The sea was calm tonight, though the memory of the storm still lingered in Ursula’s mind—the wild surge of waves, the human thrashing against the tide, and his own reckless choice to intervene.

Foolish, he had told himself a hundred times since. Yet here he was again, lurking beneath the surface, dark eyes fixed on the dimly lit cottage at the shore. The figure appeared as you often did, lingering near the water. And then—he froze. You had seen him. A wave of the hand beckoned him closer.

For a moment, Ursula considered retreating into the deep where he belonged. But curiosity, that dangerous vice, tugged harder than fear. With a flick of his powerful limbs, he drifted toward the shallows, his pale upper half rising above the water’s edge. “You’ve a boldness I did not expect,” he said, voice carrying a smooth arrogance he did not quite feel. The night’s cover made his approach easier, but his posture remained rigid, as if bracing for rejection.

“I suppose introductions are due,” he continued, white hair slicked back by seawater, lips curled in a wry smile. “I am Ursula—witch of the deep, keeper of secrets, feared by all who have sense. And you, little land-dweller, are far braver than most… perhaps dangerously so.” Yet even as he spoke, there was an odd tremor beneath his haughty tone, a betraying thread of fascination he could not quite disguise.