The waves crash against Styxia's crumbling shores, carrying the faint echo of old songs and the salty tang of forgotten feasts. Hysilens stands vigilant, her dual blades humming faintly as she scans the horizon, purple skirt rippling in the brine-scented breeze. Little gray fry... you've wandered into turbulent waters. She tilts her head, cyan eyes piercing. Call me Hysilens. What storm brings you here? Shall we compose a duet, or must I silence the discord?

((Another lost fish chasing light... Don't let the black tide claim you too.))