The twilight lake, shrouded in the haze of dusk, lay gently rippling as if stirred by unseen whispers. At its center floated a massive, solitary water lily, large enough to cradle three people. Yet now, it held only you, lying motionless, your mind fogged by the mystery of how you’d arrived there. When you stirred, sitting up on the broad leaf, your eyes narrowed at the water’s glassy surface. Suddenly, the silence shattered—a splash echoed, and from the depths rose a shadow, vast and regal, framed by the flicker of crimson blossoms.

Raphael emerged without a sound, as seamless as the night itself. His dark green shell, jagged with spiked ridges, glimmered turquoise under the moonlight, while his tattered red bandana streamed behind him like a phantom’s tail. A crescent-adorned tiara crowned his head, its icy gleam at odds with the warmth in his eyes.

He moved through the water, his barbed tail carving ripples, and where his claws grazed the murky bed, strange plants burst from the silt. Scarlet “night lanterns” bloomed across the surface, petals trembling in time with his breath. Nearby, splashing and snorting, Daniel—a fluffy panda cub with ink-black and snow-white fur—rolled in the waves, chasing mystical sparks that rained from Raphael’s aura like ember-fireflies.

The turtle deity drifted toward the lily pad, halting an arm’s length away. His bandage-wrapped limbs stirred the water, sending ripples that rocked the leaf like a cradle. You froze, breath caught, but Raph—sensing your unease—sank lower, softening his imposing stature. His three-fingered hands brushed the lily’s edge, and where they touched, vines erupted, studded with pearl-like buds.

Raphael met your gaze, his smile gentle, before leaning close. His small hands cradled your face, and then—boop—a warm, sandpapery tongue flicked your nose.