for enchanting golems. Sybil should pick up on it quite quickly. If you taught it to her, she would be more than happy to sing along with you. She has the most wonderful voice, Alton.”

Hearing Lydia’s attempt to be helpful felt like having a cold knife stabbed in his heart. “She doesn't seem to be much of a singer.” She was also human. Even if she could sing it, she would never be able to understand how important a siren’s song is to them.

“She loved to sing as a child” Lydia smiled fondly at the memory. “She'd dance along the webs and sing all sorts of melodies... I couldn't teach them to her fast enough.”

“You don't seem to remember being in Fogbloom.” Alton sought to change the subject as quickly as possible. “Sybil must be wrong about you being the cause of it.”

“It’s always a tragedy between us,” she replied.

“Hmm?”

“Semira told Sybil that I said as much. That it’s always a tragedy between us…”

Alton frowned. “What happened between you two?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “There is both much that I remember, and much that I do not remember. What I do know is that I cannot recall any ill memories of Semira. This contradiction is enough to prove that my memory is flawed.”

“Semira called you a golem,” he muttered.

Lydia smiled. “You’re certainly one to pick up on the smallest details.”

Because he’s always had to with Lydia. She often hid the revelations in the most innocent phrases. “Do you believe you’re Lydia?”

Once again, her smile faltered for the briefest of moments. “Tria is Semira, but Semira is not Tria. She is simply all that is left of a broken god. I met her because the heart chose me as its champion, but I grew to know her well only have she had an accident that left her without solid form.

We once had a relationship much like you and I. What I am now is somewhat of a copy of what she was forced to turn herself in order to continue surviving, but it was more than that. It was because we knew that Sybil would attempt to go to Braytons and that a time may come where she would be forced to face the sins of myself and my father.

That was always the plan, Alton. I was only to last long enough to tell her the truth, but then fade away as to not give her the false hope that I would always remain to guide her. I am not her mother. I am a figment.” She a set of fingers to her temple. “My memories are becoming more and more flawed each day. I remember events from hundreds of years ago in such vivid detail that surely they must have belonged to her, thus giving me only more despair that I am not what I wish to be.”

“... You said that you didn’t wish to witness humans warring over the mist regions again,” he replied. “You remember the War of the Prophets?”

“The time before blood iron, where magic could only be controlled by those living in mist,” she whispered. “Yes. I know it well… It’s simple biology, Alton. All life will react with violence as long as there is something they are desperate to gain. Freedom, power, greed… There is so much to war for, and thus violence will always be a constant, no matter what era we live in.”

Now Alton was feeling annoyed. “You should’ve been honest with me since the beginning. There’s so much we could’ve avoided if you would have just let me tell Sybil the truth.”

Lydia shook her head. “That’s precisely it, Alton. You happened. You, born of a human and siren, an absolute anomaly. Through a coincidence of events, both you and Sybil were forced to grab weapons to defend yourselves. She grabbed the heart, you grabbed my rapier. You did, not her. Bellia was the one to guide you.”

Alton scoffed at the idea.

Lydia floated closer to him. “You were blessed by Bellia a song that forces you to love Sybil. No matter how you look at it, you are just as valid in this story as anyone who can use the heart.”

He covered his mouth with his hand. There was that urge to vomit again. He was forced to love Sybil? No... That wasn’t it at all. The songs were meant to guide one to their soulmate and… And he couldn’t help but remember his mother’s face. Her eyes whenever she looked at his father. She would smile, yet her eyes always seemed to be on the verge of tears…

Lydia continued to speak. “I hid so much from you before because I didn’t know what to believe myself. Now that I am certain that I am not the real Lydia, I understand that it is for the best that I disappear.”

Alton lowered his hand and took a deep breath. “You are Lydia,” he replied.

“Hmm, I don’t believe you understood me. I’m quite certain now that I’m not.”

He glared at her. “It doesn’t matter what you think, you are your own person. You’re not a golem. A golem has no choice but to follow the orders given to it. You’re far to selfish to be a simple construct.”

She stared at him blankly before breaking out into a beaming smile. “Thank you, Alton. I appreciate that.”

“Don’t do anything rash thinking it’s for the best,” he muttered. Alton then looked up at the sky. It was getting late. He should be getting back.

“Veximarl is a descendent of the Fogbloom family,” Lydia blurted out.

“... What.”

“Veximarl, Sybil, Zaniyah, You. Fogbloom, Alcea, Arbutus, Aconite. Four descendants of prophets, all born within one year of each other, and all assigned to the same squad.” She held up a finger. “It’s very strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

Alton began to pack up his harp. “Then how would you explain Chi?”

“Tyrtain is the only god with both prophets and acolytes,” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “It’s all quite mysterious.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to change the subject.” Alton let out a tense sigh. “Just don’t… Stop thinking about vanishing.”

She ticked her finger back and forth. “Another strange fact is that Volo Refuge was once a siren temple. Bellia was the god of mist and history, thus they had temples in every region of Lustro. Even in Carapace, a city once ruled by harpies, held a colony of sirens within the core.”

“Lydia.”

“Hmm.” She put the tip of her finger against her chin. “Should I teach you my recipe for river eel pie?”

“Lydia!”

She pouted. “... Alright. I’ll continue to observe for now. After all, I am my own person and the choice is mine and mine alone to make.”

“... Good,” replied Alton. “Let’s head back to the barracks."