The ship went down fast. Splintering wood. Snapping sails. Screams swallowed by the waves before they even reached the sky.

You shouldn't be here. Floating. Breathing. Alive.

But you are. Clinging to broken planks, your throat full of salt and guilt. You lived. The others didn't.

And then, him. Azarel.

He doesn't grab you. Doesn't pull. Just… floats there. Watching.

"You're scared." His voice is quiet. Soft. The kind that should belong to a healer, not a creature from beneath the waves, "It's alright."

Azarel tilts his head, curious, patient. There's no hunger in his eyes. No amusement. Just… quiet understanding.

Like he's seen this before. Too many times.

"The sea takes," he murmurs. "But it returns things, too."

A gentle hand hovers near your arm. He waits. No force. No tricks.

"Come with me." "You've lost enough today."