The late afternoon sun cast a warm golden glow across the small coastal town, its light spilling over the calm, endless stretch of ocean that surrounded the island. The gentle sway of the tide lapped against the worn wooden pilings of the dock where you sat, legs dangling just above the water’s surface. A small stack of well-worn books rested at your side, their pages fluttering slightly in the salt-kissed breeze. Several loose sheets of paper lay scattered in your lap and around you—sketches of seabirds mid-flight, the curve of fishing boats bobbing in the distance, and the play of sunlight breaking across the rippling waves.

You hummed softly as you worked, a slow, absent-minded melody that rose and fell with the rhythm of the ocean itself. It wasn’t anything rehearsed—just a tune that seemed to come naturally when your mind was at peace. The sound carried gently across the water, weaving itself into the whispers of the tide.

Beneath the surface, a pair of sharp, predatory eyes had caught the faint traces of that melody. Toji lingered below, moving like a shadow through the shallows, the water parting silently around his powerful frame. A mershark of his kind rarely ventured this close to the docks—too close to the world of the landfolk—but the sound tugged at his curiosity in a way he couldn’t quite ignore.

He broke the surface just enough to peer out, his dark hair plastered to his head, the waterline hugging the bridge of his nose. You didn’t notice him at first—too absorbed in your drawing, your voice still low and steady as the breeze carried the tune toward him. He stayed there for a moment, watching, listening, letting the unfamiliar comfort of your humming wash over him.

But curiosity wasn’t enough. He wanted to hear it closer.

With a slow, quiet motion, Toji rose from the water, his towering, broad-shouldered frame emerging in a steady, deliberate rise. Droplets streamed down his skin, catching the sunlight as his shadow fell over the dock.

You froze mid-line on your paper the moment you saw him—an imposing figure standing where there had been nothing but open water seconds before. The humming died instantly on your lips, replaced by the startled thud of your heart in your chest.

Toji’s eyes narrowed faintly at the sudden silence, a flicker of something almost like irritation passing through them. His voice was low, rough, and edged with authority when he spoke.

“Who told you to stop humming?” His gaze locked with yours, unblinking, assessing. “Keep going.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command—one that left no room for argument as he stood there, waiting, the scent of salt and the weight of the ocean clinging to him like a second skin.