Satyr’s Children | Book 1: Siren
What did she say?
Ali’s head snapped toward Claret.
The pink-haired girl with two long, neatly braided plaits stared coldly at the figure that resembled her brother within the fire, the hem of her clothes almost singed by the dancing flames.
“I…” The trapped “Bert” wore a sorrowful expression, his figure flickering within the blazing magic circle. That characteristic smile was barely hanging on his face, riddled with invisible cracks. “But… why?”
“Step back, Claret. I will not say twice.” Argentum issued the warning before turning to his companion. “Solin, it’s time.”
The Satyr Artificer nodded. From the case she carried with her, she took out a collar. It was made of hard silver-white metal and leather tanned from Rockskin Beast’s hide. At the clasp was a small, intricately crafted flower-shaped lock, its surface etched with runes designed to suppress energy and stabilize form, using highly concentrated Mana Flower extract.
“This is an ‘Energy Lock,’” Solin explained. “It was originally designed to restrain high-risk monsters and render them harmless. It can greatly suppress the wearer’s ability to alter its form and release magic, forcibly stabilizing it in a ‘nonmagical state’—much like how a person’s stored magic is completely suppressed when they fall into a field of Mana Flowers, where the surrounding field is saturated with magic.”
She glanced at the figure trapped within the fiery cage.
“To him… it should prevent him from transforming and force him to reveal his true form.”
“Let me do it.” Claret spoke quietly.
“My dear, we cannot kill him now.” Solin gently placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Her teal slit pupils swept across everyone present.
“Argentum and I need to maintain the perimeter and be ready to intervene if necessary. String, keep an eye on Claret. And Claret, my goddaughter, I need you to stay focused. If necessary, assist String in reinforcing the magic circle.”
“Triton, Ali.” Their mother’s gaze returned to her two children, her voice carrying a severity rarely heard from her. “You are about to conduct a high-risk contact procedure in a controlled environment. I will open a gap in the magic circle and let the two of you enter together.”
“Triton, you will be responsible for putting the collar on him. Ali, stay ready to use the ‘Edict’ for sonic suppression. Do not overuse your ability—you have only recently recovered. But I need you to do everything you can to ensure your own safety and your brother’s. Remember, the target possesses intelligence and cannot be classified simply. For now, treat them as… a ‘dangerous living relic.’”
“Understood, Mom.”
At Solin’s command, a gap opened in the wall of fire. Ali watched her brother take the collar, then followed him into the scorched earth still radiating heat within the magic circle.
Behind her, she could clearly feel Claret’s gaze burning into her back without blinking, sending a shiver down her spine.
Why did Claret react so strongly? Was it simply because this monster had stolen the face of her dead brother? Or was it because of those words—“My favorite sister is Julia”?
Damn it, Ali. Don’t think like that!
Ali shook her head hard.
Claret had only just lost her brother! If Triton…
No, stop right there.
She did not want to recall her brother’s pale face on that hospital bed.
“… Why?” The mimic watched the twins approach. They did not attack. Instead, they recoiled a step. Those amber eyes that belonged to Bert were filled with childlike helplessness and bewilderment. “Why do you have to hunt me down like this? I just want to help! I already apologized!”
The figure’s voice was shaking, now it sounded nothing like Bert’s.
We can’t force this. They would resist, and they could hurt Triton.
We need to calm them down. But how do you calm someone who is utterly desperate?
If I were him…
The first thing Ali thought of was Triton’s embrace.
… Ugh, definitely not that.
She rolled her eyes at herself.
Then she remembered Maria.
When they were young, Ali had once rested her head on the blue-haired Siren’s lap and cried, while Maria hummed a soothing melody, gently carrying away all her sadness with her voice.
Yet I could never sing like Maria.
A familiar frustration settled over Ali.
Maria was simply too talented, and she worked too hard. I never had a chance of catching up to her. That was probably why I cried in front of her, too. How embarrassing…
Then what else can I do? Do I really have no choice but to suppress it by force with the “Edict Song”?
Ali swallowed.
This is the first time I’ve used my ability since recovering. Can I do it? How much can I push it?
“Come to think of it… Do you know Bert?” Triton had already walked slowly up to them when he suddenly spoke. “He’s dead. Do you know that?”
“… What?” The figure’s expression froze.
“Good. Please stay still for a moment. Don’t move.”
Triton raised the collar and slipped it around the other’s neck in one smooth motion. With a soft click, the magical clasp locked into place. Blue Mana Flower runes lit up, then immediately went dark like a hurried breath.
Wait. He already did it?!
Ali stared at her brother in astonishment. She hadn’t even found a single note yet.
The skin of the being before them, along with the familiar clothes they wore, cracked all at once like an overfired porcelain figure bursting under pressure. Fine fractures spread across their entire surface, and then the “glaze” began to crumble away in flakes.
Beneath it was a body far leaner than Bert’s, almost gaunt. Their skin was a dull gray like iron. Large patches of rust-red scales covered its cheeks, shoulder blades, the backs of their hands, and other parts of their body, gleaming coldly in the firelight. They looked like an abandoned cast-iron statue left in a damp corner, covered by rust. Their orange hair had been twisted into rough dreadlocks, some gathered at the back of their head, the rest hanging messily around their shoulders. The pitch-black sclera of its Siren-like eyes surrounded a pair of cloudy, plaster-white irises. Two unnaturally long, pale fangs nearly pierced their lower lip, gleaming coldly between their slightly parted jaws.
Are they… an Ophion? But, but… there has never been a recorded case of a Snakefolk being able to change its appearance like this.
Ali tensed. Her mint-green eyes locked onto the long, slender fangs between the Ophion’s lips.
Textbooks from the Guild school flipped rapidly through her mind:
Snakefolk venom came in countless forms. The droplets between their teeth could sometimes be processed into harmless-looking candies. Sometimes they could dissolve into liquids without color or smell. At other times, they could evaporate into a cloud of death, killing any living creature foolish enough to enter it. A fully grown Ophion could be a walking arsenal of poison. Their daggers, bottles, even the nib of a dip pen could conceal a lethal danger capable of killing in an instant.
So where’s the poison hidden in this Snakefolk in front of her?
“No, don’t…!” The Snakefolk, clad in nothing but a ragged pair of shorts, let out a short, pained cry.
The pain was not physical. It came from the collar’s power brutally crushing the magic they were trying to summon, violently tearing away the “skin” that had given them their only sense of security.
They uselessly covered their face with their hands, staggered a step, and instinctively tried to turn and flee.
“Stop right there—” Ali spoke, the translucent scales on her cheeks lighting up a vivid mint-green under the power of her magic.
The collar could suppress magic, but it could not suppress venom glands! If they decided to release their poison, everyone here would be in danger!
“Watch out!” Triton yanked his sister sharply to his side.
A thick, muscular tail tipped with orange-red and covered in gray scales swept through the air with a fierce gust, smashing into the spot where she had been standing moments before.
“Don’t move, friend. You’re surrounded.” The wall of fire went out. String’s arrow remained steadily trained on the mimic’s face. “Hands up, please, and come with us.”
“Careful! They’re Ophion!” Ali warned him urgently.
“Don’t worry. There is no venom left in their body.” Argentum’s voice drifted over calmly.
A chaotic tangle of lines flickered across the edge of Ali’s vision—he had just cast a brief glance at the Snakefolk, completing a rapid scan.
“Your judgment was correct. They indeed used to be an Ophion. But now, the Snakefolk part of him has been completely altered.”
“What Ophion…?” The mimic slowly lowered their trembling hands away from their face and obediently raised them above their head.
Large, cloudy tears rolled continuously from their distinctly black-and-white eyes, carving clear wet trails through the dust and layers of spore powder coating their gray skin.
“… What do you mean Bert is dead? What… what did you do to him?!”
“We?” Ali froze.
A surge of absurd anger flared inside her.
“What do you mean, ‘what did we do to him’? We obviously didn’t—”
This… lunatic! They actually thought that they had done something to Bert?!
“Ali.” Solin’s voice came from behind her, calling her daughter back.
She stepped forward, her gaze settling calmly on the trembling Snakefolk.
“Please, don’t be afraid. This collar will not hurt you. It will only temporarily restrict your ability to alter your form with magic, while also preventing you from harming yourself or others in a fit of emotion. Now, take a deep breath and calm down.”
She gently placed a hand on Claret’s tense shoulder before turning to the pink-haired girl, her voice softening further while remaining grave.
“My dear, I believe that, to avoid any deeper misunderstanding, it would be best for one of Bert’s immediate family members to tell them personally what happened to their friend.”
Ophion fell silent, though their chest continued to heave violently. The spores of the Red-Shoe Dancers that had not yet been burned away had mixed with the sweat and tears on their body, forming viscous milky-white streaks that wound down their skin like strange tattoos.
So that’s why. Ali suddenly understood.
If they could freely alter their appearance, then reshaping their respiratory system to filter out or expel the spores would probably be no difficult feat. No wonder they didn’t need protective equipment against the Red-Shoe Dancers.
Ali still took another half-step back, putting a little more distance between herself and the Snakefolk. Even knowing that the wet white streaks of spores were no longer dangerous, they still made her skin crawl.
Claret’s face was pale as paper, but all the emotions that had threatened to spill out seemed to have been forcibly pressed back beneath a sheet of ice, leaving behind only the hollow calm peculiar to those in mourning.
At least, that was how she appeared on the surface.
“Gilbert Morningdew, my brother…” The pink-haired girl drew a deep breath of air heavy with the smell of charred remains and dust. “He was publicly murdered by a mob during the riot in the Guild square a month ago. He has already been buried.”
“No… Bert…” The gray-skinned mimic’s knees gave way. With a heavy thud, they dropped to their knees amid the blackened remains of the fungi, sending a small cloud of ash into the air. “Why…? Who would ever want to kill him? Could it be… because of me?”
The rust-red scales covering their body began to flicker erratically. The collar immediately emitted a low warning hum, forcibly suppressing the surge of unstable energy.
“After Bert’s death, we began investigating the appearance of a ‘second him’ in the Forbidden Zone,” Solin continued. “At first, we thought it might have something to do with his spirit, or with some form of corruption. Until we met you today.”
“I once had an Ophion student like you.” Argentum’s voice chimed in. “Until she was kidnapped by the Yoke of Power cult and disappeared. There are traces of their ‘craft’ left on your body, but no ‘contract mark.’ This suggests that you are not one of their servants. Or perhaps… you broke free.”
The Yoke of Power cult? Ali looked at Argentum.
The silver-haired man’s expression remained unchanged behind the black silk covering half his face, as though he had just uttered an ordinary greeting rather than casually dropping a horrifying secret involving kidnapping and human experimentation.
“I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about.” The Snakefolk’s long tail lay limply across the filthy ground, the orange-red tip seeming to have dimmed as well. “As far as I can recall, I’ve always been alone here. Then I met Bert… and the others.”
“Do you remember your name?” Solin asked.
The Snakefolk shook their head slowly.
“I don’t remember anything about what happened before. But… Bert called me ‘Rusty.’”
Suddenly, he jerked his head up and turned his gaze toward Solin.
His black-and-white, plaster-ball-like eyes seemed about to bulge from their sockets.
“I… I have so many questions, but none of that matters right now! Tell me about Bert—” Their voice abruptly caught in their throat. Their Adam’s apple bobbed violently several times as they forced the rest of their wail back down, leaving behind only ragged breathing. “…No. First, tell me what I am. If… you know anything about that.”
By now, Triton and Ali had quietly retreated to the adults’ side.
From the corner of her eye, Ali noticed Claret lowering her gaze. Her thick pink lashes concealed every trace of expression. Only the slightest downward twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed a fleeting, bitter curve.
Was it anger with nowhere to go? Was it grief overflowing from her heart? Or was she mocking herself for being so ridiculous, so pitiful? Did learning that the being who had taken on her brother’s face was nothing more than a puppet who did not even know what they were made her desperate?
Now, with this innocent and helpless victim of the cult standing before her, even her right to avenge her brother had been taken away. What was she supposed to do with all the sorrow and fury she had bottled up from the very beginning?
No, perhaps it was not entirely accurate to call Rusty “empty.” Ali thought.
They were conscious. They could imitate. They could learn. They had even developed their own behavioral logic from their attachment to Bert. Their body had been altered, and their memories had been erased. But aside from that… Were they really fundamentally different from anyone else standing here?
“Judging by appearances alone, we cannot yet reach a conclusion about your condition.” Argentum’s answer was direct and candid. “The structure of your soul is fragmented and distorted, but at its core, it is undeniably Ophion. You underwent procedures involving forced restraint and the stripping away of your personality. That is a characteristic method of the Yoke of Power…”
“So they’re… A monster.” Claret quietly finished the sentence.
Her voice was smooth as a blade slicing through silk. Her amber eyes now resembled two drops of resin on the verge of hardening, ready to drown any insect that wandered into them.
Ali’s heart tightened.
“… She still wants to kill them.”
“Sir Argentum and Mom won’t allow that,” Triton whispered. “They’re our mission target, and they may know what happened to Sir Argentum’s missing student. They’re too important. We need their information.”
“I know.” Ali’s gaze lingered for a moment on Claret’s back. “I can even understand her, a little bit. But if she really did attack them… I’m not sure whether she’ll regret it afterward. But her father will definitely make sure she does.”
“How do you think they’ll deal with Rusty?” Triton asked with unease. His fingers unconsciously touched the newly grown horn at his right temple. “Mom and Sir Argentum… they aren’t going to ‘take him apart’ for research, are they?”
“Of course not!” Ali lightly punched him on the arm, though without much force. “What nonsense are you thinking about?”
“Ahem. Though I fear I am perhaps the least qualified person here to have a say…”
String had somehow already put away his bow and silently made his way over to the twins. His voice carried its characteristic calmness, every word carefully chosen.
“But regardless of how any of you may feel, under both law and moral principle, custody of this individual and authority over his disposition currently belong to Lord Morningdew, while our task is simply to ‘investigate and bring the target back.’ By all reasonable assumptions, they will first be placed under ‘protective custody,’ then undergo several rounds of medical examinations and interrogation. Once the lord has obtained all available information, he may take your opinions into consideration. But ultimately, the final decision rests with the lord himself.”
“That tells us nothing.” Triton glanced at him, sounding impatient. “Coming from someone who lives in the lord’s estate…”
“How so, Mr. Triton?” String pushed up his crystal spectacles, a hint of amusement flashing behind the lenses. “What makes you so certain that I reside at the Morningdew estate, rather than in the residence owned by House Zhao, my family?”
“Well…” Triton faltered, fumbling for a reason. “You and Miss Claret are so close, so…”
“Is that so?” A faint, unreadable smile curled at the corner of String’s mouth. “I must admit you have a keen eye, Triton.”
The Satyr boy did not answer. He turned away stiffly and redirected his attention toward Rusty in the distance.
Solin was speaking to the Ophion, who had gradually begun to calm down.
“… Rusty, we know that you knew Bert, and that you wanted to help others just as he did. But right now, the best way you can help us is to come with us and help us understand what happened—what happened to Bert, what happened to you, what the cult left behind… These mysteries need your help to unravel. That is what Bert would have done too—pursued the truth and protected the innocent…”
The gray-skinned Ophion listened quietly. The dried streaks of milky-white spores across their body made them look utterly miserable, like someone who had just been dragged out of a collapsed lime kiln, making them almost painful to approach.
“For the time being, we cannot remove your collar. This is for the safety of everyone—including you, Rusty. We will not subject you to pointless harm or humiliation. You will be provided with basic food and water along the way. Our destination is the Trailblazers’ Guild. There, you will meet Bert’s father, Lord Marcus Morningdew. After hearing everything that has happened, he will ultimately decide what to do with you…”
“Speaking of which, if circumstances permit, I would still like to follow up on what happens afterward.” It was unclear whether String was speaking to himself or addressing the Featherflight twins.
“This is a very interesting case. The existence of this shapeshifter touches upon the philosophical boundaries between life, imitation, and identity. There are ancient Yilan legends of something similar—‘painted-skin’ tales, as they are called. But I have never encountered anything this convincing, nor anything possessing such independent agency.”
“They’re not letting you continue with the investigation?” Triton asked.
“Well, you can put it that way.” String tilted his head slightly. “As the ‘coordinating supervisor’ for this investigation, I have essentially fulfilled my responsibilities. Once this shapeshifter is handed over to the Guild’s temporary holding facilities, I’ll have to turn my attention to another matter commissioned by the Morningdew estate. Of course, I can only hope that case can proceed as smoothly as this one.”
With that, he winked at Ali. The crystal lenses of his spectacles caught the light, flashing like silver coins.
Ali immediately understood.
It was the case she had stumbled upon at “The Boiling Stew”—the investigation into Bert’s murderer and whatever lay behind his disappearance.
The killer had turned into a corpse, but what had happened to him before his death, who had been behind it all, and whether there were other accomplices… Those questions remained unclear.
String’s investigation was far from over, and the road ahead was unlikely to be an easy journey.
And then there was Maria, still working at “The Boiling Stew.” Her wedding was drawing closer and closer.
It’s next month.
I have to do something more before the wedding happens. Perhaps there’s still time. Perhaps…
A piercing shriek suddenly tore through the oppressive silence above the Forbidden Zone.
A ruffled bird of prey plummeted from the sky like an arrow and landed heavily on String’s raised arm, its talons sinking deep into the leather bracer.
“Thank you, Bukuai,” String murmured. He quickly untied the tiny bamboo tube fastened to the bird’s leg and pulled out the tightly rolled strip of paper inside.
The instant his eyes swept over the message, all the color drained from the face that was usually so handsome, composed, and effortlessly charming.
“Cloud… My sister.”
The Eastern boy looked up at the others. The paper in his hand snapped cleanly in two from the force of his grip.
“… She took poison.”
