The day I volunteered to become a Siren, Eleri barely spoke to me. She stayed locked in our room, refusing to come out even when I knocked and called for her. Her silence felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest, but I knew I had to push forward. Something inside me told me that this was the path I needed to take, even if it meant drifting away from the one person I'd been closest to for years.
I hadn't realized how much I'd relied on Eleri until the idea of losing her friendship became real. But it wasn't just that. There was something... unnerving about the way she had been acting recently. Her possessiveness was growing, and as much as I cared for her, I couldn't deny that it scared me.
The Siren recruitment process started at dawn, a time when the world felt both fresh and uncertain. I remember standing in the courtyard of the orphanage, the cool morning air brushing against my skin, invigorating yet suffocating. The faint sounds of the city waking up—street vendors calling out, the distant chatter of morning commuters—created a symphony of normalcy that felt surreal amidst my swirling thoughts.
I couldn't shake the feeling of Eleri lingering in my mind. Part of me wished she were there, beside me, holding my hand like she used to. Her presence had always given me strength, a comforting anchor in the chaos of our lives. But another part of me knew that if she were there, I wouldn't have the courage to go through with this leap into the unknown.
"Seraphina Amais Enora," the recruiter called, and my heart skipped a beat, the world around me narrowing to just that moment. This was it. My future hung in the balance, and I felt the weight of every decision I had made leading up to this point.
I walked up to them, each step feeling heavier than the last, trying to keep my hands from shaking. The recruiter, a tall woman with striking sea-green eyes and long silver hair that seemed to shimmer in the early light, gave me a once-over that felt both scrutinizing and reassuring. Her demeanor was calm but commanding, exuding an authority that both intimidated and inspired me.
"Are you ready?" she asked, her voice steady, as if she were accustomed to hearing the uncertainty in young candidates like me.
I hesitated, glancing back at the orphanage one last time. Eleri's window was shut tight, a stark reminder of the life I was leaving behind. There was no sign of her, no wave of encouragement, just the silence of a space filled with memories. My throat tightened as the reality of my decision sank in. This was my choice, and there was no going back. I swallowed hard, the taste of salt in the air mingling with my rising anxiety. "I'm ready," I finally said, the words feeling both liberating and terrifying.
The recruiter nodded, her expression shifting to one of approval. "Good. Follow me." She turned, her silver hair trailing behind her like a banner of possibility. I fell into step behind her, my heart racing in rhythm with my footsteps.
We walked through the courtyard, past the familiar walls of the orphanage, each corner echoing with memories of laughter and tears. The world outside felt vast and daunting, and as we stepped onto the cobblestone path leading away from the orphanage, I felt a pang of longing for the comfort of my old life.
The recruiter led me toward the coast, the salty breeze growing stronger as we neared the shoreline. The sound of crashing waves became a constant hum, drawing me closer to the sea, calling out to a part of me I had barely begun to understand.
As we reached the evaluation center, I was greeted by the sight of others waiting, their faces a mix of excitement and trepidation. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself amidst the nervous energy that crackled in the air. I spotted a few candidates who seemed more confident, chatting and laughing together, their bonds forged through shared ambition.
"Take a moment to gather your thoughts," the recruiter said, her tone softening slightly as she stepped back. "The tests will begin shortly, and you'll need to be focused."
I nodded, but my mind was racing. I felt the weight of Eleri's absence pressing on my chest, the realization that I was stepping into a new world without her. Would she understand my choice? Would she support me if she knew how deeply I craved this transformation?
I turned away from the bustling candidates, finding a quiet corner where I could collect my thoughts. The ocean sprawled before me, endless and mysterious, its depths filled with secrets and possibilities. I let my gaze drift across the horizon, where the sky met the water in a seamless blend of colors. The thought of becoming a Siren stirred something within me—a yearning for freedom, for power, for a connection to the very essence of the ocean.
But beneath that yearning lay a current of fear. I was leaving behind the only home I had ever known, the only person who truly understood me. As the waves lapped at the shore, I felt a tug of regret, a whisper of doubt that I was making the right decision.
The next few hours passed in a blur of anticipation and anxiety. As we arrived at the evaluation center, located ominously near the coast, the salty air filled my lungs, mingling with the tension that hung heavy in the atmosphere. The center itself was a sprawling complex, with stark white walls that seemed to reflect the pale light of the day, contrasting sharply with the vibrant blue of the ocean just beyond. I felt both exhilarated and terrified, caught between the weight of my decision and the thrill of the unknown.
We were led into a large hall filled with other candidates, each of us stealing glances at one another, trying to gauge who might make the cut and who wouldn't. The buzz of nervous chatter filled the room, but I could hardly focus on the words. My heart raced as I thought about what lay ahead.
The first tests were physical. We were directed to an outdoor area, where the sun beat down mercilessly. The first challenge was a strength test, where we had to lift heavy weights and perform various strength-building exercises. As I approached the barbell, doubt crept in. What if I wasn't strong enough? What if I failed before I even began? I took a deep breath, shaking off the nerves.
With gritted teeth, I lifted the barbell, feeling the burn in my muscles as I pushed through the pain. It was exhilarating, though, to feel my body responding to the challenge. I barely passed the strength test, my limbs shaking as I set the weight down, but I felt a surge of triumph wash over me. Each small victory was a reminder of why I was there, of the transformation I sought.
Next came endurance, which involved a long-distance run along the shore. The ocean's waves crashed rhythmically against the rocks, and I could feel the water calling to me, a reminder of the world I longed to embrace. As I ran, the wind whipped through my hair, and the scenery around me became a blur of color and motion. My lungs burned and my legs screamed in protest, but I pushed myself harder, driven by the desire to prove that I belonged here.
I stumbled across the finish line, gasping for breath but feeling a sense of accomplishment. I had made it, albeit barely. The instructors, however, only nodded and noted my time with an indifferent expression. My heart sank as I wondered if it would be enough.
The swimming test followed shortly after, and I felt a thrill at the thought of finally being in the water. I dove into the waves, the cool liquid embracing me, refreshing and invigorating. This was my element; I had always felt at home in the water. I swam with a fervor that surprised even me, cutting through the waves and pushing myself to go further, faster. But as I completed the laps, I could feel fatigue creeping in, the energy I had tapped into beginning to drain away.
I emerged from the water, breathless but exhilarated, and while my swimming skills earned me a higher score, doubt lingered in the back of my mind. I still had to face the mental evaluations, and that was where my uncertainty lay.
After a brief break, we were ushered into a stark, windowless room filled with chairs and a long table. The mental tests began, and my heart raced as I took my seat, the atmosphere shifting from physical exertion to psychological scrutiny. One by one, we were called to answer a series of questions designed to probe our resilience and adaptability.
"Describe a time when you faced a significant challenge. How did you overcome it?"
I hesitated, searching for the right words, my mind racing back to Eleri and the disqualification from the Sirens. I could feel the weight of disappointment on my shoulders, the memory of her hurt, and I struggled to find an example that didn't leave me vulnerable. After what felt like an eternity, I spoke about my experience caring for Eleri, how her determination inspired me, how I always pushed through for her. It wasn't a complete lie, but the truth was tangled in my desire for acceptance.
As I listened to the others, I noted how smoothly they articulated their struggles, their resilience palpable. I felt like an imposter, and the doubt gnawed at my insides. Could I really go through with this? Would they see the fear lurking behind my bravado?
The final part of the mental evaluation involved a simulation that tested our willingness to embrace the unknown. We were given a scenario—an underwater expedition gone wrong—and had to strategize a way to survive, utilizing limited resources. My heart raced as I focused on the task, trying to block out the noise of anxiety that crept into my mind. I could feel Eleri's presence, her disappointment and anger at my decision, like a shadow hovering over me.
When my turn came, I proposed a plan, pulling from my knowledge of the ocean and survival techniques I'd read about. As I spoke, I felt a glimmer of confidence—perhaps I was more suited for this than I thought. Yet, as the instructor scrutinized my plan, I could see the doubt etched on his face. "You might be underestimating the danger. What if the circumstances were different?"
With each question, I felt my confidence waver. I barely passed the mental tests, my heart pounding in my chest as I left the room. The whole experience felt like an endurance test of its own, and I felt more exhausted than I had after the physical evaluations.
As I sat in the waiting area, the weight of my experiences crashed down on me. My thoughts raced, swirling with uncertainty and self-doubt. I had pushed myself to the brink, and yet, it felt like I had barely scraped through. Would it be enough to earn my place among the Sirens? Would I even be accepted, or had I set myself up for failure?
When the tests were done, they told us to wait. I sat with the other candidates, some of whom I recognized from the orphanage, though we'd never spoken much. Everyone was tense, their eyes darting around nervously, waiting for the final results.
As we waited, my thoughts drifted back to Eleri. I wondered how she was doing, if she'd calmed down or if she was still angry. I wanted to talk to her, to explain why I was doing this, but something told me it wouldn't matter. Eleri didn't want explanations. She wanted control.
Finally, the recruiter returned, holding a list in her hand. "The following names have been selected to begin the Siren transformation," she announced, her voice carrying over the quiet murmur of the group. "Please step forward when your name is called."
I held my breath.
"Seraphina Amais Enora."
I exhaled, my chest tightening with a mixture of relief and fear. I had been chosen. This was really happening.
As I stepped forward, my thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rush of movement. Eleri was there, running across the courtyard toward me, her face flushed and eyes wide. My heart jumped as she reached me, grabbing my arm.
"You can't do this," she said, her voice low and desperate. "Sera, please, you can't leave me. Not like this."
I blinked, taken aback by her intensity. "Eleri, I'm not leaving you. I'm—"
"You are!" she cried, her grip tightening painfully on my arm. "You're abandoning me. After everything we've been through, after everything I've done for you. I stayed by your side when no one else did. I comforted you when you cried;when you silently cried during each, and every snowstorm no matter how hard you tried to cover it—how could you do this?"
I glanced at the recruiter, who was watching us with a raised brow, but I knew this was something I had to handle on my own. I pulled my arm free from Eleri's grasp, my chest aching.
"Eleri, I'm not abandoning you," I said softly. "But this is something I need to do. For me."
Her eyes darkened, her expression twisting into something almost unrecognizable. "No. You're doing this to get away from me."
I shook my head. "That's not true."
"It is!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "You've been pulling away from me ever since those Sirens visited. You're just like everyone else—leaving me behind."
The accusation stung, but I forced myself to stay calm. "I'm not leaving you, Eleri. I care about you, but this is something I have to do. You know that."
For a moment, she just stood there, trembling with barely contained emotion. Then, without another word, she turned and stormed away, disappearing into the orphanage.
I stood frozen, unsure of what to feel—relief, guilt, or sadness. It was all mixed together, a heavy knot in my chest. The recruiter came up beside me, her gaze softening.
"You still want to go through with this?" she asked quietly.
I nodded, though my heart felt heavy. "Yes."
"Then follow me."
As I walked with the recruiter toward the next phase, I couldn't shake the image of Eleri's face, her words echoing in my mind. But this wasn't about her. This was about me—about the future I wanted, about finding out who I really was.
And maybe, just maybe, becoming a Siren was the only way to do that.
The sea was calling, and I was ready to answer.