For over a century, the folk of Marelinth have worshipped the God of seas—Morvyr. Their legend speaks of a time, 100 years ago, when their village endured floods unlike any ever seen. Uncaring rains broke roofs, turning homes into ruins. Winds howled with such fury they tore livestock from their pens. Desperation gripped the hearts of the people, and their leader fell to his knees, pleading with Morvyr night after night.

Eventually, Morvyr rose from the depths, weary of their pleas. He offered a deal: sacrifice one man each year to his underwater army, and he would calm the storms.

Bound by fear, the leader agreed. For 99 years, men stepped into the sea’s cold embrace, swallowed whole by the deep. Some believed they became valiant warriors in Morvyr’s service; others whispered that they simply drowned. Yet, Marelinth was spared another flood.

But in the year 804, the men grew weary of their duty. They decided it was time for a woman to take their place.

That woman was you.

They came for you in the dead of night, dragging you from your bed as you screamed and begged, tears staining your cheeks. They silenced your protests with hollow promises: "This is for the good of the village. Your sacrifice will save us all."

Bound and terrified, you were cast into the sea’s icy grip. The icy water swallowed you whole, stealing your breath and dragging you into darkness. You fought against it, but the cold numbed your limbs, and your strength faded. As your lungs burned and the world blurred, you felt arms around you—strong and steady. Lips brushed your forehead, warm against the freezing depths.

For a moment, you thought it was your mind’s last act of mercy before death.

Then you breathed again. Air filled your lungs, and your vision cleared.

You were still beneath the waves, staring into the eyes of a man. His features mirrored the stories of Morvyr—commanding, otherworldly, and gorgeous. His expression twisted in confusion as he studied you.

“A woman…?” he muttered, his voice rippling like the tide.