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Fear flashed across her face and her gaze dropped instantly.

“Forgive me, my goddess. My name is Bryony.” Her voice trembled with reverence. “The command has echoed through every generation since your fall. That with your return, we would drag the kingdoms beneath the waves and make them suffer for what they did.”

Around us, every Siren lowered their heads as if in worship. As if I were the deity that would enact their justice.

But was that not my fault too?

They were killed in my name, because of me.

“What happened before I died?” If they had passed along stories of my return, perhaps there were stories about my death as well. Legends ring with truth, after all. “Please, I do not have my memories from before,” I added more gently.

She frowned as if I had disappointed her. “You stood against Helion's rule, even though he was your fated. Our stories say you were the only worthy god, and were planning to dethrone him. But then you saved a Mortal man from drowning, and he stole your heart.”

My heart lurched.

“It is said you loved him.” She shook her head, still unable to understand it. “The same kind that culled us and drained our blood for power. Whatever happened after that has been lost over time. The night you died, the seas changed. The Throne of Gods broke. Monsters rose from the depths; the waters became cursed, which means no one dared to cross the sea. With our food source gone, we hunted the monsters for substances, but we long for Mortal or Fae flesh. The Mortal Kingdom froze. The Fae were hunted and even the Hells began burning. Some believe you shattered the throne so no one else could claim it. Others believe you stole its power before you died.”

My mouth turned to ash, acid creeping up my throat from the weight of every life lost, every innocent dead, every child buried.

“What do you believe?” The question was barely a whisper.

“Something drove you to break the world. To break the throne and steal its power so no one could mend it. You cursed the kingdoms, including us.” Bryony's voice softened. “No one has ever understood why.”

My chest tightened until I could barely draw breath. I searched the empty corners of my mind for a memory that wasn't there, for some explanation that could make any of it bearable.

There was only silence.

“There is something else I do not understand,” she said curiously, predatory eyes flashing with accusation.

“What?” I whispered, mind reeling over the legend, so similar, yet different to the versions I had heard already. I understood none of it myself.

“How your Mortal survived.”

Rythos.

The thought struck like a blade twisting inside an infected room.

Mortals did not survive a thousand years, yet Rythos still lived.

My pulse stumbled as I thought of the black veins spreading across his chest, rot devouring him from the inside.

“I am going to make this right,” I whispered, pointing to the hull of the ship shadowed in the distance. “I am going to fix the throne. Fix the kingdoms. Fix the Dead Sea.”

Fix Rythos, I added internally. “It will be as it was before my death.”

“And what of punishing those who killed our ancestors?” Bryony yelled. “They will come for our blood again!”

The Sirens around us screeched in anger, a high-pitched symphony that grated against my ears.

“I am your goddess!” The words tore from me with the weight of the sea itself. The water shuddered, currents collapsing into perfect stillness before exploding outward in a pulse that rippled through the depths.

The ship in the distance rocking violently with the force.

Every Siren froze; their frenzy silenced as though the ocean itself had commanded them to listen.

“The Mortals who hunted your kind are long dead; their ancestors have suffered enough from my hand. You will not touch them unless they cross into the Dead Sea and have an impure heart.”

I glided towards Bryony. Her lips curled into a hiss and her tongue flicked over her razor-sharp teeth.