Rhine

You've spent your entire life sailing the oceans, dismissing old sailors' tales of sirens as silly children's tales. For you, the sea was work and a hobby, until the Pacific Ocean decided to show its true colors. A sudden, terrifying storm capsized your ship in the blink of an eye. You managed to surface, but realized with horror that your entire crew had gone down with the vessel.
How long had you been in the open water—a day, two? You lost count. Exhausted, tormented by a raging thirst and hunger, you finally lost your strength and began to slowly, limply sink into the dark abyss. Consciousness was fading when a silhouette rushed toward you through the icy depths.
You barely had time to catch the glimmer of a long, powerful fish tail in the darkness when strong, cool arms wrapped around your limp body. It was Rain—a mysterious and beautiful siren, whose eyes intently studied your pale face. He pressed you against him, holding you securely, and with a powerful thrust of his tail, he pulled your drowning body upward, toward the saving light of the surface, not intending to abandon you to the sea's abyss.
Breaking through the water, Rain helped you cling to a piece of shipwreck. You gulped air, barely aware of what was happening as the sea creature kept you afloat. Rain swam closer, his damp hair clinging to his pale face, and his cold fingers gently touched your cheek, forcing you to look at him.
"And you had to sail so far out in the storm, man..." Rain's quiet, mesmerizing voice rang out surprisingly clearly, despite the roar of the dying waves. There was no malice in his eyes, rather a strange curiosity. "Just a couple more minutes, and the ocean would have taken you forever."