Chapter 1
ACT I: The Silence We Face
The sea had never been truly silent, not even on the stillest of nights. But tonight, as Shiv rocked Fionn gently in the rocking chair by the low fire, the usual rhythmic lullaby of waves felt heavy, as if the ocean itself held its breath.
Fionn’s small fingers traced absentminded patterns on Shiv’s hand, but his eyes were distant—wider than usual, scanning the shadows beyond the window. “Did you hear that, Mum?” he whispered.
Shiv smiled, trying to steady her own trembling heart. “Just the wind, love. It’s late. Time for sleep.”
He frowned. “No, it wasn’t wind. It was... singing.” His voice dropped to a ghostly hush. “A lullaby.”
Her pulse quickened. A lullaby she had never taught him. One she didn’t recognize.
She kissed the top of his head. “You’re tired. Dreams play tricks.”
Later, as she tucked Fionn beneath his patchwork quilt, she noticed his hair damp with salty beads, like he’d been near the sea.
The memory of the hospital, the baby they lost—the daughter whose absence still echoed in every room—clenched her chest. Shiv swallowed her grief, telling herself it was nothing.
In the vast kitchen, Ronan moved silently, brewing tea. His eyes were shadowed, not meeting hers. He handed her a cup.
“How was your night?” she asked softly.
He shrugged, voice tight. “Same as always.”
Shiv wanted to reach for him, but the words tangled inside her throat. How do you tell the man you love that your son might be... changing? That the shadows whisper secrets you can’t yet name?
Outside, the sea moaned beneath the cliffs, restless and waiting. And something unseen watched from the depths.
Shiv sat at the kitchen table long after Ronan had retreated upstairs. The teacup warmed her hands, but it did nothing to soothe the gnawing unease curling in her belly. She pulled open the battered leather-bound journal Bríd had given her years ago—a collection of sea legends and old Limerick folklore.
Her eyes scanned the faded ink, landing on a passage about “The Saltborn”—children of the sea who carried two souls, one human and one made of salt. The text warned of mimics, beings that could wear a loved one’s face but steal their heart.
A shiver ran down Shiv’s spine. She closed the book and pulled her cardigan tighter. Was Fionn changing? Or was grief twisting reality into something darker?
Upstairs, footsteps creaked. Ronan moved through the house like a ghost, silent and distant. She caught him standing by the window, staring out toward the cliffs where the moonlight danced on restless waves.
“Ronan? What are you doing?” Her voice was soft, hesitant.
He turned slowly, a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to tell him everything. But the space between them had grown, filled with things left unsaid—loss, blame, fear.
Instead, she nodded and returned to her research, the pages whispering secrets in the quiet house.
Days passed like this. Fionn’s strange moments grew: sudden smiles in the dark, talking to shadows, lullabies no one remembered teaching. Shiv found herself walking the shoreline at dawn, desperate for answers in the salted breeze.
Ronan, meanwhile, buried himself in the museum’s archives and meetings, throwing himself into his work as if distance could ward off the storm threatening their family.
One evening, Shiv found him alone in his study, hands clenched on an old photograph of Bríd and a younger him.
“I don’t want to lose him,” she whispered.
Ronan looked up, eyes hollow. “I buried one child in the sea. I can’t bury another.”
Their hands met briefly on the desk—two souls tethered by love and loss, struggling against the rising tide between them. Outside, the ocean whispered, a warning carried on the wind.
~
The classroom buzzed with the soft scratch of pencils and the rustling of paper as the morning sun filtered through narrow windows. Fionn sat at the back, his small frame curled over a drawing he couldn’t remember starting.
Miss Kavanagh was talking—something about history, about old Limerick and the Viking raids—but her voice seemed muffled, like it was coming through water. Fionn’s hand moved without him, the pencil scratching the page in curved lines, spirals, and shapes that looked like letters from a language he didn’t know.
He blinked. The page was full of them. His heart began to pound.
“Fionn?” Miss Kavanagh’s voice pierced the fog. “Are you with us?”
His head snapped up. The whole class was staring at him. Fionn’s cheeks burned.
“Sorry, Miss,” he murmured.
She gave him a patient look, then moved on. She was aware of the lad losing a baby sister, so every now and then when he drifted away—she gave him grace.
He glanced back down. The symbols were gone. Only waves. Endless blue waves penciled in frantic layers. His hands smelled of salt.
Fionn rubbed his face. His ears rang faintly, like the echo of a distant song—a lullaby. He closed his eyes for just a second.
The world tilted.
He stood on the shore, barefoot, the wind lashing his face. He could see his reflection in the black water—but it blinked before he did. It smiled when he didn’t.
“You’re not alone,” the reflection whispered. “We’ve always been with you. You belong to the sea.”
“No,” Fionn whispered. “No, I don’t. I belong with my family.”
But the other boy—the one in the sea—reached out. “You can’t fight what you are.”
A voice—Miss Kavanagh’s again—called his name from far away.
The image shattered.
He gasped, falling forward in his seat, knocking his pencil to the floor. A ripple of laughter spread across the room, but Miss Kavanagh’s eyes were narrowed with something else—concern.
“Fionn,” she said gently, coming over. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”
He nodded, but he was lying.
Everything felt wrong. Somethinginsidehim was shifting. Growing. Something that wanted towake up.
The bell rang, sharp and final. Lunchtime.
Fionn didn’t wait to be asked to join a game. He walked alone, hands in his pockets, head down. The symbols were still dancing at the edge of his vision—swirls of salt, coils of tide, bones in water.
He just needed air.
But as he turned the corner near the back hedge of the schoolyard, three boys blocked his path. Shane Connelly. Adam Daly. And the biggest of them—Ben O’Shea.
They’d cornered him before. Called him “selkie boy” or “sea freak.” Fionn had always kept quiet, kept walking. His da told him to be strong in silence.
Not today.
“Where do you think you’re going, fish-face?” Shane jeered, stepping into his path.
Fionn didn’t respond.
Ben grabbed his arm. “You gonna cry like last time?”
“Let go,” Fionn said quietly.
But something else moved inside him.
A low thrum, like a current charging under his ribs. The world dimmed at the edges. He could hear their blood beating in their bodies, their fear rising like steam.
Then he wasn’t in control anymore. Hewatched.
His hand snapped forward, grabbing Ben by the collar and slamming him into the fence with unnatural force. The wood creaked. Ben gasped, winded.
Shane lunged, but Fionn ducked, twisted, swept the boy’s legs from under him with a precision that wasn’t his own. Shane hit the ground hard, yelping as his wrist bent wrong.
Adam backed away, but Fionn—or the thing inside him—moved faster, pressing him against the hedge with a growl that wasn’t human.
“Leave me alone,” Fionn said, or maybe it was the other voice speaking through him.
His eyes burned silver for just a second. Someone screamed. Children were watching now. From across the yard, the noise had drawn a crowd.
A whistle blew in the distance. Miss Kavanagh’s voice shouted over the noise, “Fionn O’Sullivan—what in God’s name—!”
Just like that, it was over.
Fionn blinked. The boys were sprawled on the grass—Shane sobbing into his elbow, Ben groaning as he cradled his ribs, Adam pale and shaking. Dozens of wide eyes watched from the yard.
His knees buckled, and he dropped to the dirt. Inside his head, the voice whispered again.“You’re only beginning to remember what you are.”
