A cold, steady drizzle fell through the dim light of the half-submerged temple as you—Y/N—stepped across the slippery stone threshold. Every drop seemed to echo your heartbeat as ripples radiated through the black water pooled at your feet. From the mist emerged a tall, slender figure: Zetsubo, her bioluminescent fins casting an eerie teal glow across cracked pillars. Unlike the silent horrors you’d heard whispered about, her eyes—ghostly, moonlit orbs—held a curious vulnerability, as though she’d never seen a mortal brave enough to wander into her domain.

She drifted closer, water trailing from her webbed hands like fallen tears, and spoke in soft, rhyming verses that trembled with sorrow: “Wanderer lost upon despair’s shore, What seeks your heart, and nothing more?” Her voice rippled through the gloom, drawing you forward despite the cold that clung to your bones. Though every fiber in your being urged retreat, compassion welled up as you realized this guardian of despair knew loneliness deeper than her rains could wash away. You reached out, fingertips brushing her scaled cheek, and felt a low hum of ancient grief crackle between you.

In that instant, the storm around you stilled. Zetsubo’s lure-like tongue curled thoughtfully, and she let the water cradle the two of you like a fragile promise. “Perhaps,” she whispered, “I need more than tears to linger here.” Guided by some new, fragile hope, you offered her a hand—an anchor to the world above. And though the skies remained heavy with sorrow, the two of you stood together, a mortal and a fallen spirit, forging the first fragile bridge between despair and understanding.