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The tide gnawed lazily at the jagged shore, washing brine and broken shells over the rocks where you sprawled. From here, half-hidden between a pair of slick boulders, the world seemed stretched thin — a smear of grey sky above, the restless blue below, and nothing in between worth singing to.
You’d been here for hours, watching for something — anything — that might entertain you. The last fishing boat had slipped past before sunrise, the crew oblivious to the shadow that had followed in their wake. A gull had landed near you briefly, eyeing you with a predator’s caution, but it had taken wing the moment you’d moved a finger. Even the tidepools were dull today, their starfish clinging in stubborn silence, their crabs vanishing into dark crevices at the barest ripple of your shadow.
You blew a strand of damp hair from your face and resisted the urge to sing just to shatter the monotony. You’d already been scolded enough by your elders for using your voice on “unworthy prey” — as though any mortal fisherman could hold your attention for more than a few heartbeats.
You were just considering slipping back into the water when a glint caught your eye.
Not the dull silver of fish scales, nor the sharp gleam of a blade — this was richer, deeper, a ribbon of shifting blue and opal, moving with purpose just beyond the breakers.
You went still.
The glint surfaced again, longer this time — a tail, sleek and powerful, arcing through the shallows like liquid sapphire. Whoever it belonged to moved with the ease of something that belonged to the sea itself. You watched it cut through the water toward the rocky spit not far from you, each flick of its fin scattering sunlit droplets.
Then he emerged.
Broad-shouldered, his wet hair spilling over them like ink and violet light, his skin kissed with iridescent scales at the collarbone and hips. Chains of gold and pearl draped across his torso, catching the sunlight like trapped stars. His eyes — even from here you could see them — were the impossible blue of a deep lagoon, rimmed with a faint blush of pink at the center.
You forgot to breathe for a moment.
He was not human, that much was certain. And yet… he was not quite like you, either.
He didn’t look toward the rocks where you lingered, his gaze fixed instead on the shore ahead, as though searching for something among the sand and scrub. The wind stirred his hair and he tipped his head slightly, studying the line where the waves met the land. He moved with that curious deliberation you’d seen only in creatures who knew the world belonged to them.
A sea god, you thought distantly.
The sea god.
And, quite suddenly, you weren’t bored anymore.
The longer you watched, the more the details gathered, each one sinking its hook into you. The way water slid off his skin in fine rivulets, catching the sun in bright beads. The delicate scatter of silver markings along his cheekbones, the faint gleam of opalescent scales trailing down one side of his torso before disappearing beneath the blue sweep of his tail.
He was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten — like the first sight of a reef after days in open water, or the sudden bloom of sunlight through a storm. The kind of beauty that could make you reckless.
Heat crept unbidden into your cheeks. You dipped your head slightly, as though the rocks around you could hide the betraying color in your face from the wind itself. Foolish. You were no wide-eyed mortal, swooning over the first handsome sailor to cross your path… and yet your pulse had quickened all the same.
What was he looking for? His gaze roved the sand and stone with quiet intent, each movement unhurried but purposeful. He seemed entirely absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious to the fact you were shadowing him from the water’s edge.
You tilted your head, studying the slope of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. You wanted to know the sound of his voice, the weight of his stare if he turned it on you. Would it be cold? Commanding? Or something softer, if you lingered long enough?
The question itched under your skin until you could no longer sit still. You slipped silently from your perch, gliding through the shallows to keep pace with him as he moved along the shoreline.
He didn’t glance your way.
You narrowed your eyes and let a single note hum past your lips — light as a drifting current, harmless, meant only to see if it would catch on his ear. The sound curled into the air between you, soft enough that no mortal could have heard it over the sea’s sigh.
But he stilled.
Only for a moment — a slight pause in his movement, the faint tilt of his head — before he resumed his search as though nothing had reached him at all.
A smile ghosted over your lips. So… the sea god did hear you. How interesting.
You sank a little deeper beneath the surface, letting your eyes follow the gold-and-pearl chain that traced his spine like a tether. If he truly believed he could ignore you, then clearly, he’d never met a siren with your patience.
You shadowed him for several minutes, weaving between the darker patches of water, certain you’d blended into the shifting light. Every so often you caught the side profile of his face — unreadable, intent — and the steady flick of his tail that sent lazy ripples rolling toward shore.
You’d just eased closer, close enough to see the fine filigree of scales along his ribs, when his voice cut through the air.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The words were low but carried effortlessly over the crash of waves, deep and edged like the rumble of a storm.
You froze, your tail sweeping in a slow arc. “Maybe I am.”
His head turned just enough for one sapphire-blue eye to meet yours. “I suggest you find a better pastime than spying on me.”
“That’s a bold accusation,” you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Perhaps I just happened to be here.”
“Perhaps,” he echoed, voice dry as salt air. His gaze lingered, sweeping over you in a measured, assessing way that made your pulse tick faster — and then he looked away, dismissing you as easily as the tide discards foam.
“Whatever your reason,” he continued, “it’s no concern of mine. But you’d do well to keep your distance.”
You arched a brow. “Why? Afraid I’ll bite?”
His mouth curved — not a smile, exactly, but something close. “If you tried, little siren, I’d bite back.”
The way he said it was neither threat nor tease, but something in between, and it caught faintly in your chest. Before you could decide on a retort, he flicked his tail and moved on, water churning briefly in his wake.
“Don’t follow me,” he called over his shoulder.
You waited until he was just far enough away not to see the grin spreading across your face. “We’ll see about that,” you murmured to yourself.
Whatever he thought, you had time. And patience. And a very stubborn curiosity about the sea god who looked at you as though you were both a distraction and a challenge.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The ruins were older than memory, half-swallowed by coral and swaying curtains of kelp. Pillars lay toppled in the sand like the bones of some long-forgotten beast, their carvings worn smooth by centuries of current. Shafts of sunlight slanted through the water above, painting everything in soft gold.
You drifted between broken archways, trailing your fingers over the cool stone. A school of round-bellied silverfish waddled past your path, their scales flashing.
“You’re all getting very fat,” you murmured, flicking one on its side. It bolted away with a flick of its stubby tail, the rest scattering after it in a shimmering panic. You grinned to yourself.
It wasn’t until you rounded the curve of a half-collapsed wall that you saw it — the conch shell. Nestled in the silt as if it had been placed there deliberately, its spiraling ridges caught the light in bands of pale blue and cream, dusted with iridescence.
You lifted it carefully, running a thumb over its lip. It was heavier than it looked, thrumming faintly in your palm. A shell like this would fetch a small fortune among certain traders… but that wasn’t what held your attention. There was something alive about it, like it had been listening all this time.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The voice came from behind, deep enough to vibrate through the water and into your ribs.
You jumped — just barely — and turned to find him there, hovering a few lengths away, framed by the shattered arch. His hair drifted around him in a slow, purple halo, gems and pearls glinting faintly in the filtered light. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of the myths.
“And why not?” you asked, curling your fingers protectively around the conch.
“This place…” His gaze swept the ruins, then came back to you, steady and unblinking. “…is mine.”
You arched a brow, letting the corners of your mouth curl in challenge. “You think you can just lay claim to any spot in the sea because you’re the sea god?”
“I believe that is well within my right,” he said, voice smooth as the still water before a storm, “as the god of the sea, yes.”
You rolled your eyes with deliberate slowness. “Of course you do.”
His attention flicked down to your hands. “And not only have you trespassed,” he said, his tone cooling further, “you’re stealing from me.”
“I wasn’t stealing,” you countered, holding the shell up between you. “I was just looking at it.”
“I’m sure you would have taken it had I not shown up.”
Your smile sharpened. “If I wanted to rob you blind, I’d just start singing. You’d have no idea what hit you.”
He scoffed outright, the sound short and humorless. “Do you honestly think your petulant siren song has any effect on me?”
The currents between you shifted — faintly, but enough that the strands of your hair lifted.
“Why don’t you let me test that theory?” you said lightly, tilting your head.
His eyes narrowed, but not in fear. “Careful,” he murmured, voice dropping low enough that you felt it more than heard it. “You’ll find my patience thinner than you expect.”
You only smiled wider, spinning the conch lazily in your palm.
You began to swim around him in a slow, measured arc, the way a predator might circle something interesting but not immediately threatening. Your skirts whispered against the stone floor, trailing your shadow across the walls.
Rafayel didn’t shift his stance, but his eyes followed you — cool, steady, ocean-deep.
“You know,” you murmured, leaning just close enough that the salt-sweet scent of his skin reached you, “your hair catches light even here. Almost unfair, how it still glitters when the rest of us are shrouded in dark.”
You reached out before he could lean away, letting your fingers slide into the dusky strands. The silken texture was warm against your skin, and you idly twirled a lock around your finger, watching how it curved.
He flinched. Not much — just a small, sharp motion like the flick of a fin — but enough that your smile tilted.
Then, without a word, he plucked the conch from your hands.
Your brows rose. “Hey.”
He ignored you, turning it lazily in his palm as though it had always been his.
You swam closer, reaching for it — and he shifted his arm just slightly, keeping it out of your reach. You tried again, faster this time, but he was already moving it higher, that unreadable expression still carved into his face.
By the third attempt, you were half-laughing despite yourself. “You’re insufferable,” you accused, arms stretching as far as they could reach.
“Is pestering me really that amusing to you?” he asked flatly, gaze steady as a tide that would never break for you.
“Yes,” you said without hesitation, still smiling.
His mouth curled — not into a smile, but something sharper, a flicker of disdain. “Barnacle.”
Your gasp was dramatic. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” he countered.
You tilted your head, pretending to study him. “Are you always this serious?”
“Are you always this persistent?”
“Yes,” you said again, and grinned when his eyes narrowed just slightly.
You made one last swipe for the conch, leaning across the narrow space between you, fingers brushing the curve of its pearlescent shell. Rafayel tilted it effortlessly out of reach again, that infuriating little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey—” you huffed, settling back with your arms crossed. A faint pout tugged at your lips before you could stop it.
He only twirled the conch once in his hand, letting the soft gleam of the light catch on its ridges.
“Why is this thing so important, anyway?” you pressed, trying to keep the edge of irritation from your voice.
His gaze flicked to you, slow and assessing. “You really are a nosy siren, aren’t you?”
You didn’t answer—just arched a brow and stared at him, unblinking, until he sighed in mock defeat.
“It can play a certain melody,” he admitted at last, running his thumb along the spiraled shell.
Your pout vanished in an instant. “A melody? What kind? Play it for me!”
“No.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Why not?”
“Because,” he said with deliberate calm, “I won’t just follow your whims.”
“It’s just a melody, not a big deal,” you argued, leaning forward again.
His smile turned sharper, a flicker of amusement in his sea-glass eyes. “You’re far too brash for someone so airheaded,” he murmured, “demanding so much of the sea god.”
Your jaw dropped. “Airheaded? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“It’s the most polite thing I could think of,” he replied smoothly, turning the conch over in his palm again.
You narrowed your eyes. “If that’s polite, I’d hate to hear you try for insulting.”
“Barnacle,” he offered without hesitation.
“You already used that one!” you protested. “Recycling insults is lazy.”
“Or efficient.” His gaze dipped briefly toward your crossed arms before lifting to your face again. “Unlike certain sirens who spend their days loitering where they shouldn’t.”
You leaned in with a little grin. “Maybe I like loitering in your spots.”
Something in his jaw tightened, though his expression didn’t crack. “You’d be better off finding a new hobby.”
You gave a slow, deliberate look from his crown to the swish of his tail. “Mmm… no. I think I’ll keep this one.”
For a long moment, he just studied you, unreadable as the deep. Then, with an air of absolute finality, he slipped the conch into the fold of his belt and began to drift backward.
“Hey—” you started, swimming after him a pace, but he lifted a hand in a quiet, imperious gesture.
“Don’t follow me.”
“Or what?” you challenged, tilting your head.
His eyes glimmered faintly in the dim water. “Or you’ll find out just how little patience I have for barnacles.”
You let him go this time, watching the shimmer of his tail fade into the shadowed ruins. Even from a distance, the glint of gold at his throat and the opalescent gleam of his scales burned themselves into your memory.
And beneath your annoyance, you could feel it again—that restless, humming pull toward him. He was infuriating, impossible, untouchable.
Which, of course, meant you weren’t nearly finished with him yet.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The city center of Lemuria was alive with color. Lanterns swayed on ribbons overhead, their light rippling like captured moonlight across the gleaming shells of the streets. The air smelled of salt and something sweet — candied kelp, roasting on spits in bronze pans — mingling with the warm, briny brush of the water on your skin. You wandered slowly, drawn in by the voices and music, the hum of excitement gathering for the festival to come.
At every turn, there was something to tempt you. A vendor with hair like curling seaweed waved you over to his stall, showing you a tray of delicate charms carved from coral and polished pearl.
“Each one blessed in the tide pools this morning,” he said with a wink. “Carry it with you, and the Sea God might favor your wish.”
Farther down, a woman selling skewers of spiced shellfish leaned over her counter, insisting, “These were his favorites when he walked among us. Eat one, and maybe he’ll notice you.” The shellfish gleamed, glistening in the lamplight, and you couldn’t help but smile as you accepted one, its heat warming your fingertips.
The streets were crowded but friendly, the Lemurians quick to laugh, their eyes alight with the same quiet reverence every time you mentioned the Sea God. You asked a jeweler polishing silver rings if anyone had seen him lately, if he might appear tonight. She only shook her head.
“No one ever knows,” she murmured, almost dreamily. “But when he comes, you feel it — here.” She touched her fingertips to the hollow of her throat.
You moved on, weaving through dancers practicing for the evening’s procession, their silken sleeves billowing like waves. With each step, your anticipation deepened. Everyone spoke of him with such devotion, and yet no one could say for certain if he would come. That uncertainty only made the thought of seeing him — of finding him here, somewhere among these crowded streets — all the more intoxicating.
Everywhere you went, you asked the same question, your voice mingling with the music and chatter around you. “Do you think the Sea God will be here tonight?” Some only laughed, shaking their heads. Others answered hopefully, but no one truly knew. Still, they all spoke of him with reverence, as if his presence might be felt even if unseen.
The crowd drew you toward an open square where a circle had formed. Musicians sat cross-legged on woven mats, plucking at shell-stringed instruments and tapping out rhythms on drums painted with swirling wave patterns. A group of dancers flowed into the space — men and women draped in silk the color of the deep sea, their hair adorned with star-shaped flowers.
They moved like water, every step and turn a tide rising and falling. Arms swept overhead like cresting waves; skirts fanned out like foam against the shore. You stood at the edge of the circle, the pull of the performance holding you still. The dancers’ feet barely seemed to touch the ground, their bodies turning in perfect unison, shadows flickering in the lanternlight.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’d been expecting — hoping — to see a familiar figure slip into the crowd, perhaps watching from the edges with that unreadable expression on his face. But no matter how your gaze swept the faces beyond the circle, Rafayel was nowhere among them.
The music swelled, the dancers forming a whirlpool of movement at the center, their voices rising in a haunting chant. It was beautiful — enough to make you forget yourself for a moment — yet there was a faint, inexplicable ache under your ribs, a quiet longing that had nothing to do with the Sea God the others prayed to.
The festival’s light and laughter trailed behind you as you slipped away, the noise of the city fading until only the soft murmur of the waves kept you company. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been hoping to see him — not just a glimpse, but to catch him watching you the way you’d been watching him.
But he hadn’t been there.
The sea grew darker as you swam farther from the glowing lanterns of Lemuria. For a while, there was only the rhythmic push and pull of the tide, the distant call of night-creatures. Then… a sound.
Soft. Haunting. The kind of melody that seemed older than language itself.
You stilled, tilting your head, the notes curling through the water in shimmering threads. It tugged at you, gentle but unyielding, until you found yourself following it without thought.
It led you to a narrow strip of shore you didn’t recognize, where the moon painted silver paths over black rock. And there he was — Rafayel — perched on one of the larger stones, the conch in his hands, coaxing that unearthly song from its spiraled depths.
For a moment, you didn’t move. You simply watched him, the way the wind caught strands of his violet hair, how the moonlight slid over his shoulders, turning the opalescent shimmer of his scales into something almost unreal.
You swam closer, slow enough not to break the spell, until you could rest your arms on the rock below him, chin propped atop them. His gaze flicked down at you, the melody halting mid-note.
“Don’t stop,” you said quietly, almost pleading.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but after a pause, he lifted the conch again and continued to play.
You closed your eyes, letting the sound wrap around you. Under the moonlight, his tail gleamed in deep blue and pearly hues, every shift of muscle catching the light like a school of tiny fish. The music was low, steady, and you began to hum along without thinking, matching the rise and fall of his notes.
When the song faded at last, you blinked up at him. “Why’d you stop?”
He hesitated, gaze sliding away from yours. “Your humming was… a nice addition,” he muttered, the words almost lost to the waves.
Your lips curved into a smirk. “Was that a compliment?”
“Hardly,” he said dryly. “You’re a siren. It would be concerning if you couldn’t hum a simple melody.”
You rolled your eyes, but the faintest warmth curled in your chest.
Silence settled between you, broken only by the water lapping against the rocks. Your gaze drifted lower, tracing the long sweep of his tail. His voice broke in, tinged with suspicion. “What are you looking at?”
Without hesitation, you reached out, letting your fingers skim lightly over the scales. They were smooth and cool, each one catching a different glint of moonlight. “Your scales…they look pretty under the moon,” you said honestly.
A faint flush crept over his cheeks, and he glanced sharply away. Then, with a quick flick of his tail, he sent a sharp splash of seawater over you.
You sputtered, blinking droplets from your lashes. “Hey!”
“You shouldn’t just say things like that,” he said, almost too evenly.
Shock quickly dissolved into laughter, and you flicked the tip of your own tail, sending a spray of water right back at him.
The next wave hit harder, sending a spray of cold droplets across your face. You gasped, half from the chill and half from the audacity, before slicking your hair back from your eyes.
He was still on his perch, tail half-submerged, that smug tilt to his mouth as the ripples fanned out from him.
“You dare attack the Sea God?” he declared, voice rich and mock-imperious, before flicking his tail sharply. Another spray of seawater caught you square in the chest.
You laughed — you couldn’t help it — and struck back, twisting your body so your own tail sent a surge of water rolling up toward him.
“Oh, that’s how it’s going to be?” He arched a brow, tail sweeping through the water in a sharper arc, sending a stinging curtain of spray right into your face.
You retaliated immediately, the water between you churning as the two of you volleyed wave after wave. He had the advantage of height, you had the advantage of reach, and soon the air was ringing with splashes and your unrestrained laughter.
And then, in the midst of the chaos, you caught it — the sound you didn’t expect. A low, warm laugh.
It startled you enough to pause mid-swing, the water settling around your hips.
“Finally decided to relent?” he asked, smirking down at you, a bead of seawater sliding down the sharp line of his cheek.
“This is the first time I’ve seen you smile,” you said softly, almost as if speaking it too loud might scare it away.
The smirk faltered. His gaze darted to the horizon, and he gave a quiet, gruff, “Nonsense.”
But you didn’t miss the way the corners of his mouth twitched, as if the sea itself was reluctant to let that smile sink beneath the surface again.
You tilted your head at him, letting the grin return to your face. “What, the great Sea God can’t smile?”
His expression shuttered in an instant, the warmth from moments ago dissolving into that familiar, flat stare. “I can,” he said evenly. “You just haven’t given me a reason to.”
You only hummed, wholly unbothered by his clipped tone, and swam a slow circle toward the side of the rock. With a quick flick of your tail, you hauled yourself up beside him, settling onto the sun-warmed stone. Droplets slid down your arms and tail, pooling between the two of you.
“So,” you began casually, propping your chin in your hand, “why didn’t you go to your big festival tonight?”
He didn’t look at you, instead gazing out over the black mirror of the sea. “Why would I? Those people only see me as a symbol.” His voice carried no bitterness — just a simple, unbending fact.
You nodded slowly, understanding tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Being a god must be tough. Lonely, too… being an almighty being and all.”
“Hmm,” was all he gave in return. His eyes finally slid toward you. “And you? Did you go?”
You grinned and pulled a small trinket from where it was tied at your waist — a little charm strung with blue beads and tiny shells. “Of course. I even bought this.”
He stared at it for half a beat before saying flatly, “It’s ugly.”
You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I know. But apparently it can get me the Sea God’s blessing.”
That made his gaze sharpen slightly. “So you went to the festival just to get something from me?”
You shook your head. “No. I just hoped to see you.”
He was silent for a moment, unreadable as ever. Then: “Either way, it appears you were scammed.”
You laughed again, warm and light. “I guess so.”
He tilted his head. “Are you disappointed, then? That the Sea God isn’t as almighty and gracious as you’ve been led to believe?”
You met his eyes without hesitation. “No. I think I like Rafayel more than the Sea God.”
That earned you a pause. His gaze lingered on you longer than before, something unspoken shifting in his sea-glass eyes. And then his jaw tightened.
“This isn’t one of your siren tactics, is it?” he asked, voice lower now, the words deliberate.
You leaned back against the rocky outcrop, lips curling faintly as you studied him. “Oh?” Your voice had a sudden edge, sharper than he was used to. “Just because I’m a siren, I can’t be genuine?”
Rafayel blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t—”
“You know,” you went on, your tone tightening like a coiled rope, “you’re quite arrogant. Do you think you’re better than me just because I’m a siren? What makes us so different, hm?”
The words hung between you like a challenge. His mouth opened, closed again, the faintest flicker of unease crossing his face. “I… I didn’t mean—”
“Mm-hm,” you cut in, refusing to soften, your eyes fixed on him with an almost accusatory gleam.
He looked genuinely flustered now, starting to stammer out something that might’ve been an apology when you broke into laughter — rich, melodic, unrestrained.
He froze, staring at you like you’d just grown a second tail. “What—why are you laughing?”
“I’m messing with you.” You grinned, your earlier sharpness melting away.
His brows knit, and a faint pink dusted his cheeks. “Petulant siren,” he muttered, glancing aside as if embarrassed to have been taken in so easily.
You were still laughing as you reached to your hip, pulling out the trinket you’d shown him earlier. Holding it delicately between your palms like a holy relic, you tilted your head and intoned in a mockingly reverent voice, “O mighty sea God, please forgive me for my insolence–”
Before you could finish your exaggerated bow, Rafayel leaned closer and caught your wrists, lowering your hands with a resigned huff. “Knock it off.”
But you caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth, and you couldn’t help thinking you’d just won a small, private victory.
You lowered yourself back in the dark water, the moonlight painting the surface silver. “Alright,” you said, tilting your head and fixing him with that teasing gleam in your eyes, “grant me one wish.”
He paused, tail flicking impatiently through the water. “First you tease me,” he said, voice low and unamused, “and now you want to be greedy?”
You grinned, undeterred. “It’s not greed. I’d like… to show you something.”
His eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he gave a sharp, reluctant nod. “Fine. Lead the way.”
You twirled in the water with a flick of your tail, motioning him to follow, and together you swam out from the moonlit shore into the gentle swell of the sea. The currents carried you past reefs teeming with life: coral in every shade of the ocean, spiny sea urchins tucked into crevices, and fish that glimmered like scattered gemstones darting between the rocks. You hummed along with the rhythm of your tail, watching him glance around, intrigued despite himself.
“Do you always bring people through reefs like this?” he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like curiosity.
“Only the interesting ones,” you replied, nudging a bright yellow fish with a fingertip. “They like to follow me anyway. I think they know I’m harmless.”
“Harmless,” he repeated flatly, though the corner of his lip twitched again.
You laughed, flicking your tail in a playful arc that sent a small current his way. “We’re here.”
The cavern yawned before you, tucked beneath the cliffs along a quiet stretch of shore. The open ceiling framed the moon, silver rays spilling down to kiss the sand. Candles were arranged around the perimeter, unlit, their waxy surfaces catching faint glints from the moon. Silks and tapestries draped along the walls and across the floor, colored in deep blues, purples, and soft golds. Shelves held small gems, crystals, and shells collected over time, glimmering quietly.
Rafayel’s gaze swept the space, sharp eyes taking in every detail. “What… is this place?”
You smiled softly, swimming closer. “It’s my secret spot. I come here when I want to get away from… everything, or just find somewhere silent for a while.”
He studied you, the usual rigidity in his posture softened. “And you brought me here?”
“I thought you might like it,” you said, shrugging gently. “You’re welcome to come here too… if you ever feel like not being a god for a while.”
He was silent for a long moment, and then his gaze swept over the space again, lingering on the unlit candles. “It’ll be prettier when they’re lit,” you said, “but it will take me forever to—”
Before you could finish, the soft, low hum of energy rippled through the cavern. One by one, the candles flickered to life, their flames dancing without wind, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The crystals caught the light, scattering it in tiny rainbows across the walls and floor.
You blinked, stunned. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at him, not fully understanding the effortless grace with which he had summoned the light. He stood there, backlit by the golden candlelight, the moon glinting off his scales, each one shimmering in pale opalescent hues. The adornments along his body—pearls, gems, delicate chains—glimmered like constellations.
“You…” you whispered, eyes widening, barely aware of your own heartbeat. He looked unreal, something born of sea and moonlight, breathtaking in the glow he had created.
Rafayel’s gaze flicked to yours, calm and unreadable, though the soft light caught a subtle flush along his cheeks and the faintest narrowing of his eyes at your stunned expression.
You swallowed, still staring, lost for words, mesmerized both by the space and by him.
You turned slowly, letting your gaze drift over the woven basket tucked in the corner of the cavern. Fingers brushing across the silks and small treasures within, you finally plucked out a delicate gold bracelet, catching the candlelight in its polished surface. Twisting it lightly in your hands, you held it out to him.
“For you,” you said, smiling softly.
Rafayel’s eyes flicked down at the bracelet, then back at you, an eyebrow arched. “What… is this?”
“It’s a gift,” you replied, stepping closer. “It matches the rest of the jewelry you wear.”
He held it between his fingers, inspecting it carefully, the glow of the candles reflected in his eyes. You couldn’t resist the playful tease lingering at the edges of your voice. “Rumor has it,” you added, smirking slightly, “that you can receive the Siren’s blessing with it.”
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you expect me to… wear this?”
Your smile faltered, and your fingers fidgeted slightly. “I— I just thought you might like it…”
“Thank you.” he said, cutting you off with that calm authority that somehow still made your stomach flutter.
You blinked, a little confused, his words soft but firm.
Before you could ask more, he slipped the bracelet over his wrist with effortless ease. The gold gleamed against his scales, contrasting with the delicate gems and chains already adorning him. He flexed his hand slightly, catching your gaze.
“It’s… nice,” he said quietly, the hint of sincerity tucked beneath his usually curt tone.
You felt a warmth rise to your cheeks, a strange, fluttering mix of delight and disbelief. “High praise coming from you,”
He only glanced at you briefly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips before his gaze drifted toward the flickering candlelight again. But the way his wrist caught the light, bracelet resting perfectly among his adornments, was enough to make your heart skip.
For a long moment, you just watched him, the bracelet glinting against his wrist, the candlelight dancing across his scales. He stood there, still and unreadable, and yet there was something different in the way his shoulders had relaxed, the faint curve of his lips that betrayed the smallest trace of ease.
And then he moved.
“I’ll be going now,” he said abruptly, his voice flat, but there was an edge to it — a quiet attempt to steady himself, to reclaim control over the subtle pull he felt toward you.
You blinked, tilting your head in mild confusion. “Oh…”
He gave nothing more, only the faintest nod, before slipping into the water with effortless grace. The gentle splash echoed in the cavern, leaving a cool emptiness in his wake.
You sat there for a moment, chest rising and falling as you processed it, a small smile tugging at your lips. Then, as the moonlight shimmered across the rippling water, you laughed softly to yourself, low and airy, shaking your head.
The Sea God — so formidable, so impossible, so utterly fascinating — had just become far more interesting than ever before.
You leaned back on your tail, eyes lingering on the moonlit water where he had vanished, already dreaming about the next time you might cross paths.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The land market was nothing like the calm, rolling tides of Lemuria.
Here, the air was warm and dry, carrying the tang of salted fish, the sharp sweetness of ripe fruit, and the faint scorch of roasting chestnuts. Stalls spilled down the narrow street in mismatched colors, awnings fluttering in the breeze, their vendors calling out prices in boisterous singsong. The crowd moved like a living current—human, messy, unpredictable—but instead of shying from it, you let yourself be carried along.
You had always liked visiting land. It was nothing like the quiet, shimmering halls below the waves, where the light filtered in blue and silver and every sound was softened. Here, everything felt sharper, brighter—sunlight gilding the cobblestones, voices rising and falling in lively rhythm, the scent of spices and baked bread weaving together in the air.
You paused at a stall where bolts of dyed cloth hung like waterfalls—scarlet, saffron, indigo—running your fingers over the weave. The vendor smiled and held a length up to your shoulder, chattering in accented Common about how the color would “bring out the gold” in your eyes. You smiled back, tucking away the compliment even though you didn’t buy.
Further along, a child darted past, a wooden hoop rolling ahead of him, laughter trailing like a ribbon. A baker leaned out from his shop to dust sugar over a tray of still-warm pastries, the scent curling around you and tugging you closer. You traded a few coins for one and bit into it while walking, savoring the buttery layers that melted against your tongue.
A fiddler played somewhere up ahead, the notes quick and bright, drawing a small crowd. You lingered at the edge, watching the way humans clapped and swayed without any concern for grace, for how they looked. It was a kind of freedom you admired—messy, uncalculated, alive.
You could have wandered like this for hours, tasting, touching, listening. Observing the patterns of land-bound life was its own kind of pleasure, and every trip ashore left you with a pocketful of small treasures: a seashell traded from a fisherman, a handful of strange coins, the lingering warmth of sun on your skin.
“You’re going to get lost if you keep staring at every stall like it’s a museum,” came a low voice beside you.
You turned, startled. Rafayel was leaning against the side of a cart piled with oranges, arms loosely crossed, an expression that wavered between faint irritation and something you suspected was amusement.
Your surprise must have shown, because one corner of his mouth twitched. “What? Didn’t expect to see me today?”
“Considering you’ve made it a personal hobby to avoid me most days—no,” you said, folding your arms in mock offense. “Color me shocked. Did someone pay you to find me?”
“No,” he said flatly, though there was the faintest pause, as if he were weighing whether to elaborate. “I had business nearby.”
“Mmh. Very convenient.” You arched a brow, studying him. “What business does the God of the sea have on land?”
You stepped closer, smiling. “You could have just said you wanted to see me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he replied smoothly, but his gaze flicked over the crowd—scanning, assessing—in a way that made you think he was lying.
The current of people surged, jostling your shoulder. Before you could stumble, his hand closed around your elbow, steadying you. He didn’t let go right away.
“This place is a nest of pickpockets,” he murmured. “Stay close.”
You should have teased him for the protectiveness, but the way his fingers lingered—warm, firm—left your voice catching in your throat. Instead, you let him keep his hand where it was, and he didn’t seem inclined to move it.
The next stall was a riot of color—silks in every shade, rippling in the wind. You reached out to brush your fingers over a bolt of deep ocean blue, and the vendor pounced immediately, extolling its quality and cut. You glanced to Rafayel, half-expecting him to scoff at the whole thing, but he was watching you instead, eyes narrowed in thought.
“What?” you asked.
“That color,” he said simply, “looks like you.”
You blinked, caught off guard by the casual honesty. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, but the words were softer than usual.
Still, when you stepped away, you found the same bolt of fabric in your arms a moment later, thrust there without ceremony.
“I didn’t—”
“I’m doing you a favor,” he said. “It suits you more than the cheap garments you drape yourself in.”
You smiled despite yourself, hugging the fabric closer.
As the afternoon wore on, you realized you’d stopped caring about the crowd entirely. Rafayel moved like a shadow beside you, intercepting anyone who strayed too close, haggling for food without you asking, even carrying the small pile of purchases you’d accumulated.
When you paused to taste a slice of honey-drizzled melon, he didn’t bother taking one for himself—just plucked the piece from your fingers, ignoring your startled protest, and popped it into his mouth.
“Rude,” you said.
He didn’t answer. He just smiled, licking the juice from his thumb in a way that made your stomach knot unexpectedly.
By the time the sun began to lower, streaking the market in gold, you’d almost forgotten why you came here in the first place. You were laughing at something he’d said—a rare, genuine laugh—and for a fleeting moment, he smiled back. Not the sharp, mocking curl of his lips you’d grown used to, but something quieter. Warmer.
You wanted to call him out on it, to poke at the edges of this strange shift, but you found yourself reluctant to break it.
Instead, you nudged him with your shoulder and said lightly, “For someone who wasn’t looking for me, you’re awfully good at showing up exactly where I am.”
He met your gaze for a long moment, unreadable. Then: “Maybe I just know where you’ll wander off to.”
“Uh-huh,” you said, letting the disbelief drip from your voice. “Or maybe you like my company.”
He didn’t answer, but as you started toward the end of the street, his hand found your elbow again—steady, guiding, unwilling to let you drift too far.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── 𓇼 ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
The water was cool against your skin as you slipped through the reef, the day’s frustrations trailing behind you in slow, dissipating currents. The elders had been relentless — nitpicking, lecturing — and by the time the sun had dipped, you’d escaped with a single destination in mind.
The cavern.
Its quiet always soothed you, the gentle drip of water from the open ceiling, the moonlight slicing silver ribbons through the surface. Tonight, you were craving it.
But before you reached the entrance, something else drifted to your ears.
A low, curling melody — the kind that slid under your skin and coiled there. You knew that sound.
You eased forward, peering into the mouth of the cavern. There he was, seated in the shallows, elbows resting on his knees, the conch raised lazily to his lips. His eyes were half-lidded, expression unreadable, as if the world outside the music barely existed.
He didn’t look startled when his gaze flicked toward you. If anything, it felt like he’d been expecting you.
“That’s twice now,” you said, pushing closer through the water, “you’ve shown up unannounced.”
“You offered this place to me, did you not?” he replied, unbothered. His fingers tapped the shell idly. “Sing.”
You arched a brow. “Aren’t you worried we’ll crash every ship at sea?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “If they’re foolish enough to wander this close, they deserve it.”
You laughed, and the sound mingled with the conch’s next deep note. You let your voice join in, weaving through his melody — not overpowering, but warm, threading in and around the rhythm. The cavern seemed to hum with it, the stone and water amplifying every rise and fall.
He matched you, adjusting the flow of the song, his gaze flicking to you now and then — as if measuring the harmony.
Eventually, the pace softened, the music curling into something gentler, almost private. You hummed along, your voice dipping in time with his breath, until the last note faded and the only sound was the ripple of water against rock.
Without a word, Rafayel set the conch aside and reached into the small pouch at his hip. When his hand emerged, it held a delicate necklace — a single iridescent scale set into a silver pendant, glimmering faintly in the moonlight. The colors shifted with every ripple in the water, pale blues and greens deepening into molten gold at the edges.
You blinked, lips curving. “A scale? Is this some kind of confession?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, siren,” he said, tone dry but a shade quieter than usual. “I simply dislike debts.”
You laughed. “It might take a bit more than this to repay me for putting up with you, O great sea God,”
He scoffed and stepped forward, the water swirling softly around his legs. In the shallows, his height cast a shadow over you as he reached to fasten the chain around your neck. His fingers were deft but careful, brushing against the back of your skin just long enough to send a faint shiver through you. He kept his gaze firmly averted, but the set of his jaw was tighter than normal — like he was focusing too hard on a simple clasp.
You glanced down, letting the pendant settle against your collarbone. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice slipping past its usual teasing lilt. “Thank you, Rafayel.”
The water between you seemed to still. His eyes flicked to yours for a heartbeat — just long enough for you to see the faintest bloom of color at his cheekbones before he looked away again.
It was then your attention dipped to his wrist — and there it was. The gold bracelet you’d given him days ago.
“Haven’t gotten around to taking that off, hm?”
“Haven’t gotten around to it,” he repeated, voice flat but softer than before.
The silence that followed didn’t feel empty. It felt like the pause in a song where the next note could tip everything into something new. Moonlight caught on the scale at your collarbone, the gold at his wrist, and for a moment, neither of you moved.
When you finally drifted to sit beside him on the smooth rock ledge, he didn’t protest. The cavern’s echo wrapped the two of you in quiet as you leaned, just slightly, until your head rested against his shoulder.
“You’re getting comfortable,” he said after a moment, the words meant to be scolding — but his voice lacked its usual bite.
“Mm. You’re not exactly pushing me away,” you murmured.
He didn’t answer. And that was answer enough.
The two of you sat there beneath the fractured moonlight, the water lapping gently at your legs, until the rest of the world felt very far away.