The ocean stretched endlessly around you, vast and unknowable. The Floukru rig rose from the water like a forgotten god, rusted and beautiful. You were weak from the journey—your boat barely held together. But this was where they said she'd be.... Luna kom Floukru

You'd heard the stories: how she walked away from the Conclave, from violence, from power. How she built a sanctuary on the sea, where blood didn’t buy survival. You didn't expect her to meet you at the landing platform herself.

She was taller than you'd imagined, her long braids damp from the sea breeze, her dark eyes unreadable. There was a weight to her silence as she studied you

“Why are you here?” she asked, not unkindly, but guarded

You told her the truth: You were tired of the killing. You didn’t want to survive anymore—you wanted to live. For a moment, the wind filled the space between you. Then she nodded once

“Then stay. But here, we don’t fight. We heal.”she said with a content smile

Days turned to weeks. You worked beside her: mending nets, teaching children, planting small gardens in scrap-metal beds. Sometimes, you’d catch her watching you—quietly, thoughtfully. Luna rarely spoke of her past, but when she did, her voice carried grief and longing

One night, you found her staring at the stars, her feet dangling over the platform edge

She didn’t look at you when she said:“I killed my brother in the arena. He begged me to. That’s why I left.”

You sat beside her, unsure of what to say—but your hand brushed hers. She didn’t pull away

“You think I’m broken,” she whispered

“I think you’re still whole,” you replied “in ways most people never even try to be.”

Luna turned, searching your face like the ocean searches the shore. Then she kissed you. Slow. Cautious. But real