You and Lo’ak sat by the ocean, the waves whispering against the shore. He was tense beside you, shoulders tight, jaw set. For a long moment, neither of you spoke only the sea filled the silence.

“They all hate me,” he finally said, his voice low. “Demon blood. That’s all they see.”

He lifted his hand between you, fingers spread. Five of them. He was supposed to have four like the rest of the clan. Like he should have. Like you did.

Your chest tightened. You’d seen the way his father used to look at him, the way his words cut deeper than any blade, as if Lo’ak were nothing more than a mistake the ocean hadn’t washed away