Meng Bai was torn backward, flying through the air into Lin Mu's arms. His breathing was ragged, body cold from the sea's touch, but the spell was broken.
The others stepped back from the shore, gasping as if a weight had lifted from their chests.
"What in the heavens was that?" Daoist Chu asked, placing a hand to his forehead.
Elyon was scanning the waters, his senses sharp.
"There!" he said suddenly, pointing.
Out in the mist, on the distant island, a figure stood.
She was beautiful beyond words—tall and willowy, with skin like moonstone and hair that flowed like ink across her bare shoulders. She stood in the shallows, staring directly at them, her eyes luminous and void-like.
A siren.
"A real siren…" Elyon breathed. "But that's impossible. The last of them were thought extinct ages ago. I've only ever heard of them in legends. They no longer exist on this world."
Lin Mu narrowed his gaze. "So they're not just myths."
