Laisrén Ánrothán Źhang

7th September 2007 ㅡThe leaves felt and sounded ever more so crispy under his feet as the early dips of fall began to slowly take it's annual residents in the organisms of the trees. The streets of Clonakilty, Ireland, was quiet in the morning, and Laisrén especially enjoyed that. He stuffed his hands into his pocket and cuddled closer into his own warmth, feet purposely tapping onto the leaves below with the beat of the song he hummed- a lullaby that was etched in his heart forever.

Laisrén was around two or three when his mother, Bronagh Zhang, passed, leaving him under the custody of Feidhelm, her best friend. Laisrén's only memory of her was the song that he remembers her singing to him, and he thinks it's called the song of the sea or something. He came up with a theory that maybe his mother was a selkie, a sea creature of the irish folklore. And since Feidhelm has said that one day his real dad would come back for him, Laisrén implanted a thought in his head that maybe his dad was a selkie too, and that maybe, Laisrén himself was a selkie and that one day, his father would emerge from the sea and take him and his beloved Feidhelm papa home.

The beach was empty when he got there, mostly because it was in the wee hours of the morning, and also because it was terribly chilly at this time of the year. But it was nothing of the sort for Laisrén. Laisrén felt like flames that yearned for the sea, a emotion he had bonded with since birth, an emotion with no description. Shrugging his shirt off, he then dipped his feet into the cold, yet warm, grainy sands, eyes shut as he listened attentively to the sounds of the sea. It soothed him, made him feel calm, kinda like the song of the sea, he always noted. Laisrén then opened his eyes and charged forward running into the rough, intriguing waves that laid ahead, allowing it to claim his body over and over again as it always did, pulling him into its warms arms mornings after mornings.

And then suddenly there was sharp pain, stinging from the lower front of his right arm and Laisrén hissed, breath hitching under the blue waves as he struggled to get a clear view of his arm. And then there it was, a symbol of a trident that he had never seen before, carving itself onto his arm at the same time he heard a deep, deep voice.

It was the day when Laisrén learned that Feidhelm never lied, his father did come back for him, it was just, his father was never a selkie. He was Poseidon.