Master and Apprentice || Sung Jin-woo (Part 1 of 3)
Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader
A/N - Hello everyone! This fic was inspired by the lovely @forbidden-sunlight's siren!au. We both collaborated on this piece and it serves as a direct sequel to her imagine, so do be sure to check it out first! This story picks up right where her imagine left off.
╰┈➤ Chapter Index
🪸 Prequel by @forbidden-sunlight
🌊 Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies
🦈Part 3: In a Sea of Fire
Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, mythical creatures au, canon divergent, a/b/o dynamics, afab!reader, suggestive themes, obsessive thoughts, slightly ooc Jin-woo (he's very reverent towards Ashborn), mentions of violence, death, and despair, forbidden romance (humans and sirens are natural enemies), eventual yandere!Jin-woo.
Word Count - 3.6k
Summary - Sung Jin-woo seeks answers about his potential mate from Ashborn in the deepest depths of the abyss.
Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics
After what feels like an eternity, Jin-woo comes to an abrupt stop. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, but he couldn’t finish this journey unless he was in the right frame of mind. If he was going to face the sea monarch, Ashborn, then he needed to compose himself. He was his mentor’s prized disciple, after all.
Resolute in his decision, Jin-woo pinches his brow, shuts his eyes, and releases a deep, suffering sigh. He had to stop ruminating over the useless ‘what ifs’ of his current situation and focus on the matter at hand. You emitting pheromones in his presence was proof enough that you were a compatible mate, but this would be meaningless if you were unreceptive to him. It also begs the question, was humanity even capable of consorting with sirens? In search of an answer, he reminisces about the tales of old passed down by generations of his kin, as well as the many speculations made by humans.
No one knew the exact origins of his species. Most humans assumed the progenitors were Persephone’s handmaidens, punished by Demeter after Hades had taken her daughter to the underworld and forced her into becoming his queen. Some stories also claimed that seafoam birthed them, but Jin-woo scoffed at this particularly ridiculous rumor. A scholar had recently published an article on how sirens may actually be the offspring of the river deity Achelous and a divine songstress, citing notations from various mythos on this theory. In truth, reality was far simpler than any of these far-fetched narratives.
There was just no definitive explanation for the existence of sirens. They were not interchangeable with the peaceful denizens of the ocean, known as mermaids and mermen. While all fell under the umbrella of the term ‘merfolk,’ the sirens had a far more hostile and bloodstained relationship with humans.
Since time immemorial, his brethren were viewed as nothing but a scourge upon this world of humanity. Beautiful as a raging typhoon and every bit as devastating, the sirens served as harbingers of doom and destruction for those foolish enough to risk the perilous waters. Their heavenly voices were tantamount to the funeral dirges used to usher the dead into the afterlife. It would be understandable to believe that the sirens were the monsters in this baleful story. However, human nature at its core is fraught with wickedness, and men soon grew wise to the machinations of merfolk.
Odysseus was the first to survive an encounter with sirens. During his voyage to Ithaca, the cunning man had instructed his crew to plug their ears with beeswax, effectively blocking the intoxicating songs that had ended the lives of so many before them. Emboldened by the success of Odysseus’s scheme, other sailors began using this method to conquer the sea and establish trade routes. Within a matter of a couple hundred years, humans not only overcame their fear of sirens, but they also poached them. Huntsmen would capture, torture, and kill Jin-woo’s ancestors simply for crossing paths with them. Worse yet, these scoundrels would often murder merfolk solely to harvest their organs, bones, and scales. They would then use the defiled corpses as ingredients for commodities, medication, and even aphrodisiacs. It was truly grotesque, if not outright barbaric, and more than justified the ire his kind felt towards humanity. While they hunted for the noble sake of survival, men did it for bloodsport and money.
The horrific fates suffered by many of their beloved brothers and sisters particularly infuriated the alphas, with their robust constitutions and natural sense of leadership. With a thirst for vengeance, they began targeting and attacking ships, ports, and even beaches. The alphas considered any place or vehicle that harbored humans as eligible targets. The less temperamental betas remained neutral and avoided the bloodshed, opting to prey upon shoals of fish and other maritime animals instead. Omegas could not join in the hunt, as they were far too precious to lose. They were the most cherished and talented singers amongst the sirens and required around-the-clock protection because of their significant rarity. These were the origins of the current hierarchical structure Jin-woo adhered to.
After recalling the tumultuous history of his people in its entirety, Jin-woo clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. This was so damn frustrating! Rather than granting him an understanding of his attraction, it just proved all the more why it was so illogical.
Defeated, Jin-woo raises his head, opens his eyes, and continues to swim.
Another hour passes before he finds himself at the ingress of Ashborn’s lair. His enigmatic teacher lived in almost complete obscurity. Devoid of any light, and enveloped by a suffocating aura, this nautical cavern intimidated all who dared to approach it. Well, almost all that is apart from Jin-woo. He effortlessly permeates the invisible barrier designed to keep intruders at bay and ventures into his master’s spiritual domain.
Despite being an ancient and powerful king of the sea, Ashborn made the strange decision to emulate a land-like environment in his personal chambers.
As Jin-woo manifests into the realm, his appearance gives way to a form more befitting of a land dweller. His tail separates into two legs, his scales smoothen into skin, and he loses the winged fins on his ears and back. Once finished with this metamorphosis, Jin-woo takes a deep breath. Fresh pine, grass, and flowers perfume the air as he’s greeted by a lush valley. It had been a while since he had visited, and the setting had required him to transform into a human. Interestingly, transfiguration was one of the first skills Ashborn taught him. Speaking of his mentor –
“My disciple, it is good to see you again, though you appear…troubled. Tell me, what ails you so?” A rumbling voice rings across the horizon, signaling Ashborn’s approach; the tenebrous essence of the powerful deity contrasting with the greenery of the land. He appears in front of Jin-woo as a great dark knight. Much like his surroundings, Ashborn’s current visage was nothing but an illusion. Even the bravest of warriors said that his lifelike image invoked sheer terror in their hearts.
Many speculate he possesses a massive stature, at least several leagues in height and breadth alone, with piercing eyes and endless tendrils of dark hair. Others claim he is the son of Poseidon, one of the twelve Olympians, and a God of destruction who presided over the sea. However, Jin-woo never once witnessed this side of his teacher in all the years he’s been under his mentorship. Ashborn certainly exuded dignity, but he still displayed a humble attitude. And without fail, he would always appear in that strange, armored suit whenever he was in Jin-woo’s presence.
“My teacher, I must ask for your help on an urgent matter,” Jin-woo starts, anxiously running his tongue across his bottom lip. “This morning, while I was scavenging, I stumbled across the unmistakable aroma of an unmarked omega. It…it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. As if I was being beckoned by someone or something. I wanted, no, I needed to heed its call.”
Ashborn listens in silence, his expression indiscernible. Jin-woo continued.
“When I arrived, I was in front of a monstrosity of a ship – a yacht right by the sandbanks. At first, I assumed that someone had taken an unfortunate siren captive. But when I finally saw her–”
“You recognized she was human. Not only that, but she belongs to the lowest level of the hierarchy, an omega. Speak if I am wrong, my dear pupil.” Jin-woo lowers his head in shame, fringe obscuring his eyes. This action all but confirms it.
“I don’t know what to do or how to proceed, teacher. Everything I’ve learned about these creatures has made me detest them. But I can’t bring myself to hate her. How could this even be possible? We are not even of the same species. She’s my enemy, my prey…. At least, she’s supposed to be.” His voice lowers into a near whisper as he ends his confused rambling.
“And yet you don’t view her that way, do you child?” Ashborn poses a question he already knows the answer to but needs to hear in his pupil’s own words.
“No, I don’t,” Jin-woo replies grimly. “I yearn to know more about her. And not just that. I want to meet her, court her, and make her mine. If she’ll even have me, that is… So please, teacher, tell me if there is any meaning behind what I feel. Am I destined for something that bears no place in reality?”
Ashborn remains uncharacteristically quiet while faced with such a loaded question. All is eerily silent for a few moments, save for the cheerful chirping of the illusionary songbirds. At last, the monarch gazes at Jin-woo and gives him the answer he so desperately desires.
“It is entirely possible Sung Jin-woo, alpha of Jindo island, for I am proof of such a fantastical circumstance. My first and only love was also a human omega. A woman I devoted my entire being to over a millennium ago.”
Jin-woo’s eyes widened in shock at this revelation. His mentor had fallen in love at some point, and it was with a member of the human race? This was unheard of.
“I never knew you had a lover,” Jin-woo murmurs softly. “What was she like? Do you still remember everything about her after so many years?”
“Let me show you, my disciple. It is a tragic tale that words alone cannot properly convey.” With a wave of Ashborn’s hand, their surroundings began to morph and alter. The valley transforms into a spacious, yet quaint medieval village composed of several wooden houses with a bustling marketplace at its center.
When Jin-woo regains his bearings, he notices his mentor has also metamorphosized. A man with a sun kissed complexion, long dark hair, and a beard stands where he once stood. Though visibly unrecognizable, he was unmistakably Ashborn. A crimson cape was clasped to the pristine silver armor he wore. A paladin. Jin-woo recalls. He had some knowledge of the past lives of men through his rare excursions onto the Mainland. While disguised as a human, Jin-woo once traded in his goods for a textbook on history. He was loath to admit just how intriguing he had found it.
Ashborn speaks, his voice no longer resonating within the confines of shadowy steel.
“It was here in this village that I came across her. She was the only daughter of a peasant farmer. A strong-willed, rapscallion of a woman with a wit sharper than any blade. I can remember her beauty, her warmth, and her tenacity as clear and concise as the day we met.” He says with a wistful gaze. The scene then shifts to a woman in a pure white gown. Her eyes remained hidden, but it did nothing to impede upon her loveliness. The woman runs animatedly towards a man who looks identical to Ashborn’s borrowed likeness and leaps into his arms. The man then effortlessly spins her around before bringing her into a kiss. Jin-woo watches on, mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of him.
“I feared her rejection once she knew the truth of my identity,” Ashborn admits. “On the night we first made love, I finally revealed to her my status as ruler of the sea. However, it did not matter. She loved me wholly and unconditionally, regardless of who or what I was. Such was the strength of her resolve.” In the next instance, they return to the same valley from earlier. What differs this time is that the man and woman are there, unacknowledging of Jin-woo and Ashborn’s presence. Lost in their own special world. The woman has a flower crown on her head, and she sits on the grass, holding the man’s head in her lap. Both appear happy and at ease.
“For the first time in my existence, I experienced true contentment. I long to return to those days, but alas, our bliss did not last.”
Ashborn solemnly shuts his eyes as darkness overtakes the sky and rain falls. The man is now shown standing at a grave with an expression of anguish marring his face. The woman is nowhere to be seen, although Jin-woo knows exactly where she’s at.
“A plague was scourging the land and indiscriminately ending the lives of thousands. I tried to protect her with my magic, but it was to no avail. She fell gravely ill despite my best efforts. I discovered shortly thereafter that omegas were more susceptible to sickness than their contemporaries. If I had known beforehand, I would’ve brought her to the sea with me, away from that damned disease. But I was a fool who was willing to love and live with her as a man, not as a king. And as punishment for my hubris, an ailment snuffed out her life.”
At the end of his recollection, Ashborn’s lair returns to its original state. His mentor had also regained his shadowy exterior. The valley appears completely untouched by time, as if it were still one thousand years in the past. That’s why his lair looks like this. Jin-woo thinks as he finally recognizes its significance, It was their personal sanctuary. After a few moments of silence, Ashborn speaks.
“Although our circumstances are similar, you still have the privilege of choice. I cannot turn back time, nor can I change the past, but I am grateful. I experienced unspeakable grief, yes, but I also would have never encountered such love, tenderness, and passion had I not taken a chance on my omega. You, my disciple, still have free rein over your decision. Should you choose to pursue this woman, you have my blessing and irrefutable proof that she is a viable mate for you. If not, you will still receive my unwavering support in your future endeavors. The choice is yours to make.”
Jin-woo’s throat bobs. He feels an incredible sense of guilt at unearthing his master’s secret.
“My teacher, I apologize for prying into your past. I – I did not mean to bring up painful memories for you. I cannot imagine what you have endured. As of right now, I am not sure what it is I want, but I know for a fact I cannot give up on this human. I will need some time to contemplate and sort out my feelings. If you will excuse me.”
Jin-woo bows his head before turning to take his leave. As he approaches the exit, a sudden thought emerges at the forefront of his mind.
“Teacher, there is one more question I must ask. This human, she does not speak with words. She communicates with her hands and gestures. Is this some type of sorcery or spell that she’s casting?”
“It is most likely sign language, a manner of non-verbal communication used by humans who are unable to vocalize or hear. Perhaps she cannot speak, or has a hearing impairment, so she must express herself through other means.” Ashborn answers, curiosity lacing his voice.
Jin-woo feels his heart sinking. A siren’s serenade played a pivotal role in the mating ritual and was performed just prior to consummating an eternal bond. If what Ashborn said is true, then there is a possibility you could be immune to his song. This meant he wouldn't be able to use it on you when the time came…
He grits his teeth as he remembers your smiling face. Try as he might, Jin-woo just could not get you out of his head, nor was he willing to let you escape his grasp. You may not have realized it yet, but you had unknowingly sunk your fangs into him and the seeds of obsession were already beginning to take root. Rather than being discouraged by Ashborn’s observation, he instead finds himself reinvigorated.
“Teacher, disregard everything I said earlier. I now know what it is I must do.”
Ashborn peers into the eyes of his disciple, relieved by the determination that lights them. This was much more like the obstinate young man he knew.
“I choose to seek this omega and stake my claim, no matter what challenges may await the two of us,” Jin-woo proclaims proudly. “I will make her mine, but only if she consents to my proposal. And if not through song, then through other courtship methods. I am strong, stronger than any other alpha in my territory, and I know I can protect her from all who would wish her harm. I won’t let my mate slip through my fingers.”
“But what of maladies and the passage of time? You can fight against gods and monsters until the end of your days, but sickness or her ephemeral lifespan will not spare this young woman. In the end, your time with her shall be fleeting.” Ashborn ruthlessly counters Jin-woo’s declaration of protection.
Jin-woo bites his lip, not expecting this development. However, before he can muster a response, his mentor graces him with an answer.
“I know of one way you can overcome this. There is a recipe for an elixir known as the Holy Water of Life. It is a miraculous potion that can imbue invulnerability to communicable diseases, extend lifespan, and transform the consumer into a siren. I unfortunately did not have knowledge of such a panacea while I was with my love. Of course, I live with the regret of not discovering it sooner, as now I have no such use for it, but this does not mean I will idly stand by and let history repeat itself with my protégé.”
With a flash of light, an ancient scroll appears in front of Jin-woo. It unravels by itself to reveal its contents to him. Jin-woo’s eyes widen as he reads. Is this…?
“Behold. The ingredients for crafting the Holy Water of Life. I bequeath this boon unto you, my disciple. However, heed my warning as the acquisition of these components requires you to conquer all 100 floors of the Demon’s Castle and to defeat its king, Baran. This is a treacherous dungeon that may claim your life if you are unprepared for it, but it can also impart you with unspeakable power should you prevail.”
Jin-woo perks up at this information, his interest now fully piqued. “Tell me, master, where can I find the Demon’s Castle?”
“It hides far away, in the city of Seoul, within an incorporeal dominion. It is a flame-ridden landscape that will require you to assume the form of a human to enter the castle. Knowing all the risks it entails; do you still accept my offer?”
“I do,” Jinwoo confidently states.
“Very well,” Ashborn nods his assent, and a key materializes into Jin-woo’s palm.
“Use this key to open the gate to the Demon’s Castle. I have also implanted it with the coordinates to the dungeon’s location. You need only close your eyes and grasp onto the key to visualize it.”
Following the instructions, Jin-woo sees a map that details the exact distance from his current whereabouts to the metropolitan area of Seoul. It will be a lengthy trip, even with his impressive swimming prowess. He estimates it will take roughly half a day to arrive at his destination. Undeterred, Jin-woo presses onward.
“Teacher, I cannot thank you enough for all your help and guidance over these last few years. I give you my word; I will return alive and well, both with the elixir and Baran’s head. And then I will meet with the omega and court her in earnest.”
He departs without another word, although his promise relays an unspoken farewell between them. After some time passes, Ashborn stares at the vast skies of his domain and muses to himself.
“You have grown so much from when I rescued you from the Cartenon Temple all those years ago, Sung Jin-woo. I could not be prouder of you, my disciple. Till our next encounter.”
12 hours later...
Jin-woo finally emerges from the dark, briny waters that frame Seoul’s coastline.
After leaving Ashborn’s lair, he briefly returned home to pack and prepare for the journey ahead. Both Jin-ah and his mother were worried about his sudden departure, so he did the best he could to assuage their fears by giving them a sanitized version of the truth.
Jin-woo claimed Ashborn had provided him with a list of rare ingredients that were only available for purchase in the human markets at Seoul. He even promised to bring back a box of chocolates as a souvenir, something his mother and little sister had enjoyed during one of his return trips to the surface. He then traveled the full 413-kilometer distance from Jindo-gun to Seoul, stopping only for a few hours to rest and recuperate.
As he approaches land, he assumes the form of a naked human man and walks inland from the sea. However, Jin-woo comes to a halt when he becomes more aware of his current state of nudity. While it didn’t bother him, it would cause a lot of unnecessary trouble if any nosy beachgoers happened upon him and asked questions. It is also…pretty embarrassing to admit that he is…wobbly on these legs. Very much so.
He quickly summons his magical inventory and grabs a simple black t-shirt, boxers, fitted jeans, and athletic sneakers (‘Adidas’, the portly sales attendant had called them). As worthless as he found human decorum to be, Jin-woo needed to remain as inconspicuous as possible while he was in disguise. Once dressed, he strolled into the city. After 45 minutes, he found himself at the designated street junction on the map. Taking a deep breath, he brings forth the key, turns it, and unlocks the gate.
Could you do one that's reader and Ashborn, something that's kinda fluff. Where like, reader introduces Ashborn to positive physical interaction. (He's been through so much I just want to hug him! 😭)
Aww that's so cute 🥺
______. ._______
A Touch of Light
Ashborn was not accustomed to touch.
In his long existence, hands had only ever reached for him in violence. Grasping, tearing, demanding—always seeking power, never offering warmth. Even before he became the Shadow Monarch, before the heavens cast him down, he had been a god of destruction. Untouchable. Distant. Alone.
And yet, there you were.
A mere human, standing before him without fear. Your presence was as soft as the wind that passed through the ruins where he often lingered, a place long abandoned by time. You were nothing like the beings he had known before. You were not made of divinity, nor of monstrous power. And yet, somehow, you unsettled him more than any warrior ever had.
It started small.
The first time you touched him, it had been an accident—your fingertips brushing against the edge of his armored gauntlet as you reached for something beside him. He had gone rigid, shadows curling instinctively around him like a beast prepared to strike. But you had only blinked at him, unafraid.
"You’re colder than I expected," you murmured.
He did not respond. What was there to say? He had not known warmth in centuries.
The second time, it was intentional.
You had found him sitting beneath the remnants of an ancient tree, its branches long dead but still standing. He often stayed there, watching the sky, lost in thoughts that spanned eternity.
"You look tired," you said.
He did not answer. A god does not grow weary. But something in the way you frowned at him made his chest feel... heavy.
Before he could react, you reached out, resting your palm against his forearm. Not in battle. Not in reverence. Just touch—gentle, warm, grounding.
He did not move.
No one had ever touched him like that.
"You’re really cold," you murmured again, rubbing his arm absentmindedly, as if trying to bring warmth to something long since frozen. "Does it hurt?"
He stared at you. The question made no sense. Pain was an old companion, one he had long since stopped acknowledging. But this? This strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through him? He did not know what to make of it.
And yet, he did not pull away.
Over time, it became a pattern.
Small, fleeting touches. A hand brushing against his when you handed him something. The press of your palm against his back as you walked beside him. One time, you had even reached up, brushing stray strands of his dark hair away from his face without a second thought.
He did not understand.
Why did you do these things?
Why did you not recoil from him, as all others had?
One night, as you both sat in silence beneath the ruined sky, he asked you.
"Why do you touch me?"
You tilted your head, as if the question itself was strange. "Because I want to."
He frowned. That was not an answer.
Seeing his confusion, you sighed and shifted closer, your knee brushing against his. "You’ve been alone for a long time, haven’t you?"
Alone.
The word settled over him like a weight. He had never considered it before. He had been beyond such things, beyond the need for companionship. Or so he had believed.
"You don’t have to be," you continued, voice softer now. "I don’t know what you’ve been through, Ashborn. But... you don’t always have to be untouchable."
Untouchable. That, too, had been a truth he had never questioned.
Until now.
Without thinking, he reached out.
It was awkward—hesitant, almost clumsy. His hand hovered near yours, unsure of how to proceed. He had wielded power beyond comprehension, had ended civilizations with a mere gesture. And yet, the simple act of reaching for your hand felt... foreign.
You noticed. Instead of waiting, you closed the distance yourself, intertwining your fingers with his.
Warmth.
A slow, quiet thing. Not the fire of battle, nor the blaze of destruction. Just warmth—steady, certain, human.
"You see?" You smiled at him, giving his hand a small squeeze. "Not so bad, right?"
Ashborn did not answer. He only stared at your joined hands, at the quiet miracle of it.
And for the first time in countless centuries, he felt something shift deep within him.
Something fragile.
Something warm.
---
The change was gradual.
At first, Ashborn remained still whenever you touched him, as if uncertain whether he should allow it. Then, slowly, he began to accept it. He no longer flinched when your fingers brushed his, nor did he tense when you leaned against him on colder nights.
But an embrace? That was different.
You never forced it, never pushed him beyond what he was ready for. But one evening, when exhaustion weighed heavy in your own limbs, you found yourself dozing off beside him, your head naturally resting against his shoulder.
He froze.
For a long moment, he did nothing.
Then, cautiously, he shifted—not away from you, but toward you. The movement was small, hesitant, but unmistakable. You felt the tension ease from his frame, the weight of his presence settling more comfortably against yours.
It was the first time he had ever let himself be held.
And it would not be the last.
---
One night, the stars burned bright, casting silver light upon the ruined world around you.
Ashborn stood beside you, watching the sky, silent as ever.
Then, without warning, he turned to face you fully.
You blinked up at him, surprised by the intensity of his gaze. "What is it?"
He did not answer.
Instead, he reached out—deliberately, purposefully—and cupped your cheek in his hand.
It was the first time he had ever touched you on his own.
His palm was cool against your skin, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they traced the curve of your jaw. It was as if he were memorizing the sensation, committing the warmth of you to memory.
You leaned into his touch instinctively, eyes softening. "Ashborn..."
His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. A quiet exhale left him, something close to wonder flickering in his expression.
"I did not know," he murmured, voice almost reverent.
"Did not know what?" you whispered.
"That touch could feel like this."
You covered his hand with your own, pressing his palm more firmly against your cheek. "And how does it feel?"
He hesitated, searching for the right words. Then, at last, he answered.
"Warm."
A slow smile spread across your face. "Good. Then we'll just have to make sure you get used to it."
And for the first time in centuries, the Shadow Monarch let himself believe in something other than war.
When you think about it, both Igris and Ashborn do have thing in common… which is being betrayed. (You can also count the fact that they are loyal but that trait is literally shared with many of the shadow soldiers)
It is up to Ashborn whether he chooses to talk about it or not. Chances are low but it is never zero. And if he does talk about it, he would probably turn to Igris rather than Bellion, since he knows he and the knight share similar experiences. The anguish of shattered trust.
Maybe that would also explain why Ashborn chose Igris to be the tester and not Bellion. He probably sees the journey Igris had gone through , from an elite knight in his army into a marshal whose strength can keep up with his first ever soldier. That is the kind of soldier his successor needs, (and the fact that Igris is once a human and SJW is also a human)
In summary, this might just be Ashborn/Igris propaganda and I just unaware of it, depending on how you see them this can both be platonic and romantic i guess, *Gulp*.
(Bellion my boy, please wait I’m cracking up some ideas for you)
