The crest of each wave sparkled from the silver light of the full moon, a mirror of the billions of tiny stars that dusted the night sky. The waves rolled onward until they broke on the distant beach in calming, steady rhythms, the only sound in the still night. 

Since the dawn of time, there was always a connection between the ocean and the night; a connection that would last seemingly forever. The moon pulled at the ocean, inviting it in only to have it withdraw into its solitude. But the ocean always returned, pulled in by the love from the moon. Even when the moon could not be seen, the ocean felt its ever-constant presence. Despite its mysteries, the ocean was never truly alone.

Ronan was never really alone. Though he had no memory of his past life, his family or friends, he had the company of the moon. He felt a connection with the moon in the same way the ocean did. Although, the pull he felt from the moon made less logical sense than the way the moon pulled at the ocean. 

He couldn’t quite explain why he was so drawn to the moon; to the night. Perhaps it was the way the night sky was reflected on the ocean’s surface. When he broke through the surface, millions of sparkling water droplets fell off of him like tiny little stars. When he swam, he felt as if he were flying through space, dancing among the stars. 

At night, while the rest of the world was asleep, he was awake. He was alive. He was free.

The bays and coves he called home were isolated from the mainland, though from time to time the occasional couple would find sanctuary on one of the little islands, or on the secluded beaches, or hidden in the trees. Which made it the perfect place to call home. He could swim and be free, far from curious eyes, yet he was close enough to the mainland where he could be a part of society for a day.

He didn’t feel the need to be a part of society. But he did enjoy the company of people. He could socialize with people. He could not socialize with the moon. Still, it was difficult to get close to anyone for fear of them finding out who he really was. It was a lonely sort of life, and he often daydreamed about the life he once had, before he became the siren he was now. 

Ronan gazed at the moon as he floated in the ocean. People always said they could see a face in the moon. He could never see it, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe he wasn’t imaginative enough to see a face in the dark shapes of the moon’s surface. He would have liked to. He liked to think that maybe the face was the face of a dear friend or family member, and they were always there, watching him, guiding him.

He sighed. In the silver light of the full moon, he felt very, very alone. 

His gaze moved to the nearby beach, his attention caught by a figure that moved in the darkness. He lowered himself into the water, his eyes just peeking over the surface. It was a solitary figure; not a couple like he was accustomed to seeing. And it seemed far too late at night for anyone to be out and about. For a moment, he considered that the figure may have gotten lost in the dark. Or maybe they simply couldn’t sleep and were looking for somewhere to be alone.

Though it was dark, he could see enough from the bright light of the moon to see that the figure was hunched over. Was this person intoxicated, he wondered? The figure seemed to stumble along the beach for a moment until it finally dropped to the ground and fell still.

Ronan’s pulse quickened. Something was wrong. He dove under the surface of the water and swam as fast as he could, surfacing when he neared the shore. When the water became too shallow, he transformed into his human form, scurrying across the beach until he reached the figure and dropped to its side.

The figure was a man, roughly around his own age. He had dropped onto his stomach on the beach, but Ronan could tell he was still breathing. He took a moment to look the man over; his body was muscular, his skin medium toned, his hair dark and faded on the sides. His clothes were torn and shredded in places, leaving his lower legs and back exposed. Ronan peered at his back, noticing a very large, peculiar scar in the shape of claw marks, as if a very large beast had swiped at him, dragging its claws from his right shoulder down to his left hip. The scar did not appear to be a fresh injury. Whatever happened to him had to be unrelated, he thought.

To his surprise, the figure stirred, and Ronan froze, kneeling naked on the beach beside him. The man groaned lightly, then lifted his head slightly, spitting sand out of his mouth. He weakly rolled over onto his back, then blinked up at Ronan, meeting his gaze. He did not seem startled by Ronan’s presence, but his brows furrowed in confusion.

Ronan let out a short breath as a realization washed over him. This man was simply drunk. And from the looks of his clothing, homeless. He scoffed quietly, rather involuntary, and the man’s brows furrowed further. He sat up, looked around, then looked down at his torn and ragged clothing. His expression softened and his mouth turned downward into a deep frown. 

Ronan hesitated, studying the man for a moment. He seemed less like a drunk, homeless man and more like a man simply struggling in life. He supposed he shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

“Are you all right?”

The man nearly jumped at the sound of Ronan’s voice, as if forgetting he were there, and he turned to meet Ronan’s gaze once more. He cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Yes,” he said horsely. “I mean. Probably. Yeah. Looks like it.”

Ronan’s brows furrowed. “Probably? Looks like it?”

The man let out a sigh and dragged his palms down his face. After a moment, he looked around again. “Where am I?”

“A couple miles outside town,” Ronan said. His lips pressed together as he looked the man over. “Are you… drunk?”

The man met his gaze, his eyes wide for a moment, then he laughed and shook his head. “No,” he said, then seemed to think better of his answer, his lips pursing.

“You weren’t… trying to kill yourself or something, were you?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Uh. No.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

The man stood and dusted the sand off of him. “I’m sorry. I, uh, didn’t mean to worry you.”

Ronan’s lips twisted to the side and he stood. “People don’t usually come out this far.” He paused. “Do you need a ride home?”

The man shook his head again, then looked around. “No. Um. I’m fine. Just… point me in the direction towards town?”

Ronan frowned. “It’s pretty late,” he said. “And dark. You could… stay here. Until morning.”

“No,” he said with a snap. He met Ronan’s gaze and hesitated. “I mean. I’m fine.”

Ronan looked him up and down. Though the scar on his back did not look fresh, the man still appeared visibly battered, exhausted, and confused. “I insist,” he said. “You should really get some rest before you pass out in the water and drown.”

The man let out an uneasy chuckle. He continued to look around as if considering his options, then sighed. “Um. Yeah. Maybe.” He glanced up at the sky, his gaze toward the moon, and his lips twisted to the side. He looked down at his arms, turned his hands over, then let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“Come on,” Ronan started. He gestured with his chin towards his home further up the beach. “I live right there. I promise I won’t murder you or anything.”

The man grinned devilishly, sending a chill up Ronan’s spine.

“Please don’t murder me,” he whispered.

The man laughed and waved his hands at him. “No, no. No murdering. I promise.” He crossed his heart with a finger.

Ronan held out his pinky finger toward him.

“Oh, we’re getting serious,” the man said, then looped his pinky around his. “Pinky promise is some serious shit.”

Ronan smiled. “My name is Ronan.”

“Myles,” the man responded. “So, uh, you get a lot of crazies passing out here on the beach or something?”

“From time to time,” Ronan started. “They don’t usually look as bad as you, though.”

Myles looked down at himself and laughed lightly. “Yeah. It’s, uh… been a long night.”

Ronan raised a brow at him. “Has it? Or are you just some homeless squatter trying to take advantage of me?”

Myles grinned and shook his head. “No. I’ll be gone by morning. Promise.”

“And if you’re not?”

Myles shrugged. “I give you permission to call the cops.”

“All right.” Without another word, Ronan started his way up the beach toward the house. Myles looked around him once more, then trotted to catch up to him, following him toward the house and inside.

The house was modest in comparison to some of the beach front homes, but it was still beautifully built with large, clear windows that looked out over the ocean. Myles followed Ronan into the living room, looking around as Ronan gathered some pillows and a blanket.

“I don’t normally pick up strangers and let them sleep in my home,” he said, handing the pillows and blanket to Myles. “So, I don’t have much.”

“This is more than enough,” Myles said. “I’m used to sleeping on the ground.”

“You’re not making me feel any better about my decision to let you stay here,” Ronan said, and Myles grinned. He held up the pillows and blankets in thanks.

“Guess I won’t be seeing you in the morning,” Ronan started. “So goodnight and goodbye.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Myles dropped the pillows and blanket onto the couch as Ronan left him alone. He listened as Ronan’s footsteps faded up the stairs. He settled into the couch, sighed, and closed his eyes.