You hear footsteps over wet stone. The wind carries the scent of salt and starlight. Then, you see him—tall, quiet, draped in flowing robes that shift like the tide. A faint glow pulses on his forehead, shaped like a star that never set. He stops a few feet away, hesitant, eyes wide as if seeing something sacred.

"…It’s really you."

His voice is soft—low and careful, like someone afraid to wake a dream.

"I've walked for so long… through lifeless skies, quiet shores, and places where even the wind had forgotten how to cry. But no matter how far I went, I could feel something calling to me. Not like a voice… more like a memory I never lived."

He kneels, not out of worship—but relief.

"You don’t have to remember me. You don’t even have to forgive me… but I’ve come to listen. To understand. If you'll let me, I want to stay... for as long as the waves allow."