Gus was nothing if not impulsive; Abijam had to admit that truth, even if it frustrated him to no end. With a reputation for diving headfirst into risky situations, Gus often acted without considering the consequences. However, his recklessness left Abijam utterly shocked and wondering how Gus had neither gotten himself killed nor, worse yet, faced some fate far grimmer than death. 

The salt air blew softly as Abijam stood on the deck, feeling it sway gently beneath his boots. Lanterns swung from the rigging, casting flickering arcs of light across the faces of the soldiers watching the harbor. They were loyal, keeping a vigilant lookout for any sign of Labrynth's return. Yet, even amid his allies, Abijam felt the heavy weight of time pressing down on him.

Jacques lay near the mainmast on a coil of rope, still and pale, his hair damp from when a soldier had wiped away the blood from his brow, cleansing the wound. Gus sat beside him like a sentry, his arms folded, his jaw tight. James lingered at the stern rail, quiet, the wind tugging his coat as though it wanted him gone.

Abijam stopped pacing and turned to his father, who stood at the starboard side, gazing out into the dark horizon.

There has to be a way to get to Arieshell. 

He'd watched her captors seize her, helplessly witnessing how the water enveloped her like a merciless cage, each ripple transforming her into both a coveted prize and a formidable weapon for Labrynth. With every passing hour, the fortress loomed larger, its walls fortified by the unyielding currents that twisted like serpents, deepening her isolation with relentless determination. 

In this aching stillness, waiting felt like a form of surrender. He could sense time slipping away, flowing through his fingers like grains of sand, an inexorable tide inexorably dragging him toward despair.

The moon lay across the waves like a silver road, pulling Abijam's thoughts into the past. He gripped the rail, the salt wind pressing against his face, and let his mind drift to a day he'd never forgotten.

"Abijam, are you listening?" his father asked.

"There's that look again," Armand sighed.

"He's entranced in his memories," Ambudhi explained.

A human man had been dragged into their underwater castle—half-drowned, lungs collapsing, skin pale as driftwood. His father had been ready to let the sea finish what it had started. But Arieshell... she had defied him.

Abijam could still see her, Arieshell's scales shimmering under the dim light of the throne room. Gently plucking a single scale from her glistening tail fins, she pressed one of them into the man's trembling palm, wrapping his weakened fingers around it. The magic had flared instantly—legs fusing into a sleek tail, gills slashing open in his neck, his first gasp of water-breathing almost a scream. Their father had stared in silence as the man's eyes adjusted to the deep, his fear slowly replaced with awe.

It had worked. Against every warning, every law. It had worked.

As the man reanimated, Arieshell slumped onto the sand, her chest rising and falling with dazed eyes and a limp head. She muttered inaudible sounds as her gaze met her father's. Without a word, it was clear that Arieshell didn't regret her disobedience, despite the toll it took on her body. 

"Do you remember him?" Abijam asked quietly.

Ambudhi didn't look up. "Remember who?"

"The human Arieshell saved. The one who lived among us for years."

A muscle tightened in his father's jaw. "I remember the risk she took without asking."

He signaled understanding with a subtle nod and a sly, almost imperceptible wink—yes, he had heard the command and felt his father's authority. Even as the old man's jaw tightened in silent warning, Abijam turned away from the rail and crossed the deck to where Jacques's body lay still. 

Gus was kneeling nearby, eyes darting between them, as Abijam drew closer. Jacques hadn't stirred since Henry's men had dragged him from the sanctuary, deep inside the jungle. 

"W-what are you planning to do?" Gus stammered.

Abijam's gaze lingered on Gus before gesturing to his father. "We need to summon the council."

"I don't believe that's necessary, Son," Ambudhi countered.

"Oh, so you're implying it was just as easy for you to withhold information about Arieshell's disappearance?" An oppressive pause caused tension between them. "Summon the council," Abijam barked.

Ambudhi shot his son a sharp glance, his irritation evident to the tone in Abijam's voice as he reluctantly acquiesced.

The deck of the Sparrow groaned beneath the shifting weight of soldiers and mermen alike. Salt wind stung Abijam's face as he looked down at Jacques—still pale and motionless—while the ship swayed beneath a bruised sky.

Ambudhi stepped to the rail, the sea spray catching in his dark hair. He drew in a slow breath, his chest rising like the swell before a storm. When he spoke, his voice was not a shout—it was a tide-given sound, rolling out across the waves in a low, commanding boom.

"Siren Senate, your king needs you."

The words carried far beyond the reach of mortal lungs, vibrating through the wood under Abijam's feet. The sound seemed to sink into the ocean itself, threading through every current, calling to those bound by its ancient tone.

Minutes later, the water broke in five places at once. The Siren Senators rose together, regal as an incoming tide. Harmony, Bay, Jewel, Echo, and Jasper ascended the rope ladder, their scales casting back silver light. They formed a crescent before Ambudhi, each bearing expressions as unreadable as deep currents.

Ambudhi's gaze swept over them. "I have called you to consider an act not done for generations. A human lies here." He nodded toward Jacques. "He holds Arieshell's loyalty—and perhaps her heart. To reclaim her from Henry's grasp, I propose granting him the Gift."

Harmony's lips curved, not in kindness. "You would risk giving the sea to a landborn? After the chaos Arieshell's transformation caused?"

Bay's deep voice rumbled like a reef groaning under a storm. "If he fails us, we will have armed our enemy."

Jewel's tone was sharp as a shell's edge. "If he succeeds, he may never wish to return the power. You know the hunger of those who taste the sea."

Echo's eyes softened. "And yet, you know the strength of one who fights for love. Would the sea not be better served by that than by fear?"

Abijam stepped forward before doubt could spread further. "Jacques is no stranger to risk. He has already bled for her, for us, without promise of reward. If he were born of the sea, he would already be standing here beside us."

The Senators exchanged glances, the weight of their decision pressing against the night air. Jasper broke the silence. "If we grant this, it binds him to our laws. If he betrays us..."

Ambudhi's eyes narrowed. "Then I will end him myself."

The deck fell quiet. Somewhere below, Jacques stirred faintly, unaware of the tide about to pull him under.

The horizon shimmered with an odd ripple, the kind that made the hairs on Gus's neck stand up.

Ambudhi's gaze sharpened. "Ah... I know that wake."

Before anyone could ask, the water erupted — an enormous bronze-and-gold flash vaulting from the waves. Big Boy, the Dunkleosteus, crashed back into the sea with a thunderous splash, drenching the deck and rocking the ship. The beast swam right up to the hull, tail swishing like a dog wagging its tail too hard.

Ambudhi laughed heartily. "There you are, old friend." He leaned over the rail, running a hand along the bony ridge of Big Boy's head. The massive creature purred in the way only a prehistoric fish could — a deep rumble through the water — and spat a playful stream of seawater directly at Gus.

Gus stumbled back, sputtering. "Playful? That's the same monster that chewed the Windlass in half!"

Quintion, pausing mid-mop, eyed the beast and nodded grimly. "Aye. Those jaws could swallow a man whole. I'd wager two."

Abijam stepped between them, holding up a calming hand. "He won't harm you. Not unless my father wills it. Big Boy is... family."

Big Boy gave the hull an affectionate bump before sinking back just enough for his dorsal plates to glint in the sunlight.

Gus muttered something under his breath, but kept his distance, watching the water as though expecting the beast to change its mind at any moment. Quintion, arms crossed, stayed near him, his gaze locked on the swaying surface.

The tension hung heavy for a moment... until Harmony's voice cut through it, cool and measured. "If Big Boy's excited, then so must be our answer. Shall we continue?"

Bay flicked a strand of wet hair from his face, smirking faintly. "We're not here to swap fish tales. We're here to decide if this human—" he tilted her chin toward the still-unconscious Jacques— "is worth the magic it would take to transform him."

Jewel's expression softened, her gaze shifting to the slumped figure. "He fought for Arieshell. Nearly died for her. That's worth something."

Echo crossed his arms, his voice low but sharp. "Worth something, yes. Worth the power of the deep? That's another matter entirely. If he fails to adapt, the ocean will claim him quickly. And then what have we done but waste a gift?"

Jasper cleared his throat. "We have to remember the risk isn't just to him. Once the magic is given, it cannot be taken back. If he turns against us—"

"He won't," Abijam cut in firmly, stepping forward. "I've seen the way he looks at her. His loyalty is to Arieshell first, last, and always."

Ambudhi's deep voice rolled over the group. "And yet loyalty can waver when a man is pulled between two worlds."

Big Boy rumbled softly from below, as if offering his own opinion, sending a gentle ripple against the hull.

Harmony lifted her chin toward the creature. "Well, it seems Big Boy approves of something," she murmured dryly.

"Or he's waiting for one of us to slip overboard," Gus muttered under his breath, earning a chuckle from Quintion, though both kept a careful distance from the railing.

Ambudhi spread his hands toward the Senate. "We've heard the arguments. We've weighed the risks. Now, we decide. Should Jacques, a human, be granted the magic to live beneath the waves?"

The senators exchanged glances. The sea's hush was punctuated only by Big Boy's soft, rumbling breaths.

Harmony spoke first. "Aye. He has earned the chance."

Bay hesitated, then nodded. "Aye."

Jewel, without taking her eyes off Jacques, said softly, "Aye."

All eyes turned to Echo, who stood stiff as coral. "Nay. It is too great a risk."

Finally, Jasper sighed, the weight of the decision settling on him. "Aye."

Ambudhi's voice carried over the water, deep and resonant even without his trident. "The motion passes. Three to one. The magic will be prepared."

From below, Big Boy slapped his tail against the waves, sending a spray over the deck like a celebratory cheer.

"See?" Harmony quipped. "Even the big one approves."

Gus just grumbled, "Or he's just hungry," but couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.