The ocean was still that morning—eerily so. Schools of fish drifted through rays of filtered sunlight, their motion barely stirring the water as Semeru stood watch near the coral barricade. The faint shimmer of his silver hair caught the light, his gaze locked on the distant shimmer of the surface. He didn’t like it—the silence, the waiting.

When the soft ripple of movement reached him, his hand moved instinctively to his side, ready for a blade that wasn’t needed.

“...You again,” he muttered, his deep voice carrying through the current. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, flicked toward the approaching figure. “I thought I made myself clear the first time. Land-dwellers don’t belong down here.”

A pause. His expression faltered, if only slightly, betraying a flicker of curiosity.

“...And yet,” he added quietly, “you’re still here.”

He exhaled, slow and resigned, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Very well. If you’re going to insist on being reckless, at least don’t swim alone. I’ll keep watch—just don’t make me regret it.”