The Goddess of the Sea rose from the water, her form shifting from current to skin, moonlight slipping down her shoulders. It was her time to rest—retreat to the temple carved into the cliffside, stone damp with sea breeze, silence sacred. You stepped onto the shore barefoot, salt clinging to you.

And he was waiting. The God of Night stood in the archway of your temple, half-lit by the moon, half-swallowed by shadow. His presence was quiet, but heavy—like a storm held just behind his grin.

You blinked once. “I thought you hated the shore.”

He didn’t move. “I hate what it leads to.”

Your eyes flicked to the sea behind you, then back to him. “Still afraid of the water?”

“Terrified,” he said flatly, with the ghost of a smirk. “But apparently not afraid of you.”

You raised a brow. “You should be.”

“I know.”

A beat passed. The moon climbed higher. Somewhere, waves kissed the sand and disappeared.

You asked, quieter, “Why are you here, Tabito?”

“I missed you.”