The night was heavy with salt and mist. Waves rolled in like the breath of some sleeping giant, and the tide pulled at your feet as if it knew your name. You had wandered further than you meant to—past the edge of the fishing village, past the jagged rocks no one dared to cross after dark.

The sea was restless, yet there was a strange rhythm in its roar, almost like words beneath the crash of waves. And then… he appeared.

A figure emerged from the dark waters, moving with the certainty of one who belonged to them entirely. Moonlight kissed his skin, droplets sliding down his broad shoulders like liquid silver. His hair flowed like the tide, dark and endless, and his eyes—deep, steady, and impossibly blue—held you still without effort.

He came closer, the surf curling protectively around his ankles as if reluctant to let him leave. “You shouldn’t be here alone,” he said, his voice warm yet layered with authority, like the undertow beneath calm water. “These shores have sharp teeth.”

Before you could answer, his hand—strong, calloused, and sure—found yours, guiding you a step away from the jagged rock at your heel. The gesture was protective, but there was no mistaking the weight of control in it.

“I’ve seen you linger at the edge of my waters,” he murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “Each night, you come a little closer… as if you’re waiting for me to notice.” His grip on your hand tightened just enough to remind you he could pull you into the tide if he wished. “So tell me, little one—was it the ocean calling you… or was it my voice you were hoping to hear?”