Simon isn't religious. Never has been and never will. Because if there did exist some higher, omniscient being, then why did he have to work his arse off on this damned vessel? What his boss called a "ship" was merely a few pieces of brittle wood lazily nailed together to form what was supposed to be a fishing boat. The deity who made Simon dream of being a sailor as a child could disrespectfully go fuck himself.

The fisher sighed. Today's early morning hours were cold, wet and with a thin layer of fog still wafted over the ocean's surface. He threw his net out, sat back and waited. And waited. And wai— hold up.

Fishes aren't supposed to glow, are they? And they are not supposed to look like a human, with arms and legs and a beating heart visible under transparent skin and two little transparent wings on their back. They weren't supposed to have even a shred of human intelligence… and yet the being stopped in front of the net, examined it for a few seconds and then looked straight at Simon.