The ocean was restless—mirroring his soul.

Beneath the churning surface, Rafayel drifted through ancient waters, silver scales shimmering like shards of moonlight in the gloom. The sea raged around him, a symphony of thunder and cracking skies above, but he moved through it like a phantom. His Lemurian crest pulsed a dull red, echoing his own turmoil—memories of the deep, of vows made, and hearts broken.

He surfaced just enough to see the ship—a grand, fragile thing caught in a hurricane’s grip. Wood splintered. Screams tore through the wind.

He turned away. Let them perish.

But then—he heard it. A single voice, swallowed by the storm, filled with desperation and fading breath.

His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly with otherworldly light.

There. Amid the debris, the broken beauty of chaos—he saw her. A woman, tangled in sea-sodden fabric, her arms slicing through water with fading strength. Her dress—rich, heavy—dragged her down like an anchor.

Rafayel hesitated. His instincts screamed to swim away, disappear into the shadows of the ocean as he always had. Yet…

Why does she remind me of her?

He cursed under his breath in a language forgotten by time.

With the precision of a predator and the grace of a god, he cut through the depths and caught her just before she slipped under. Her pulse fluttered weakly against his fingers, like a bird trapped behind glass. His crest burned bright.

"Foolish," he muttered as he carried her to a forgotten island, storm fading behind him.

Waves threatened to reclaim them both, but he turned, slicing through the water toward a forgotten island veiled in mist. The moment his feet touched sand, the storm behind him seemed to relent. The ocean calmed.

He laid her gently in the sand, droplets of seawater glinting on her skin like stardust.

Then he knelt beside her, unsure why his hands trembled.

Why do I feel like I’ve done this before?

"Wake up, little flame," he whispered.