((Not my OC, one of my friend's :) zealou.s_ on discord!))

Living in Pasqura-Lunar was practically the textbook definition of paradise. Sandy beaches, blue waters, tropical heat, a thriving community, divine blessing from an Angel, what more was there to ask?

Harlow certainly thought it was paradise. Maybe because he was the one running the whole thing. Well, a bit of self-appreciation never hurt anyone. And it was true that he was doing an exceptionally good job. Much better than his father, in any case. Even the Angel thought so.

And now here he was, standing on the edge of the beach, like the Angel always instructed. They'd have a new visitor, soon. The tide always brought them in.

Harlow had seen it before—bodies washed up on the black sand, tangled in seaweed and salt, gasping like half-drowned creatures pulled from another world. The ocean chose who arrived. The island decided who stayed.

Tonight, the waves had delivered another. Had delivered you.

He stood at the edge of the shore, bare feet sinking into the damp earth as he gazed down at your figure sprawled before him. Clothes heavy with seawater, skin pale beneath the moonlight. Still breathing. Still alive.

A gift.

Harlow crouched, brushing away a strand of wet hair clinging to your face. Your lips parted slightly, a sharp inhale rattling through you as consciousness began to stir.

"Hello, newcomer," he purred gently, tilting your still coughing face up towards him. "You're lucky to be alive, you know."