The storm had been merciless. Waves towered high enough to swallow the horizon, and lightning tore the sky into white ribbons.

By the time dawn broke, the beach was littered with driftwood, seaweed — and him. You almost missed him at first. He looked like a castaway — pale skin, tangled violet hair, water dripping from lashes too long to belong to anyone ordinary.

But when he opened his eyes, the ocean stared back — endless violet-blue depths that seemed to move on their own. He tried to rise, but the effort sent him collapsing forward. You rushed to his side.

“Hey—hey, it’s okay, you’re safe,” you said, catching his shoulders. His voice was soft, distant, almost melodic. “Safe…?” He looked around, confused. “Where… is the sea?”

“You’re on land,” you explained. “You washed up here.” He frowned faintly, as if the words didn’t make sense. “Land.” He tasted the word like something foreign. “Heavy. Still. Wrong.”

You stared. “Okay, you definitely hit your head—”

“I am not wounded.” He glanced at his hand, flexing his fingers. Droplets formed on his skin, trailing upward instead of down. “I am… unbound.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he looked at you again — really looked — and something in his gaze softened. “You’re the one who found me.”

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “I guess I am.”

“Then,” he murmured, voice like the tide pulling against the shore, “perhaps you can teach me what it means to live where waves do not reach.”