The interview was held inside one of the residential units in Havenwall's veteran housing block.
The living room had been cleared of its personal clutter, leaving behind a bare sense of emptiness that felt more intentional than abandoned. A table sat near the center of the space, positioned under a ceiling lamp covered in dirt and spider webs.
Two chairs faced each other.
Simple. Direct. Uncomfortable in its precision.
Jenkins gestured toward the chair. "Please sit."
Yve did, slowly, her eyes already scanning the room as if expecting it to reveal something more than it was showing.
Jenkins opened one of the desk drawers and reached inside. A moment later, he pulled out a familiar tablet.
Yve immediately pointed at it. "Is that mine?"
"Yes." Jenkins turned it over once before setting it on the table. "When you extracted me from that secret base, I collected whatever equipment I could carry. I was unaware I had taken this until after we departed Reefville."
Yve stared at the tablet for a second. "You've had that this whole time?"
"Yes."
A brief pause.
Then Jenkins adjusted his glasses. "I also owe you an apology. I probably should have informed you sooner."
"Nah, it's okay." Yve waved it off. "Just be careful with it. I've got a lot of memories saved in there."
"Oh yes." Jenkins nodded. "I saw those. Are you referring to these?"
Before Yve could answer, he tapped the screen. A hologram unfolded above the tablet. Light condensed into floating images suspended in midair.
Jenkins moved a hand through the projection. The images shifted instantly. Another swipe. Another photograph.
Yve watched several familiar memories drift past. "Yep..." she said.
Jenkins continued scrolling through the collection. "You and Ysa looked remarkably similar during childhood." Another image rotated into view. "What happened? The two of you scarcely resemble twins now."
Yve snorted. "For every question you've got about why we're so different, why we're so similar, why one of us looks like this and the other looks like that—" She held out her wrist. "Blame this mark."
Jenkins examined the symbol. "The Aethryx mark?"
"Yes."
Yve leaned back in her chair. "You think you're the first person who's asked me that?"
"Well..." Jenkins considered it. "I did not assume I was. However, I have thought about it."
"Fair enough."
Yve reached toward the hologram and flicked her fingers through the image.
The projection responded immediately. One photograph dissolved. Another appeared. A man stood beside two young girls, one on either side of him.
Jenkins studied it. "Oh yes. I've been meaning to ask." His gaze shifted toward the man. "Who is that?"
Yve's expression softened. "My father."
The room grew quiet.
Jenkins looked at the image. Then at Yve. Then back at the image.
Several seconds passed.
Finally, he adjusted his glasses. "I am not particularly skilled at interpreting facial expressions," he said. "But I am going to hypothesize that discussing him causes you sadness for reasons I will not inquire about."
Yve stared at him. Then a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Seems like you're pretty good at it." She exhaled and let the image linger for another moment before looking back at him. "Why'd you take the tablet out anyway?"
"Ah." Jenkins closed the file. The holograms vanished instantly. "I wished to ask your permission."
"For what?"
He placed the tablet neatly between them. "Would it be acceptable if I recorded this interview?"
Yve tilted her head. "Did you do that with the others?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"Some agreed. Some declined."
"What about Ysa?"
Jenkins immediately looked away. "Your sister refused."
Yve's smile widened. "And?"
"I determined that pressing the issue further would be strategically unwise." A beat. "She might become violent."
Yve laughed. "You're scared of Ysa?"
"Yes."
The answer came so quickly that it caught her off guard.
Jenkins blinked. "Why?"
"Nothing." Yve shook her head, still amused. "You should be."
Jenkins looked mildly concerned.
Yve pointed toward the door. "She is a mean shark."
"Mean shark?"
"Meanest shark I know."
Jenkins nodded thoughtfully as if cataloging the information. "That does align with my observations."
Yve laughed again. Then she leaned back in her chair. "Well, sure. You can record this... whatever this is."
"Thank you." Jenkins picked up the tablet and activated the recording function. A small indicator glowed softly on the screen.
Only then did he set it down on a corner, sat down, adjusted his glasses one final time, and opened his notebook. The scientist in him immediately resurfaced.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Yve broke the silence first. "This is weird, right?"
Jenkins looked up immediately. "What specific parameter of the current environment leads you to that conclusion?"
Yve blinked. "…Never mind."
She tapped her fingers lightly against her knee instead. "So what do you want to know?"
Jenkins folded his hands. "A considerable number of variables."
Yve sighed. "Okay. Ask."
He nodded once, as if confirming internal structure. "State your full designation."
Yve blinked once, then tilted her head slightly, studying him like she was trying to decide if he was being serious or just strange in a new way. "That feels less like a question," she replied slowly, "and more like I'm being archived."
The corner of Jenkins' pen paused mid-air. He didn't look up immediately. "It is closer to documentation than conversation," he admitted after a beat, as if that was simply an accurate correction rather than a defense. Then his gaze lifted to her again, steadier now. "But you are not a record. So your answers are still… non-optional in value."
"Yve."
A sharp snap of fingers cut through the room.
Her focus broke. She blinked. Jenkins' hand was still in front of her, just lowering from the snap. His eyes were fixed on her now—clinical, but attentive.
"You drifted," he said. "Are you still following me?"
Yve straightened slightly. "Yeah. Of course."
A brief pause lingered.
Jenkins studied her for a moment longer, then continued. "You hesitated before answering. Is there a problem?"
"It's nothing," she said quickly.
He didn't respond immediately, just wrote something down again.
Yve tilted her head. "You were saying?"
"Full designation, please."
"Name's Yve."
Jenkins paused, then wrote it down. "Celestia Yve Virellis, correct?"
Yve frowned slightly. "That's the full one. But nobody uses it."
His pen moved again. "Place of origin?"
"Same place as everyone else. It's called Earth."
Jenkins didn't look up. "That is non-specific."
Yve shrugged. "You already know where I was born why ask it again? It's Reefville for heaven's sake."
He wrote that down as well. "Family structure."
Yve hesitated slightly. Then answered anyway. "I have a twin sister. Name's Celeste Ysa Virellis although you already know that."
Jenkins' pen paused for half a beat before continuing. "Parents?"
"Mother and father."
"Status?"
Yve looked away briefly. "Mother's status, unknown. Haven't seen her since she left for the Confluence Realm. Father—" she exhaled, "—missing. Over a century now."
Jenkins flipped to the next page of his notebook. "Children?"
Yve blinked. "Children?"
"Yes." Jenkins adjusted his glasses. "Do you have any children?"
"No, I don't."
"Understood." His pen moved across the page.
Yve watched him write for a moment before narrowing her eyes. "What exactly are you writing down?"
"Relevant biological variables."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It answers mine."
Yve groaned.
Jenkins ignored her and continued. "Any remarkable physiological traits beyond those already documented?" he asked. "I am aware your blood demonstrates immunity to the virus. Whether this applies universally to sirens remains unclear. I have not yet performed sufficient testing."
Yve tilted her head. "Okay..." Then she frowned. "What is the point of this, Doc?"
Jenkins tapped the end of his pen thoughtfully against the notebook. "Hmmm." His gaze drifted downward to his notes. "Compatibility."
Yve stared. "What compatibility?"
"Your blood is predatory," Jenkins said matter-of-factly. "Siren DNA appears unusually aggressive. It actively identifies and destroys foreign biological threats with remarkable efficiency."
"Okay..." Yve said slowly. "So?"
For the first time since the interview began, Jenkins hesitated. Only briefly. Then he looked up. "Is siren biology compatible with human reproduction?"
Yve's jaw dropped. "Sorry, what?"
Jenkins immediately blinked. "Oh." A pause. "I did not intend to offend you. I am asking from a biological standpoint."
Yve rubbed her forehead. "Well... no. I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
"I've never heard of a siren-human hybrid before."
Jenkins nodded thoughtfully and scribbled something else into his notes. Then he asked, completely seriously: "Would it be acceptable to test that hypothesis?"
Yve stared at him. "Come again?"
"Would it be acceptable to—"
"No, I heard you." She pointed at him. "What do you mean test it? Test it how?"
Jenkins looked genuinely confused by her confusion. "We acquire a viable egg cell from you and a viable sperm sample from Dylan."
A pause.
"Preferably fresh."
Yve looked horrified.
Jenkins continued anyway. "Then determine whether viable offspring could theoretically be produced."
Silence. Absolute silence.
Then Yve pushed her chair back. "Yeah, uhm, no." She stood up. "No. No, no, no."
Jenkins blinked.
"This is getting ridiculous. I'm leaving." She turned toward the door.
Jenkins immediately rose from his seat. "Alright, wait."
Yve stopped.
Jenkins pinched the bridge of his nose. "I apologize."
She turned around suspiciously.
"Dylan did warn me about this."
That caught her attention. "He warned you about what?"
Jenkins sighed. "He advised me to tread carefully regarding certain topics."
"Why?"
"He believed I might accidentally offend you."
Yve folded her arms. "And why exactly would I be offended?"
Jenkins glanced down at his notes. "His assessment was that sirens are unusually sensitive regarding personal questions."
Yve scoffed. "That bastard."
Jenkins remained silent.
Yve pointed at herself. "No, I am not." A pause. "We are not sensitive."
Jenkins simply looked at her.
The silence stretched again.
Yve's eye twitched. Then she scoffed again. "Fine." She marched back toward the chair. "Go ahead."
Jenkins raised an eyebrow.
"Ask your questions." She dropped heavily into her seat and crossed her arms. "If it proves him wrong."
Jenkins slowly sat back down. His expression remained perfectly neutral. "Seems like I hit a nerve."
"Just shut up and ask your questions."
A pause.
Jenkins nodded once and opened his notebook. "Well, I wanted to ask more personal questions," he admitted. "And I would like this interview to be extensive. Unfortunately, given your reaction…and also several of the sirens proved... less cooperative than anticipated."
Yve immediately looked interested. "Oh?"
"Yes. The moment the discussion became personal, some of them stood up and left."
"That sounds about right."
Jenkins adjusted his glasses. "So I thought perhaps we could meet halfway."
Yve tilted her head. "What do you mean halfway?"
"I ask about the world you grew up in. Your culture. Your history. Your knowledge." He folded his hands together. "As a former human who was surgically transformed into a siren, I would appreciate learning from someone who actually lived through it. My physiology may be siren now, but most of my knowledge remains fundamentally human."
Yve considered that. "Interesting." Then she shrugged. "Okay. Ask."
"Before that," Jenkins said, raising a finger, "there is something that has been bothering me."
Yve immediately grinned. "Here we go."
"If I am now a siren," Jenkins said, "why do I not possess a tail?"
Yve pointed at him. "Good. I was waiting for you to ask that question."
Jenkins blinked. "You were?"
"Yes." She leaned back in her chair. "Well, for starters, you're still a kid."
"What do you mean?" Jenkins frowned. "I am..." He paused. Then began quietly counting on his fingers.
Yve watched with growing amusement.
A few seconds later, he looked up. "I am forty-two years old."
"Okay."
"I am objectively old."
Yve burst out laughing.
Jenkins stared at her. "Are you laughing as an insult," he asked, "or are you laughing because of my ignorance?"
"The second one."
"Good."
"Though the first one's a little funny too."
Jenkins sighed.
Yve waved a hand. "This is going to be our whole relationship, isn't it?"
"What is?"
Yve snorted. "You asking questions that sound stupid until I remember you're basically a newborn."
Jenkins visibly disliked that description.
Yve continued anyway. "Listen. Your biology changed. Completely." She pointed at him. "You're still a kid by siren standards. About four years old."
Jenkins froze. "Four?"
Yve nodded. "Yes. Four," she said holding up four fingers.
He looked mildly horrified. "I have a doctorate."
"You're also four."
"That seems deeply disrespectful to my academic accomplishments."
Yve laughed again. "Ten human years equals roughly one siren year."
Jenkins immediately leaned forward. "Does that mean I will experience each year as ten times longer?"
"No."
"Ah."
"Biologically, not psychologically."
Understanding slowly appeared on his face.
Yve continued. "Your body won't age another year for about ten human years. But you'll still live those ten years normally. You'll experience every day. Every season. Every year."
She gestured toward the window. "The tides will change. The seasons will change. Humanity might change." A pause. "Who knows? Maybe ten years from now the apocalypse is over."
Jenkins considered that. "And I will only have aged one year."
"Exactly."
For a moment he simply sat there processing the scale of it.
"Wow." Another pause. "That is... an absurd amount of time."
"Yep." Yve rested her chin on her hand. "I've lived through two world wars, so my sense of what's a long time is a little different."
Jenkins blinked. Then blinked again. The statement hit him several seconds late. "You lived through both world wars?"
"Yep." Yve reached across the table and patted his shoulder. "Who knows? Stick around long enough and maybe you'll get your own."
Jenkins immediately looked alarmed. "I sincerely hope not."
Yve leaned back in her chair. "Do you know how much damage those wars caused to the environment?"
Jenkins adjusted his glasses. "I am aware the environmental consequences were significant."
"Significant?" Yve repeated. "That's a very polite word for it." She folded her arms. "But that's what humans do, isn't it? Cause damage and hope Mother Nature cleans up after you."
"To be fair," Jenkins replied, "I was not alive at the time."
Yve snorted. "Neither were half the people responsible."
Jenkins wisely chose not to pursue that point.
Yve's gaze drifted toward the dusty window. "Our waters got poisoned because of it." She paused, fingers tightening slightly. "Ships went down. Fuel spread through the currents. Old weapons were dumped into the sea long after the fighting stopped. The ocean carried the consequences farther than anyone bothered to track."
Jenkins adjusted his glasses. "You are referring to global wartime conflicts involving mass-scale weapons development."
Yve gave a small shrug. "Call it whatever you want." Her expression hardened slightly. "And then there was that one incident." She exhaled slowly, searching for the right distance in her memory. "A bomb fell from the sky. I never saw it myself. I wasn't anywhere near it. But the news traveled fast—even across the water."
Jenkins' attention sharpened. "…Hiroshima, I believe? If I'm not mistaken."
"I don't remember the exact city name," Yve said, shaking her head slightly. "Just the impact it had afterward. The way the currents changed. The way fish started dying in places that had nothing to do with the blast itself." A faint pause. "Even far out at sea, we felt it. Not the explosion…just what came after it. The water carried something wrong for a long time."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"There were siren settlements near those regions. Small ones. Quiet places most humans never knew existed." She looked down at her hands. "They didn't survive what followed."
Silence settled briefly.
"The older sirens talked about it for years. Some were angry. Some were afraid. Mostly confused that a race would build something capable of doing that to itself." Her expression darkened slightly.
The room fell quiet.
Jenkins didn't immediately respond. After a moment he sighed. "I am sensing a rise in emotional intensity."
Yve gave him a flat look. "That's a very scientific way of saying I'm getting mad."
A brief pause lingered. The silence didn't fully reset.
Then, as if deliberately redirecting before the weight settled too deep, he glanced down at his notes again. "What about that serpent?" He pointed at Nierven.
Yve looked down. "Nierven?"
"Yes."
"What about him?"
Jenkins leaned forward slightly. "What exactly is your relationship with him? Is he a pet?"
Yve immediately pointed at him. "Oh no."
Jenkins blinked. "What?"
"You do not want to say that while he's awake."
"Why?"
"He'll bite you."
Jenkins slowly lowered his notebook. "I see." A pause. "So I'm guessing he's not a pet."
"No." Yve gently ran a finger along one of Nierven's scales. "He's a companion."
Jenkins waited.
"Like how Ysa is with Caelum."
"Caelum?"
"Her Pegacampus." Yve smiled faintly. "Fastest one in our village."
"Interesting."
A few notes were added to the notebook.
Yve looked down at the sleeping serpent. "Nierven's still basically a baby, you know."
Jenkins nearly dropped his pen. "Excuse me?"
"Ancient serpents can live for hundreds of thousands of years."
Jenkins stared.
"At least on their planet."
The pen stopped moving completely. "...Their planet?"
"Yes."
"Planet."
"Yes."
Jenkins rubbed his forehead. "Every answer somehow creates more questions."
"Welcome to my life."
He pointed at Nierven. "And why is he asleep most of the time?"
"Because Earth is tiny."
Jenkins opened his mouth. Then closed it.
Yve continued. "Not physically. Energetically."
"Ah."
"This world can't provide enough energy for a creature like him to remain awake constantly." She gently tapped one of his coils. "So he sleeps. A lot."
"Huh." Jenkins wrote that down. Then paused. "If he has a homeworld... how did he end up here?"
Yve's expression softened. The humor vanished. "I've been wondering that for over a century, Doc."
She looked down at Nierven. "I don't know." The answer came quietly. "Maybe he got separated." A shrug. "Maybe he got lost." Another pause. "I found him inside a sunken ship. That's all I've got."
Jenkins stared at the sleeping serpent. Then another thought occurred to him. "So it's possible he's the only one of his kind on Earth?"
Yve didn't answer immediately. Her hand continued moving along Nierven's scales. "Yeah." The word barely rose above a whisper.
Jenkins looked at the serpent for a long moment. "That's kind of lonely." His voice softened. "And sad."
Yve let out a quiet laugh that wasn't really a laugh. "Yeah." She swallowed. "What can you do?" Her shoulders slumped slightly. "I can feel it sometimes."
Jenkins looked up. "The loneliness?"
Yve nodded. "Yeah." Her eyes remained fixed on Nierven. "And it pains me that I can't do anything about it."
Jenkins stayed quiet. Not immediately analytical. Not immediately detached. Just still. His gaze lingered on Nierven a moment longer before shifting away. "…Understood," he said finally.
A pause followed.
Yve's gaze flicked up. "Don't start analyzing it."
"I am not," Jenkins replied immediately. The correction was quick, almost reflexive, but he didn't add anything else. He turned a page in his notes, slower than before. "I will exclude behavioral interpretation from the record."
Yve exhaled through her nose and looked away again. "Good."
Silence settled—but it didn't fully reset.
Jenkins let it sit for a moment longer than usual. Then, carefully, as if stepping around something fragile rather than ending it, he added: "That is sufficient for surface-level questions."
Yve shifted in her seat immediately. "Finally."
"I did not say we were finished."
Her shoulders slumped.
Jenkins ignored the reaction and glanced down at his notes. "One thing continues to appear throughout previous interviews." He tapped the page. "The Confluence Realm."
Yve blinked. "What about it?"
Jenkins folded his hands together. "What exactly is it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well..." He hesitated briefly. " Historically, human societies maintained centralized systems of authority. For example, the White House functions as the residence of the President of the United States. Buckingham Palace serves as a primary residence for the British monarch and administrative royal functions." Jenkins continued. "So is the Confluence Realm something comparable? A central seat of authority?"
Yve frowned. "Like a throne?"
Jenkins considered that. "In simplified terms, yes."
The moment the words left his mouth, Yve's expression changed. First confusion. Then disbelief. Then something dangerously close to laughter. "And you're comparing the Confluence Realm..." She grinned. "...to a throne?"
Jenkins felt a sudden and entirely irrational sense of danger. "...I am beginning to suspect that comparison was inaccurate."
Yve let out a short laugh. "Oh, you simpleton."
Jenkins sighed. There it was. The siren equivalent of being called an idiot.
"You guys keep doing this," Yve continued, still amused. "You encounter something enormous and immediately try to squeeze it into the smallest box your mind can find."
His brow tightened. "That was unnecessary."
"You encountered sirens and your first thought was 'oh half-human, half-fish.'"
"Technically—"
"You guys see a Pegacampus and think 'half-horse, half-fish.'"
"Again, technically—"
Yve laughed outright this time. Then she leaned back in her chair. "No. The Confluence Realm is not a throne. It is not a house. It is not a palace." She paused. "It is not a planet hell its not even on Earth."
Jenkins' pen stopped moving.
"And it is definitely not anywhere in the vast universe."
Silence.
Yve watched him process that statement.
Jenkins stared back. "O…kay." A brief pause. "I am detecting what appears to be condescension."
Yve immediately shook her head, still amused. "No." Her grin lingered. "That's not condescension." She leaned forward slightly. "Condescension is when someone treats something as inferior while simplifying it."
A small beat.
"What you're doing is different."
Jenkins pointed at himself slightly. "What I'm doing?"
Yve nodded once, as if confirming something obvious. "You take something you don't understand and compress it into something you already know how to handle."
She gestured lightly between them. "White House. Buckingham Palace. Thrones. Fish. Horses. It's all the same pattern."
Jenkins frowned. "That is called analogical mapping. It is a standard cognitive tool."
"Yes," Yve said immediately. "But you use it like it's containment."
"Containment?"
"Like if you name it something familiar, it becomes smaller," she said. "Safer. Manageable. Even if it isn't."
Jenkins went quiet for a moment, absorbing that. "…That is not the intention," he said finally.
Yve shrugged. "Doesn't matter. That's what it does."
A pause settled between them.
Jenkins adjusted his glasses again, slower this time. "So your objection is not accuracy. It is limitation."
Yve tilted her head. "Now you're getting closer."
Another beat.
Jenkins exhaled softly. "Interesting."
Yve leaned back again, satisfied, "See? That. That's what I mean."
Jenkins looked at her. "You are referring to my reaction as confirmation bias."
"No," she said, smiling faintly. "I'm referring to you finally noticing the shape of the thing you're looking at."
Jenkins adjusted his glasses, his expression distant. "Well... to be honest, and history bears this out—humans evolved thinking we're alone in the universe. That there's no one else but us." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "We've sent messages, you know. Voyager, Arecibo, Pioneer. Golden records and radio signals. All asking if anyone's out there."
He looked at her, something vulnerable in his usual clinical detachment. "And we've received nothing. Only silence…and static."
Yve's expression hardened. "That's called entitlement, Doctor."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping but intensifying. "Throughout humanity's history, different races have tried. Have tried—" she emphasized the word, biting it off, "to help humanity advance. To help you achieve your full potential."
"My ancestors revealed themselves to you. They tried to show you how to read the tides, how to cultivate the power of nature, and what did they get in return?" Her lip curled. "You hunted us. Our honor has been degraded into something that lures and kills sailors. Your kind butchered us in the shallows. Skinned us alive for scales that barely held any magic at all."
She sat back, but her eyes remained fixed on him. "We weren't the only ones. The nymphs of the forests showed you medicines you didn't understand, knowledge you couldn't explain. Centuries ago, your ancestors declared them demons just because of their intelligence. You dragged them before courts, tortured confessions out of them, beheaded them, burned them at the stake, and called it God's will."
Jenkins felt an instinctive discomfort at the implication. He set his pen down slowly. "Wait. Circle back. What did you just say?"
"I'm saying—" Yve's voice was quiet now, each word deliberate, "—that the reason why your technology only caught silence? Why humanity hear nothing but dead static?" She held his gaze. "It's because the rest of us learned. That every time we reached out to help you, humanity repaid us with slaughter."
A beat.
"We didn't hide. We just stopped answering."
Her head tilted slightly, something almost like pity crossing her face.
"If none of that had happened, Doctor…" Her voice softened, but not in comfort—more in distance. "Just imagine how far humanity might have gone by now."
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
The conversation had wandered so far beyond the boundaries of an ordinary interview that neither of them seemed entirely sure how to continue.
Jenkins opened his mouth once, then closed it again without speaking, as if the next sentence required a framework he didn't yet have.
Yve rubbed her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let's continue this tomorrow," she said at last. "I need to go blow off some steam."
Jenkins did not immediately respond. His pen moved slightly, then stopped mid-air. He looked at the notebook as if expecting it to reorganize itself into something more usable.
He shifted awkwardly in his chair. For once, he looked less like a scientist conducting an interview and more like a man who had just been handed several centuries' worth of existential problems. "That is probably a good idea," he admitted.
Yve raised an eyebrow.
Jenkins adjusted his glasses. "I would also appreciate a brief recovery period after everything you just informed me of."
A pause.
"Tomorrow would be preferable."
"Kay." Yve pushed herself out of the chair and headed for the door.
Jenkins offered a small nod. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"You're welcome, Doctor."
The door opened. Then closed behind her with a soft click.
Silence returned.
Jenkins remained seated.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the notebook lying open on the table. Then he leaned back and let out a long breath.
Decades of documentaries. University lectures. Scientific journals. History books. Every lesson he had ever been taught about humanity's place in the universe seemed to rise from memory all at once.
His fingers drummed once against the table.
Then stopped.
Because the disturbing part wasn't that Yve might be wrong. The disturbing part was that, if she was right, the implications were far worse.
Jenkins removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
Then he sighed heavily.
Tomorrow suddenly felt far too close.