In summer, both Alvar and Lars' gardens were in full bloom, flooded with colours as vibrant as the sunlight dappling the soft grass. The Witch's Apple was as tall as Lars now, and would soon outgrow him in height. But even as the warm days of summer thawed the fields of Frostspire and brought smiles to the faces of the villagers, they ran into trouble of a rather peculiar kind.

People at the docks, mostly fisherfolk and workhands began to go missing, only to return by sundown. They were all utterly disoriented when they showed up, with no memories of where they had been or what took place when they were away.

So far three such incidents had taken place. The people involved happened to be drunk when they went missing, and had been brushed off by most as having simply wandered off. Yet Alvar heard whispers at the Waterfront that they aimed to take the matter to Lars, for they suspected something other than strong alcohol had a role to play in all this.

One bright afternoon, after a lazy lunch out in the garden at the back of the house, Aunt Elena revealed her most recent discovery--a great leather bound book on the art of arranging flowers.

She spread it open across the chequered quilt serving as a picnic blanket while Alvar was busy fishing out the last of the lemon marmalade from the bottom of the jar with a spoon.

"Look what I found in the attic," she said, flipping through the book with careful fingers. There upon the yellowed pages were luxurious illustrations of flowers meaningfully arrayed in bouquets, and specific designs for certain purposes. Weddings, birthdays, funerals, seeing an ailing friend, professing feelings of love. For the last one, he found there were more elaborate ways to do it other than handing out a bunch of red chrysanthemums with a vague smile.

"You can also send them to someone you hate!" Aunt Elena pointed out. That one bouquet spelled out a curse word.

"I'll also need to send them this book so they know it's an insult," said Alvar, giving up on the marmalade jar.

Gran had been, at heart, a gardener her entire life, and sold cut flowers to traders from Roselake, and people from the village. Only at the twilight of her life did she take interest in the art of arranging them. Perhaps he ought to start learning that too. He'd already learnt how to enchant seeds and cleanse the soil. He set the spoon aside and ran his fingers down the pages, feeling the letters of the old print.

Then he looked up, back at Aunt Elena again. "But this isn't what you were looking for in the attic."

"Aye, but I didn't find it," she admitted. "Mother had all kinds of strange books, but not a bestiary, apparently. A shame. I think I could've done a bit of reading and figured out what it is that's haunting those folks at the Waterfront."

"Haunt, you say?" Alvar wondered over the choice of her words. There had always been rumors of monsters being spotted near the sea caves, but Alvar had never paid them much heed. Aunt Elena, however, took them rather seriously.

"You sure it's some sort of sea monster?" he asked.

"Absolutely. I've seen my fair share of them in my life. But there are many kinds of such creatures, so it's hard to tell exactly what it is based on those vague things folk have been saying."

--"A lovely afternoon, isn't it?"

They turned to see Lars standing by the fence. He was gazing intently skyward, dressed in his green cloak, hood pulled up and one hand grasping the strap of his satchel. Above, a cloud the shape of a swan drifted by, shielding the sun for a fleeting moment.

"So it is," Aunt Elena agreed. "Care for some tea?"

Of course he did. He swung open the garden gate and let himself in.

"Where're you off to now?" asked Alvar after he poured him a cup.

"To the docks." Lars took a noisy sip. "It happened again. This makes four of them."

The other two knew at once what he was talking about. It was all that people talked about these days.

"Who is it this time?" asked Aunt Elena.

"Daughter of one of the fisherfolk. She's unharmed, thankfully. But this case is different from the others," said Lars. "She wasn't drunk when she went missing. She doesn't even drink. That's because she's just a little child, of course."

Alvar paused in the middle of offering him a biscuit. "Surely she can recall who or what lured her away?"

"That's what I'll have to find out. Thank you very much," said Lars, snatching the biscuit from his indecisive fingers. "Care to tag along?"

Alvar looked at Aunt Elena. As much as he would love to accompany Lars wherever he was headed, it was nearly time to open the shop.

It was as though she read his mind. With a chuckle, she waved him off. "Go and have fun, lads. I can manage the shop just fine. Besides, I'll open up late anyway, because I've got to finish packing up the candles first."

Lars' eyes lit up. "They're ready?"

"Aye," she said, "And it's all thanks to you two. Let's see if they sell well."

Alvar smiled to himself, draining the last of the tea. This was one of Aunt Elena's many... undertakings as she liked to call them, things she began with great enthusiasm which always left the house in a huge mess, like repainting the front door, or reviving Gran's old things from the attic or building a bird-feeder from scratch. There wasn't a day where the house wasn't filled with the sound of hammering and sawing or the smell of paint, because she was always into something new.

The front door certainly didn't need repainting, but the soft shade of green that she chose was a nice change from the previous dark brown. She made the colour herself, mixing white and a bit of dark green.

Alvar helped, of course, but when it was almost done he'd accidentally leaned on it with his hand still wet with white paint.

"Oh no, I ruined it!" he cried, clutching his head and getting paint all over his hair.

"Not quite," said Aunt Elena, watching the hand imprint drip slowly over the shiny new coat of paint.

"You can paint over it, can't you?" said Alvar. Then, to his horror, he found they had run out of green. He could run to the market and buy some more.

She grinned at him. "I've got a better idea."

Aunt Elena went inside and fetched Gran's old paintbrush and palette. After a while of several dramatic swishes, she stood back to admire her artwork.

"It's a seagull," she said.

Alvar took a long, good look at it.

"Looks more like a plucked chicken," he admitted.

She punched him playfully on the arm, but saw the resemblance too. "Alright, alright! Perhaps this ain't my best. I need to practice some more."

Alvar hoped she would not choose the poor door for her practice.

"Why should there be a chicken on our front door? That doesn't make sense," he said.

"Many things in this world do not, but who are we to question the whims of fate? We give it a meaning of our own." Aunt Elena made a face like she was about to impart profound wisdom, but instead she said, "ah, maybe it's a sign. We should make a chicken coop, Al."

More mess. More hammering and sawdust all over his carpet.

Alvar looked her dead in the eye. "No."

"Yes!" she said. And then the undertaking was postponed indefinitely, only because she forgot about it for a while, and busied herself in building the bird-feeder.

For all his grumbling, he loved the bird feeder a lot, and it brought many birds to the garden.

Right now she was into making candles with fragrant herbs and dried flowers mixed with the wax. It baffled Alvar how she managed to procure a supply of beeswax of such excellent quality when the only kind of candles in the market of Frostspire were made of tallow, which smelled awful when lit. Then she revealed she got it at quite an affordable price from a beekeeper in the town. She'd befriended the woman when she handled the shop for the first time.

"I didn't even know there was a beekeeper in Roselake," he admitted.

"You need to actually talk to people to know things like that," said Aunt Elena. Alvar prefered his plants instead.

Lars helped her, searching through the woods and finding the right herbs for the candles, and Alvar readied the flowers, all dried and pressed. The final steps were tricky, because the flowers kept getting drowned in the wax, so that one couldn't see them from the outside. The end result was not so bad.

Now Lars got to his feet.

"Let me help you put them up before we go," he said to Aunt Elena.

She opened up the storefront. Lars arranged the candles on the counter while Alvar swept the floor. There were many kinds of candles, ones with lavender, some with chrysanthemum and others with rose petals in them. None of them were quite perfect, some a bit crooked, and some with too much or too little wick stuck in them, but they all looked lovely and smelled wonderful.

Aunt Elena lit one of these and placed it on a candlestick, some she kept for her 'bee lady', and one, the tallest and most flawless one of the lot, she gave to Lars. "Here you go, lad. You can put it in that pretty lantern you keep on your boat," she told him.

Alvar looked up in the middle of sweeping the floor. "And what good would that be? The sea winds will blow the scent away," he said reasonably. "Keep it on your bedside table, I say. The smell will bring you sweet dreams."

"I've thought of a better one," said Lars, smiling to himself. But he didn't elaborate, as was his nature. Alvar focused on sweeping once more. When he went behind the counter and out of sight, he heard them speak again.

"And since you're off to hunt some mysterious sea monster apparently, take these with you for protection," Aunt Elena was saying. "I may not know what this monster is, but I do have an inkling." Then a pause followed. Some objects exchanged hands. "You've been at sea, I hear. I'm sure you know how to handle things if there's trouble."

"Without a doubt," the wizard answered. "Worry not, we'll be on our guard."

After Alvar was done sweeping, the two of them headed to the Waterfront. Daisies swayed by the roadside where they walked.

At the docks there was the usual bustle, but around one of the boats a crowd had gathered. As they neared it, they found they were all trying to speak to a girl of about fifteen who sat there, baffled by so many questions bombarded toward her.

Her eyes lit up when she saw them approach. "Oh, stop it, you lot! I'll answer to Mr. Wizard only," she said to the crowd.

Lars chuckled. The fisherfolk parted to give way.

"And what about me?" Alvar said, handing her a daisy.

She stuck it in her hair and sat primly like a noble lady. "I'll make an exception for you."

She told them all that she could recall. "Let me get this out of the way: I do not drink, alright? All of 'em seem to think I sneaked away and had a gulp or two, but that's not true. If my mum or da hears any of this rubbish, I'm dead, alright?"

"We'll see it never comes to that," Lars told her.

"Please do," said the girl. "So here's what I can remember. I'm on my way here to bring lunch to my da, and I take the road by the Cracked Flagon. It's a shortcut, y'see. But I never make it to the docks. That's it. It's all sort of blank right after that. The others say they saw me coming from that way."

She pointed toward the shores southeastward. The waves crashed and broke, stark white against the jutting rocks, glistening black.

"The sea caves?" mused Alvar.

She nodded. "I've no business wandering in caves of any sort. They said I looked all lost when they found me. Funny, eh? I don't remember losing my way."

"Then we'll have to retrace your steps to remember it," said Lars. He found his boat soon enough. One of the fisherfolk had borrowed it for the day, because he'd damaged his own, crashing into a rock.

The young man was unloading the catch and finishing up when they approached. Thankfully, he had been more careful this time and both the boat and fisher were unharmed. He grinned wide as he saw them.

"She's all yours," he said and gestured to the wicker basket sitting on the boat. A small portion of the haul. "And there's a little something for you, sir."

"You are too kind," Lars said, lifting the lid with a smile.

They took the boat in the direction of the sea caves. Alvar took the oars and Lars sat near the prow, guiding him through the shallows. The sea here was a shade of deep turquoise, and small islands of sand raised their heads here and there, pale and glistening under the westering sun.

During the high tides, the sea level rose high enough to flood the caves entirely. This was the right time to explore the caves, for the tides were low.

Even so, the winds were against them today. The waves churned restlessly near the rocky outcroppings and Alvar found it very hard to steer the boat.

"Here, let me take the oars before you crash us into a rock," said Lars, seeing how badly he struggled. "Go light the lantern. We're going to need it to find our way inside."

Alvar gave his lanky frame a skeptical look from head to toe.

"I can handle this," he said, and gave his staff a brief glance. "Magic may not be my forte, but this is." With a grunt, he barely managed to avoid running aground into one of those sandy islands. Lars lost his balance and nearly went overboard.

Alvar seized a fistful of his cloak and pulled him back. Then he attempted a smile, panting as he struggled to catch his breath, all worn out. "See? Much stronger than you."

"On land perhaps," said the wizard, gasping. "Let me take charge here, for your own safety and mine!"

Alvar shrugged and gave it up at last. "Fine. I was thinking about taking a break anyway."

"I'm sure you earned it."

The boat cut through the waves, a knife through mellow butter, as soon as Lars took charge. Alvar went to the back to fetch the lantern, but instead of lighting it, he simply watched his companion for a while as he rowed; the way he steered them through the choppy waters with deft hands, bony shoulders rising and falling, slender arms pulling the weight of the oars with little effort. He was much stronger than he looked.

"If you're done enjoying the view, pray avail us some illumination," said Lars, without turning. "We're almost there."

Alvar's felt as though his face were on fire as he struggled with the tinderbox.

The weather-beaten rocks gave enough foothold that the caves were accessible without a boat, though it would require some skill to descend to the cave mouth from this side of the cliffs. Inside, the stone floor rose high, flanking the narrow canal formed by the sea.

After the bright afternoon sun, the darkness of the sea caves blinded Alvar for a good few moments. He held aloft the lantern, its green glass casing casting an eerie glow upon the glistening walls. Patterns of foam on the water, gleaming in sunlight, cast shadows on the craggy ceiling overhead.

They ventured further in. Inside, it was darker, save for the faint light emitted by the glowing fungus that clung to the moist rocks. The passage stretched on.

As Alvar strained his eyes to look through the gloom, an ethereal voice called out to him from the far end.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart hammered.

Someone was singing, far in the dark bowels of the cave.

Lars looked up, alerted by the sound.

"Ah, a siren." A wry smile crossed the wizard's face. "Looks like Aunt Elena's suspicions were right after all."

Lars listened to the song for a few moments and cast a longing glance toward the cave opening, suddenly appearing restless.

"Let's be done with this quick and drop by the bakery on our way home, shall we? I'm really craving some pumpkin bread," he said. Then he dropped the oars and began rummaging around. "Wait, I need to calm my nerves before we deal with this thing. Now where on earth is my pipe--"

Alvar cared neither for pumpkin bread, nor for the pipe at this moment.

"A siren, you say?" he muttered.

He registered little of what Lars said in response.

Alvar walked closer to the starboard side as though in a trance, arm outstretched to shed the light of the lantern as far as he could, in hopes of catching a glimpse of this wonderful creature.

He had never seen a siren before. Right now he felt an overwhelming urge to see one--just a single glance would be enough.

There were no words in the song that echoed in the vast stony emptiness, not any that he could discern, yet it made perfect sense.

The voice from within the sea caves sang of yearnings harboured long untold. It sounded a lot like Lars, but with an eerie undertone to it.

The melody itself was an invitation, to come join him in the cold dark depths of the sea, where they shall be as one, in life and in death; flowers would blossom from their bones, entangled with each other's.

He wanted to follow that voice to the end of the world.

"You alright?" A hand fell on his shoulder.

And the trance broke.

Fear, the like of which he had never before known, struck him cold and hard, the uncanny terror of finding familiarity where it should not be. The voice ceased, but the echoes remained.

"You're shaking," the wizard remarked.

Lars was here on the boat, right beside him, his touch still warm against his shoulder.

But even as he looked into his eyes, the fear dissipated. He was grounded back into reality once more, the mystical voice was a faraway thing. It could lure him no longer.

He took a moment to steady himself before speaking.

"Why...why is the siren mimicking your voice?" he asked.

"My voice?" mused Lars, looking at him strangely for a long moment. His cheeks coloured, discernible even in the pallid glow of the lantern. "That's what it sounds like to you?"

"Yes?" said Alvar, bewildered. "Are we not hearing the same song?"

"No indeed. That's not how siren songs work." The wizard cleared his throat, looking oddly flustered. Then he assumed a cold, professional sort of look. He took a serious drag of the pipe and puffed out some smoke.

"Are there any strange sensations you feel?" he asked. "Shortness of breath? Pounding heart? An urge to jump overboard, perhaps?"

"Yes, I felt all of them at first," said Alvar. "But now it's...gone. Somehow."

"Gone?"

"Aye," he said, looking into the deep blue-gray of his eyes. "I feel fine."

"Nevertheless, I'm not taking any chances." Lars shook his head and reached into his satchel. He retrieved two pieces of beeswax. "Here."

Alvar held one before his eyes. It was pale yellow and soft to the touch. It was a thing entirely ordinary, no trace of magic in it. "Looks like the stuff Aunt Elena makes candles from."

"That's because it is. She gave them to me," said Lars. "Put them in your ears."

He did as he was told, although with great disbelief, and went back to his position.

"This is a rule we all have to abide by when at sea, and I must thank Aunt Elena for reminding me, for I had almost forgotten it. It would be folly to part from such knowledge," Lars explained, taking the oars again. "It's more of a warning than a rule. It goes like this: if you start hearing voices singing out of the mist, plug your ears and turn her around, full sail. Do not look back."

Alvar could hear none of that, of course. If he did, he would've certainly objected to the fact that they were heading towards the very creature the rule said to avoid at all costs.

He took off the earplugs after a while without Lars noticing, because they were rather uncomfortable and made his ears ring. He didn't mind the snippets of songs that drifted to him from afar. They didn't bother him anymore.

The waterway narrowed and at last they came to a halt before a great heap of tumbled rock. There was a gap in the ceiling from where the rocks had fallen, and ruddy rays of waning daylight fell through it, scattering upon the waterworn surfaces.

Lars stopped short, not because the way was blocked, but because of the figure that sat on top of the rocks, bathed in the light of sunset.

The one responsible for luring away innocent fisherfolk from the Waterfront was right before them.

Alvar hissed in a sharp breath. The siren was unlike anything he had ever seen, but too much like other things he had seen; a being that looked half-man, half-fish, half-bird (he wasn't very good at math). He reared back from where he stood.

Long tangles of silver hair sprawled over thin shoulders, skin gray as stone, webbed fingers splayed upon the rocks, the siren peered down at them. He had the lithe body of a man from waist up, and a youthful face, quite handsome, although most likely to give anyone nightmares if encountered upon misty deserted shores at night. His eyes were completely black.

Yet now he looked ethereal, bathed in the soft light that came from above. Beads of water glistened like diamonds on his bare torso.

Alvar flustered and looked away, trying not to stare. Lars was unbothered as always.

He rose to his feet with a polite nod, staff in hand. "Good day to you."

"I bet it is a good day outside, though I cannot really tell from here," answered the majestic creature, in a deep, soothing voice that reverberated in the enclosed space. He then tilted his head with a playful smile. "Now this is a rare sight. You both seem to have your wits about you, even after listening to my voice and looking upon me. Why is that, I wonder?"

The siren's black eyes halted on Alvar first. He seemed to stare right into his soul, read him word by word, as though he were an open book.

"Perhaps...perhaps..." he muttered, dragging the words out in a melodious vibrato--before suddenly switching to a normal voice. "You already have what you desire within your reach! Do you? Do you?"

"Ahem." Alvar reddened like a tomato, but attempted to compose himself with a polite cough. "You should not poke into one's personal business like that. It's kind of rude, really."

"Never you mind, I got my answer," said the siren with some smugness and turned to Lars. "What about you, wizard?"

"I am beyond all corporeal seduction," he declared. "A siren's allure has little power over me."

A clear, ringing laughter filled the cave. Deep dark eyes as depthless as a starless sky gleamed with mischief. "Is that a challenge, my friend?"

Lars gave a half smile and leaned on his staff. "One that you cannot hope to win."

"You are mistaken if you think our kind aims to lure you in with our physical forms, or that we sing of such desires only. You hear what you want to hear, without me even trying. But if you insist, I will look into your hearts and pull the right strings." The siren gave Lars a narrow eyed stare.

As he inched closer to the edge for a better look, the wings on his back unfurled, shedding bits of feathers and water droplets everywhere. They looked like a hawk's wings, but thin and fragile like sails of a ship long abandoned, not nearly strong enough to support his weight if he took flight. His arms were all skin and bones.

There was not much to eat in this cave, Alvar noted, and that pile of hard rocks was certainly not a comfortable abode. He had a rough idea of how high the water may rise during the high tides, but it would not be enough for the siren to get off his perch without hurting himself on the jagged rocks. Those webbed fingers and fish tail were no good for climbing.

He wondered if the poor creature was here by choice or simply stranded here, far from home and all alone.

But right now the siren's focus was all bent on Lars.

"Perhaps you are not enticed by pleasures of the physical nature, wizard. But I can just as well sing about rippling meadows and starry skies, the smell of books and scent of flowers. Or perhaps I'll sing of the warmth of home, the peace of finally putting down your roots, no Calls of the Unknown to pull you away from all that you hold dear.

"What if I sing for you the true feelings you hold in your heart unspoken, that you care not so much for the flowers in your garden, but rather for the one who tends to them? What would you do then?"

Lars flustered for only a moment before regaining his composure, glancing at a very red Alvar at his side.

"Very easy," the wizard said with an impish grin. “I'll just plug my ears.”

He reached into his pocket and showed the siren two pieces of wax. "That's how humankind has been dealing with you lot for ages."

The siren's lips curled in annoyance. "Such arrogance. I ought to punish you by keeping you entranced forever!"

"But that won't do you any good, would it?" Alvar spoke up. "This place doesn't seem all that great for someone of your kind, more used to the open sea."

The siren must have forgotten he was even there, for he was startled by his voice. With a great effort, he repositioned himself to face him, frowning hard, considering his words. "That is correct. I am stranded here, to tell you the truth. Since the last Spring Tide."

Lars' eyes widened. "That makes about twenty--no, twenty two days."

"Indeed? I have lost count." A weary look crossed the siren's eyes and for a moment his exhaustion showed through. He looked drained, not at all like the proud creature who accepted a wizard's challenge a moment ago.

"I have none but myself to blame. I strayed far from familiar waters to seek the thrill of adventure. A foolish decision."

"Not quite," said Lars. "Depends largely on the execution."

"I ruined it. I was too lost exploring these caves to notice the water level going down. By the time I did, I had climbed too high up. I ought to have flown away when I still had the strength, but instead I advanced further inside, hoping that with the next high tide, I will be able to swim back home, no trouble. But the water does not rise high enough, as you can see."

"We could help you get out of here," said Alvar. "If you promise to leave our people alone, that is."

"I have done them no harm," said the siren. "The people of Frostspire leave us in peace when they sail across these waters. There are many among my kin who have encountered sailors who seek to hunt us and run us through with their cruel spears. Your folk are not like them.

"I have been merely calling for help. But all those who arrive only end up entranced by my voice, and thus incapable of providing any assistance. I am left with no choice but to turn them back the way they came before they hurt themselves."

"You succeeded," Lars told him. "They all returned unharmed."

The siren sighed. Then his eyes went to the basket on their boat. "Wait, is that...?" His nose flared as he took long sniffs and his fingers clenched. "Fish!" he cried.

Alvar nodded and showed them to him, lifting the lid.

"Please, can I have some? I'm famished!" he said, bringing his webbed hands together.

It took the two of them several difficult minutes to make the climb, but it was worth seeing the smile on his face when he was presented with the entire basket.

"Help yourself," said Lars.

He ate them raw. Alvar sat watching on a rock nearby, massaging his sore legs.

Up close, the siren was even more beautiful. He had a long tail, about thrice the length of his torso, and covered in shiny black scales, the fins tinged a deep blue. There were red gills on either side of his neck, and though his fingers were webbed, he had talons like that of a bird of prey.

By the time he finished eating, there was a great pile of fish bones beside him. "I have not the words to thank you," he said. "I was growing sick of seaweed, though I usually love it. But the same thing for weeks is tiring, is it not?"

"Sirens like seaweed?" wondered Alvar. He was not sure what to do with that information.

"Oh yes. It goes well with shrimps. There is a great spot north-west of here where you can catch loads of them. I will show you on our way out."

Lars laughed. "Good. Now I know how to lure in sirens. I just have to come up with a good enough song about shrimps and seaweed and fish. Only, I'm no good at singing. You'll sing it for me, won't you, Alvar?"

"Not unless you have a good enough reason for luring them away from their homes!" said Alvar. He gave the siren's wings a concerned look. "You'll be able to fly again, won't you?"

"As soon as I get out of here and regain my strength, yes," answered the siren.

"Then let us hasten it up," said Lars, and he stood up. He held his staff aloft and cleared his throat. "Now I'd like you to stand back, Alvar. It's been a while since I have used my telekinesis spells. Almost a year, I think, when Marcella got herself stuck between a bookshelf and the wall behind it."

The siren looked aghast. "And what if it does not work? What happens then?"

"Nothing at all, in the best case scenario. In the worst case...you could be blown to bits. The probability of that is very, very low."

The siren's scream died in his throat as he was lifted into the air. Lars moved his staff, and with slow, calculated moves, lowered him gently on their boat below.

"I was only joking," the wizard admitted once they were all back in the boat.

The siren swished his tail and answered him with a big splash of water.

Sopping wet but still grinning, Lars returned to the oars. "That's a fine way to show your gratitude to your rescuers."

"Another foolish jest like that and I will sink this boat."

He showed no animosity toward Alvar, however. All the way he told him how wonderful it was to swim free in the open sea, to drift lazily with the waves, to dive to the bottom where the creatures were strange. The merfolk were close to his kin, and sometimes they traveled together in great numbers.

Alvar remembered the pictures from Gran's notebook, the Ocean Stars, most of all.

"Ocean stars?" the siren wondered when he asked him about them. "No, I do not think I have seen anything like that. You sure you do not simply mean starfish?"

"No, they're gems," he tried to explain, feeling a little foolish. "I...well. I just really wanted to see one."

The siren nodded, though he looked unsure. "Very well. I shall keep an eye out for them."

"You won't find them here," said Lars after a long moment of silence.

The other two looked at him. "Why?"

"The very name is a misnomer. Ocean Stars aren't found in the bottom of the ocean. They're mined from deep below the earth with many kinds of ores and are found in caves that reach far into the hearts of mountains." He looked at Alvar seriously. "Do you want one?"

"It's said that if you wear them on a ring, they lead you to your destiny --whatever that means," Alvar added hastily. "I just think that they're pretty to look at, that's all."

"Hmm," Lars said thoughtfully, and then he said no more.

Within a few minutes they were out of the caves and beneath the wide open sky once more. Alvar took a deep breath of the fresh air, and it struck him anew how good it was to feel the sun warm his cheeks and the smell of salt in the air. Lars shivered a little, his clothes still damp, but he smiled too, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, blindingly bright after the dimness of the caves.

But the happiest of them all was the siren. Arms propped on the edge of the boat, he raised himself upright, and the rising wind made his silver hair ripple and shine. He shut his eyes with a smile, the ashen pallor of his skin seeming to regain colour once more, his black scales scattering the light and gleaming with many hues. He spread his wings and the feathers shivered like leaves in a breath of wind.

"Free at last," he whispered with great relief.

As promised, he led them north-west, and showed them the best spots for catching shrimp. He leapt into the water and swam alongside their boat. Every now and then, he broke the surface, wings unfurling, only to jump back in with a huge splash that drenched the two. Alvar laughed, covering his head in vain, and Lars lifted spheres of water from the sea to counter the siren's attacks. He never missed his mark.

Then at last, when the sun was low and crimson in the darkening sky, it was time for farewell. They accompanied the siren far from the shore, to the deeper and darker waters, far south of where the Icewater Creek met the sea. Here was his home.

"Wait here a moment," said the siren, and he vanished under the surface.

They waited for what seemed to be a very long time and began to think the creature had tricked them when he emerged again, a pair of conches cradled to his chest.

He presented one to each of them. "Here. A token of my gratitude. Never shall I forget you."

Alvar turned it over in his hand. Ridges and furrows swirled around it in a spiral, golden brown on the outside, and inside it faded to a soft pink. "Thank you," he said to the siren. "It's beautiful."

"It may not be as grand as those Ocean Stars you speak of, but they are still special," said the siren with a grin. "Put them to your ears and listen."

Alvar listened, expecting to hear the hollow rushing sound of wind that he heard in all seashells, the sound of the sea.

But he heard birds chirping instead. He was about to give a cry of surprise when many other sounds drifted into the mix. The sounds changed each time he put the conch to his ear.

Now he heard the cheery music of the Moonmaiden, mingling together with the songs they sang at the last Spring Fair. Then, a merry, crackling fire. Next, the gate to Lars' garden which creaked when he opened it every morning, and Marcella cooing softly where she sat on the fence. The cacophony of many sweet sounds buzzed in his head and made him feel warm inside.

A cold hand pressed up against his own, and the siren smiled up at him. "A tiny bit of my magic is entrapped within. Each time, a different song, unique to each listener. Whatever your heart wishes for at that moment, you will hear."

He took his leave, and swam over to Lars. "Is the gift to your liking?"

Lars listened, and when he was finished, he sighed and clutched the conch to his chest. Alvar wondered what he heard that struck him so hard.

"Twice now have you pierced my heart, I won't lie," he admitted.

"An honour, that," said the siren. "May our paths cross again, Master Wizard."

Lars laughed and shook his head. "I'm nowhere near a master, my friend. An apprentice at best. There is still a whole universe's worth of knowledge that I'm yet to learn."

"So be it. I hope you also learn how to take a compliment. Fare you well!"

And with that, the siren was gone, the blue end of his fins vanishing beneath the waves.

"We should head back," suggested Alvar after a while.

Lars watched the sky, the conch still pressed to his ear. The setting sun peeked through the clouds. They seemed to be lit on fire from within, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold. His hood was down, flaxen hair flowing free over his shoulders.

"What does your conch sound like?" he asked.

Alvar avoided his eye, but there was no point in hiding now that he had so foolishly told him that he heard his voice in the siren's song, back in the cave. "Shouldn't you know that already?"

"Should I?" He had a habit of answering a question with another, Alvar noticed.

He gave up, wondering over the siren's words instead. You care not so much for the flowers in your garden, but rather for the one who tends to them.

Alvar felt a bit offended, to be honest.

"Was it true? What the siren said?" he asked.

"About what?" said Lars. Now it was a genuine question.

"That you actually don't care all that much about my flowers?"

He laughed."Oh, Alvar." He put his conch aside and turned to face him.

"I could write you the most heartfelt letter, spelling it out for you, and even then you would only stare at the splatters of ink on the margins."

"Spare me your riddles," said Alvar, looking away. He felt fingers grasp his chin, and the next moment, Lars was turning his face toward himself, so they were eye-to-eye and he had nowhere to hide.

"I will, because they all seem to go right over your head," he said.

Alvar watched the dying sun gleam in his eyes like fire. He felt dizzy if he looked for too long.

Lars leaned in, letting the space between them hover for a moment. Then he closed the gap and their lips brushed against each other, softly at first, until Alvar gathered courage enough and leaned into the kiss. A rogue wind rose around them and swept over the boat, and he pulled Alvar closer, as if afraid the wind would snatch him away. Their fingers entwined. The kiss deepened.

This was much better than fumbling with words, thought Alvar. In fact, he found that the whole appeal of kissing was it didn't require much talking or eye contact, letting one's actions speak instead. They pulled apart after a while to catch their breath.

"Is this any better than riddles?" Lars asked airily.

Alvar wanted to grumble. There should have been a law that prohibited talking after one's first kiss, so that this fool of a wizard would not pester him for a review while he was still trying to calm his racing heart.

"I could get used to this," Alvar said after a moment.

That was not really true.

He certainly would not get used to this, and would keep reliving these moments in his head, over and over again, lay awake wondering if he'd done or said something foolish. But right now, it didn't matter. Here they sat, foreheads pressed together, soaked in the last light of day, and for a moment he wasn't afraid of loving him with all his heart.

Lars smiled, and leaned in again to steal another kiss, this one light and playful. "Let's head back home, shall we? It's getting dark."

That night, the Waterfront was bright with the light of many torches as people gathered to listen to the tale of the lonely siren.