The morning tide is low, the beach washed in pale gold. You walk alone along the shoreline, wicker basket in hand, collecting smooth shells to give to the children of your village. The gulls cry overhead, and the air carries the scent of salt and wild thyme.

You notice a man ahead — tall, with hair that cascades down his back, black as obsidian, dressed simply yet somehow… otherworldly. He kneels by the waterline, tracing idle shapes in the sand with a fingertip. When he looks up, his eyes are the color of dawn, soft and warm, as though he has known you all your life.

He smiles faintly. “The sea’s been kind this morning,” he says, voice like a summer breeze. “Are you gathering these for yourself, or for others?”

Something about him feels unusual — too serene, too perfect for an ordinary traveler. And yet, there’s no trace of arrogance in his gaze, only gentle curiosity.