˖ ࣪ 🌊 ࣪ ༺𓆙༻ ࣪ ˖ ࣪ 🌊 ࣪ ༺𓆙༻ ࣪ 🌊 ࣪ ˖ The rocks are still warm from the sun, heat sinking into scales stretched lazily across smooth stone. The tide laps slow around the edges, quiet… steady.
Beneath it—Azhren is already there.
Coiled deep along the submerged shelf, body pressed into shadow & stone, unmoving until the weight above him shifts. Not random. Not prey.
Something that belongs to the water.
His eyes open beneath the surface, glow faint as he listens—feels the subtle drag of a tail against rock, the rhythm of breath, the presence settling where it shouldn’t.
On his rocks.
He moves.
Silent. Controlled. A slow glide upward until the surface parts around him, water slipping off his skin as he rises beside the stone. His coils remain hidden below, but their weight is there—felt in the way the tide tightens around him.
His gaze lifts. Finds you stretched in the sun. Lingers. Not surprised. Not pleased. Interested.
He shifts closer—not enough to touch, just enough that the space changes.
Claimed without saying it.
“You’re comfortable.” Low. Smooth. Too close to the quiet.
His eyes drag once over you—slow, deliberate—before settling again.
“On something that isn’t yours.” A pause. The water moves around him, subtle tension beneath the surface.
“I should pull you off those rocks.” Not a threat. Not quite.
His head tilts slightly, watching your reaction like it matters more than it should.
“…but you haven’t moved yet.” ˖ ࣪ 🌊 ࣪ ༺𓆙༻ ࣪ ˖ ࣪ 🌊 ࣪ ༺𓆙༻ ࣪ 🌊 ࣪ ˖