Blackwater Islands now we're in the ring and we're coming for blood

the siren song rang o'er the treetops, and Galateia joined in their melody. her voice was something old and ancient, deep as the gnarled roots of the monoliths went—and then rising high, as the frightening waves of a tsunami oft could. hers was a song of passion and pride; though she was new to them, new to this, Galateia pledged her devotion—it poured forth from her through every note.