The sea was a strange lover, cold and unpredictable, yet offering a whisper of freedom that young Erik Caldas could never resist. His father, a man worn by decades of salt and wind, had warned him about the uncharted territories beyond the Iron Reef. "No man's ship returns whole from the Grey Waters," his father would say, his voice grim, eyes fixed on the distant horizon as if seeing things long lost to memory. "It's not the storms, boy. It's the songs."
Erik, headstrong and thirsty for adventure, ignored the warning. He’d heard the legends of men driven mad by voices rising from the depths, but in his heart, the idea seemed too far-fetched, too fantastical. The old mariner's tales were nothing but relics of a past time, tales meant to bind a man to his home and hearth. So when Erik's father was laid low by illness, and the opportunity to command his own ship finally arose, he seized it. His father's warnings were but wind in his sails.
The journey into the Grey Waters began with a breath of excitement. Erik’s ship, The Nightingale, was a marvel of steam and iron—its rivets gleaming under a blanket of dark clouds. The crew was competent, their trust in their captain complete. But as days turned to weeks and they ventured further into the unknown, Erik felt the first pangs of doubt. The sky seemed to close in around them, a perpetual twilight. The sun never shone, only casting a faint silver glow that was swallowed by the mist. The ocean beneath was still and black as ink.
Then came the songs.
It began as an almost imperceptible hum, riding the wind like a whisper. Erik heard it first as he stood alone on deck one evening, the rest of the crew having retired below. The sound drifted through the mist, a melody both sorrowful and alluring. It called to him, threading through his mind, each note plucking at his soul like the strings of a harp. He knew he should turn back, steer away from whatever danger this might herald, but the song was too beautiful. Too perfect.
As the nights wore on, the crew began to hear it too. Whispers of unease floated through the ship, but Erik ignored them, his mind now fully consumed by the music. And then, one night, they saw her.
Through the fog, illuminated by the ghostly light of an unseen moon, a figure rose from the water. A woman, her hair a cascade of silver, her skin the palest blue, shimmering like the surface of the sea. Her eyes, black as the depths themselves, locked onto Erik’s from across the distance. Her lips moved, the source of the song that now filled the air, hypnotizing all who heard it.
"Captain," the first mate murmured, voice trembling. "That’s no woman… that’s a siren."
But Erik was already lost. He stepped to the edge of the ship, the song swelling in his ears, drawing him closer. He could not hear the frantic shouts of his crew, nor feel the iron grip of his first mate trying to pull him back. The world shrank to that singular, haunting melody.
And then, darkness.
When Erik awoke, he was alone.
The Nightingale, once mighty and proud, was gone, swallowed by the fog and the sea. The ocean stretched out before him like a great, endless void. He lay on a strange, rocky shore, jagged spires of obsidian rising all around him. The air was thick with mist, and the song—the beautiful, terrible song—was gone.
The siren had vanished, leaving behind only the faintest echo of her melody in his mind. He stood, dazed, and looked around. This place was like no land he had ever seen, its jagged cliffs and cold, colorless sea stretching out in all directions. The skies above swirled in an endless tempest, though no rain fell. He was in a realm forgotten by time, a place not meant for mortal men.
His heart raced as the realization dawned on him: he was lost, utterly and completely. His ship, his crew, everything he had known—gone. The siren had lured him here, to this desolate place beyond the edges of the world, and now, there was no way back.
For days—perhaps weeks—he wandered, calling out into the fog, searching for any sign of life. But the only response was the silence of the sea and the whispering wind. As time passed, Erik grew weaker, his once-strong body now frail and gaunt. His mind, too, began to fray, haunted by the siren's song, which lingered like a phantom in the corners of his thoughts.
There were moments when he swore he saw her, just beyond the mist, her eyes glinting with cruel amusement. But each time he rushed forward, she would vanish, leaving him more lost than before. Despair began to creep into his soul, and he realized that this place—the Forgotten Realm—was not just a prison. It was his grave.
No one would ever find him here. No ship would come. No voice would call his name. Erik Caldas, like so many before him, had been claimed by the sea, lost to the song of the siren, and now he would remain—forgotten by the world he once knew.
In the end, as the fog thickened around him and his strength left him, Erik understood the truth of his father's warning. It wasn’t the waters that claimed men. It was the songs—the songs of the forgotten.
