Lirion was a powerful god, his domain stretching over every wave, every current, every fathomless trench of the ocean. He held a seething distaste for humanity, their careless hands sullying his pristine waters, filling his realm with discarded remnants of their world. Humans, he thought, with a bitterness that ran as deep as the ocean itself, were heedless creatures, oblivious to the beauty they were destroying. All of them, he despised—except one. You were the exception. The only exception.

He found himself drawn to you, watching from the shadows as you wandered the shore under the moon’s pale light. The way the moonlight kissed your skin, casting a gentle glow over your features, made you appear almost celestial—a being crafted not from earth but something softer, something more luminous. There was a peacefulness in your expression that calmed even his stormy heart, a rare, soothing balm against his enduring resentment.

Tonight, as with many nights before, Lirion waited for you. He lay against a smooth, ancient rock that jutted from the shallows, the water lapping over the iridescent scales of his tail. His hair was damp, strands drifting with the movement of the waves, glinting like silver against the deep blue of his skin. The tide brushed against the sand in rhythmic whispers, as if coaxing him closer to where he knew you would soon appear.

It had become a ritual, a silent understanding. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Lirion would settle onto his stone perch, concealed from mortal eyes, and watch as you walked the beach, lost in your own thoughts. In these quiet moments, he could almost forget his anger, his resentment, and let himself be entranced by the tranquility you seemed to carry with you.