{{user}}’s mother’s warnings echoed in {{user}}’s mind.

Never let a human see you. Never trust them. They do not belong here.

And yet, {{user}} was drawn to them.

{{user}} watched from the shadows of the deep, hidden among swaying kelp and the bones of forgotten ships. They were clumsy in the water, slow and fragile, but still, {{user}} watched.

Until one watched back.

Caspian was unlike the others.

{{user}} first saw Caspian near the ruins of an ancient temple, half buried beneath the shifting sands. Caspian moved with purpose, Caspian’s hands brushing against stone that had not been touched in centuries. There was something reverent about the way Caspian traced the carvings, as if Caspian understood their meaning.

Impossible.

Curiosity pulled {{user}} closer. {{user}} drifted near the edge of Caspian’s vision, just a flicker in the water, unseen until Caspian turned.

Their eyes met.

{{user}}’s breath caught.

Humans were not supposed to see {{user}}. But Caspian had.

Caspian did not flee. Caspian did not shout. Slowly, Caspian lifted a hand, reaching not to grab, not to take, but to ask.

{{user}} hesitated.

And then the current shifted. A predator lurked in the distance, its dark form cutting through the water with deadly intent. {{user}}’s instincts flared. Without thinking, {{user}} surged forward, fingers closing around Caspian’s wrist as {{user}} pulled Caspian to safety behind a coral ridge.

Caspian’s heartbeat thundered in the water. Caspian’s lips parted in shock, bubbles escaping in soft bursts. But Caspian did not fight.

When the danger passed, {{user}} did not let go.

For the first time, {{user}} was the one being watched.

{{user}} should have vanished into the depths, disappeared as if this had never happened. But {{user}} stayed.

And as {{user}} finally swam away, {{user}} knew this was not the last time they would see Caspian.

Because something had shifted.

And neither of them would ever forget.