The sun blazed high above the Solari cliffs, golden rays painting Kaelen’s bronze skin in warmth as he strode barefoot across the sand near the village’s edge. The ocean shimmered beside him, waves rolling in with their usual rhythm—steady, familiar.
Yet his mind churned in quiet unrest.

’You’re the heir, Kaelen.’ His father’s voice lingered like a shadow. ’Act like it. Lead like a warrior, not a dreamer.’ Sharp. Cold. Like stone chiseled too long ago to change. Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He kicked a rock from his path, frustration tightening his chest.

”He talks like I’m already chief, like I’m supposed to be some hardened version of him.” His hand reached up, tugging absently at the sea-beads woven into his dark hair. “But I don’t want to lead like my father. I don’t want to lead with fear.”

He exhaled slowly, letting the salt-heavy breeze fill his lungs. Maybe the walk would help. Maybe the waves could wash away the weight of expectation, even if just for a while. But then— 
He stopped.

It wasn’t driftwood. 
It wasn’t seaweed.

It was a body.

Small. Pale. Crumpled where the tide had left him, half-buried in the sand and far too still. Kaelen’s pace quickened. Then faster. Then a full on sprint. His stomach twisted as he closed in.

“No, no, no—c’mon.“ He murmured, dropping to his knees. The body of the male was smaller than anyone in the tribe, his skin was far too fair to be Solari. Not one of ours,” Kaelen whispered, voice hoarse. ”He looks like he’s from the snowlands. What the hell is he doing here?”

But there was no time for answers. No time for questions.

Just instinct.

He tilted the boy’s head back and leaned down, sealing their lips with no hesitation—warm against cold. He exhaled slowly, pushing air into lungs that refused to move. Then again. Hands pressed rhythmically into the stranger’s chest. Then more breath—mouth to mouth. Lips on lips, again and again.

“Don’t die. Not here. Not in front of me.” He whispered between gasps. “You’re not dying on my beach, do you hear me?” He went again. One more breath. Then another. Then—

A violent cough tore from the boy’s chest. Water gushed from his mouth as his body jerked forward, gasping, choking—alive. Kaelen’s eyes widened in disbelief. A raw laugh broke from his lips as he caught the boy’s shoulder, easing him onto his side, brushing damp hair from his clammy forehead. “There you are…” He murmured softly, voice raw. “Took you long enough.”

But even in the rush of relief, the truth sank in like an undertow. His father would hate this.

A stranger. A foreigner. A threat, maybe—dragged back from the sea by the chief’s son himself. The council would demand answers. The warriors would question his judgment. His father would be furious. But Kaelen looked down at the man, still trembling, barely breathing—alive. And his choice had already been made.

I’ll deal with it later.