A Drowning Baby's Lullaby
The wind howled against the cliffs, a restless force that tugged at the house perched precariously on the edge of the world. The waves below crashed violently, as though the ocean itself mourned what was to come. Inside, the faint light of a candle flickered weakly in the darkness. The woman lay alone on the worn, creaking bed, the pain of childbirth rippling through her body. Her pale face was streaked with sweat, her hands clutching the tattered sheets as she gasped for breath.
She was a pure-blood witch, raised in the rigid traditions of her bloodline, yet in that fleeting moment of weakness—a night of desperation and drunkenness—she had given herself to a Muggle. She hadn’t even known his name. Their union had been a mistake, something fleeting and forgotten the moment it ended. But she had carried the consequences.
Her family would never know. Her lover would never return. And yet, here she was, alone, about to give birth to the child of that fleeting encounter.
A cry rang out—a sound of innocence—and the woman’s heart stilled for a moment as she heard the first breath of her daughter. She held the baby close to her chest, her eyes softening in spite of the fear gnawing at her heart. There was no love, no future for this child—only shame. A child born from a mistake, from the mingling of worlds that should never have met.
But fate would have none of it.
Death Eaters have arrived.
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“In the depths where shadows dance,
The ocean hums its mournful trance.
A secret sung, a prophecy,
Whispered through the endless sea.”
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They stormed the door, their black cloaks swirling as their cold eyes surveyed the scene. She had heard them coming, knew what they had come to do. Her breath hitched in her chest, and for the first time, she thought of her daughter, lying so vulnerably in her arms.
“We cannot let this abomination live,” the leader sneered, his voice like an icy blade. The Death Eaters encircled her, their wands drawn, casting shadows that seemed to stretch across the room, blotting out the faint light.
“No one must know of her,” the leader muttered, his wand raised, his gaze cold with contempt for what he saw as an unholy thing. “An offense to blood and magic alike.”
The woman tried to shield her child, the desperation and fury shining in her eyes, but she was weak. The spell was cast, and with a flash of green, her body went limp. Her eyes remained open in a final, silent scream.
The Death Eaters, unmoved, tore the child from her dead arms, the tiny babe now the object of their cruelty.
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“From the deep where currents sweep,
A child shall rise from ocean’s keep.
Born of magic, born of man,
She’ll walk the earth, like no one can.
With blood of both, her power shall bind,
Two worlds apart, yet intertwined.
To Muggles’ world, she’ll bring the tide,
And through her, both shall collide.
But those who fear, who seek to break,
None shall stop her, none shall take.
For the sea and sky heed her call,
No force, no power, can make her fall.”
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With no further hesitation, they tossed the child through the window, her small, helpless body flung into the roiling sea below. The wind screamed around the house as the child, now alone, was swept away by the dark water, her cries lost to the vast expanse of the ocean.
The sea, ancient and vast, did not forget.
From the deep, a voice stirred, carried on the waves, sweet and sorrowful as it echoed through the dark waters. The Sirens, their eyes wide with ageless wisdom, swam through the depths, guided by a song older than time itself. They found the child, barely alive, her body cold and her tiny chest rising and falling faintly.
With care and magic older than the stars, they pulled the infant from the water’s grasp and into their arms. They swam, their hearts heavy, their voices lifting into the haunting melody of the prophecy.
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“A mother slain, a life cast down,
The child was lost, to oceans’ crown.
But cold, dark waters would not let her die,
They held her close beneath the sky.”
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The merfolk, with their haunting voices, carried the child to their hidden sanctuary beneath the waves. There, they laid her upon soft coral, singing ancient songs to heal her, to awaken the magic that slumbered deep within her veins. She was of two worlds—one that had abandoned her, and one that had taken her in.
Her magic began to stir, alive in the depths, ancient and untamed.
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“Mermaids found her, where oceans deep,
And in their care, she’d wake from sleep.
They taught her magic, long forgotten,
From Ley lines' pulse, ancient and rotten.
And with every tide, her power grew,
The ancient arts of old now new.”
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The child was named Orca. The mermaids, having seen the prophecy unfold, knew that this child, born of both magic and man, held the power of the oceans, the sky, and the very earth. They taught her what had been forgotten by land dwellers, the old ways of magic tied to the currents, the ley lines beneath the earth that pulsed with energy older than any wizard or witch could comprehend.
She was their daughter now, and her power surged with the rage of the sea, growing with each passing wave.
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“They named her Orca, fierce and strong,
A name of the sea, where she belonged.
Her magic surged with ocean’s rage,
Unyielding power, from age to age.”
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The Sirens’ song continued, their voices rising and falling in time with the swell of the tides. Orca’s magic was both wild and boundless, forged in the deepest recesses of the sea and nurtured by the ancient spirits that whispered from the waters. She was the key to bridging the worlds—the child who would one day rise to change them all.
Her power was inevitable, unstoppable. None could fight it.
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“The child of sea, the sky’s own heir,
Shall rise to change the world’s despair.
But none can stand, nor none can fight,
For she will bring the day to night.
She’ll bridge the worlds, make them whole,
But none shall halt what’s in her soul.”
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In time, Orca would walk from the depths, a force of nature that would shake the world. The magic that pulsed in her veins was too great to ignore, too powerful to control. The oceans would bow before her, the skies would tremble in fear, and the earth would shift beneath her feet.
Her destiny was already written.
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“From ocean’s depths, she will emerge,
With magic bound in every surge.
The ancient forces in her veins,
Will shatter worlds and break their chains.
But none can end what fate has spun,
For without her, all will come undone.
The tides will rise, the skies will burn,
And none shall see the world return.”
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The merfolk's song faded into the night, carried on by the eternal tide. The child, abandoned by the world above, was now part of the world below. The prophecy had begun, and Orca—born of the sea, born of magic, born of man—was destined to grow.
And none could stand in her way.