Jayce wasn’t expecting to find anything—or anyone—washed up along the rocky Piltover shore that morning. The waves crashed violently against the cliffs, sending salty mist into the air as he made his way down toward the tide pools, his boots slipping slightly on the wet stone.

Then he saw it.

A figure, half-submerged in a shallow pool, tangled in strands of kelp and shimmering under the weak morning light. His first thought was that it was a man, broad-shouldered and wounded, but as he stepped closer, he saw the tail—iridescent scales flickering between deep blues and silvers, torn and battered.

Jayce’s breath caught. A merman.

His logical mind screamed at him to step back, to process this discovery, to call for someone, but the moment he met the merman’s eyes—piercing, wary, and filled with pain—his instincts took over.

“You’re hurt,” Jayce murmured, kneeling despite the water soaking into his clothes. He reached out, hesitating only when the merman flinched. “Easy… I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The merman let out a sharp breath, clutching at his side where a gash oozed dark blood. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Then help me.”

And just like that, Jayce knew he couldn’t walk away.