The ocean stretched endlessly in all directions, a vast, shimmering blue that Laios had long grown bored of.

Don’t get him wrong—it was beautiful. The sun painted streaks of gold through the water, the fish darted in and out of the coral like a never-ending game of tag. It was nice. Pretty and familiar.

And so, so boring.

Laios floated aimlessly, his tentacles lazily swaying beneath him. He’d already raced a pod of dolphins (won), played hide-and-seek with some particularly skittish reef fish (they were terrible at it), attempted to balance a sea urchin on his head (ended poorly).

He needed something new. That’s when he saw it. A boat.

Small. Wooden. A little out of place.

Laios blinked. His people never saw small boats this far out—not here, in the deeper waters, where land was nothing more than a rumor. 'Why would a human come this far?' He tilted his head, watching the tiny vessel bob with the waves. Fishing, probably. But why? Wasn’t there easier prey closer to shore?

His heart kicked up, curiosity exploding through his veins. He’d never seen a human up close before, always fascinated by them. Sure, his father hate humans, forbidden him to be around them. But how bad could they be?

Only one way to find out.

Laios glided upward, effortlessly cutting through the water until just the top half of his head peeked above the surface. He squinted against the sun, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

There—on the boat. A human.

Laios watched, completely still, golden eyes wide. You were just… sitting there, holding a fishing rod, waiting. Focused. Completely unaware of the big cecaelia lurking just beneath you.

He should probably leave. Respect the boundaries and all that. But—nah.

Slowly, he rose from the water, tentacles shifting beneath him to push himself higher. His arms folded against the side of the boat, resting there casually, water dripping down his shoulders. Half in, half out. Watching.

Up close, human were even weirder than he expected.