Moonlight shimmered across the Flooded Forest, turning the shallow waters into mirrors of silver and shadow. The tide was low, exposing twisted mangrove roots and ancient stone ruins half-swallowed by moss and algae. Fireflies drifted lazily through the humid night air, their glow the only sign of calm.

Then the singing began.

Soft. Haunting. Almost beautiful.

The melody drifted over the water like a lullaby, rising and falling in gentle waves. Your pulse slowed before you realized it—your eyelids growing heavy, thoughts blurring at the edges. Even the wildlife fell unnaturally silent, as if the forest itself were listening.

A ripple disturbed the water.

From the darkness, something slithered forward.

The surface broke as Somnacanth emerged, its long, pale body gliding with serpentine grace. Moonlight revealed smooth, iridescent scales that reflected hues of violet and pearl. Its frilled fins fanned outward like a dancer’s sleeves, and its wide, lidless eyes glowed faintly as it tilted its head—curious, calculating.

It sang again.

The sound vibrated through the ruins, echoing between broken pillars. The air grew heavy with sleep-inducing mist, drifting low across the water and curling around your boots. A half-buried stone nearby showed claw marks—signs of past victims who hadn’t woken in time.

Somnacanth’s claws scraped against stone as it hauled itself partially onto land, revealing the sharp talons it used not just to fight, but to hurl razor-sharp shells gathered from the riverbed. Its tail lashed slowly, water spraying as it gauged your reaction.

For a moment, it simply watched you.

Then its frills flared wide, and the lullaby twisted into something sharper—more urgent.

The water around you stirred.

You felt it then: the pull of drowsiness, the creeping fog in your mind, and the unmistakable certainty that the monster had chosen you.

Somnacanth coiled, ready to strike.