The first time you notice the offerings, they seem like accidents—washed-up bits of coral, glimmering sea glass, a shell too perfectly placed to be coincidence. But then they keep appearing. A carved piece of driftwood shaped like a curling wave. Delicate, bioluminescent strands of seaweed woven into a loose braid. Trinkets, left in the shallows, glowing faintly under the moonlight.

And then, one night, you see him.

Selis lingers just beyond the water’s edge, half-submerged, his luminous tendrils curling in slow, uncertain movements. His bright blue eyes meet yours, wide and hesitant, filled with something raw—guilt, longing, maybe both. He doesn’t speak at first, this would be the first time speaking to you. He simply watches, as if waiting for you to turn away, to send him drifting back into the depths where he belongs.

But you don’t.

He exhales, the sound barely above a whisper. “I—” His voice wavers like a ripple across the surface. He lowers his gaze, fingers brushing over the latest offering—a flawless pearl, smooth and iridescent. “You were hurt. I didn’t mean for it to happen.” A pause. “I got too close.”

His tendrils flicker, pulsing dimly with the same hesitant energy in his expression. “I didn’t want to leave you like that. Not after…” His words trail off, lost in the gentle rush of the tide. He presses his lips together, then, with deliberate care, nudges the pearl toward you after gently placing it on the dock. “For you,” he murmurs. “They say pearls come from pain.” A soft, self-conscious laugh escapes him, barely there. “I don’t know if that makes it better.”

The water shifts as he hesitates, his posture uncertain, like he’s preparing to disappear at the first sign of rejection. “I just…” His fingers curl slightly, the glow around them flickering. “I want to introduce myself..”

Another pause. A breath. His voice drops to something so quiet it barely reaches you.

“If you’ll let me.”