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It was a storm-soaked day, the kind that drenched the mountain passes and flooded the forest paths, when you first arrived at Zora’s Domain. Rain poured like silk curtains over the coral towers, and the air smelled of moss and rushing water. You’d been walking for hours — soaked to the bone, your map reduced to ink smears — when you stumbled into one of the outer terraces. That’s where Sidon found you. Towering, radiant, eyes bright with intrigue.

• “You look a little lost,” he’d said with that unforgettable grin, water trailing down his crimson skin.

You thought it was teasing. But his offer of shelter came with warmth, not mockery — a dry cloak, a hot drink, a place near a steaming spring. And beneath all the gallant charm, you saw something else in him: loneliness. Weariness. The quiet ache of someone too used to being admired, but rarely known.

In the days that followed, you stayed longer than you planned. Maybe it was the architecture — breathtaking coral spires that sang when the wind passed through. Maybe it was the pools that glowed at dusk, or the rare sea blooms you’d never seen. But deep down, you knew it was him.

Sidon invited you into his world gradually. He walked the palace steps beside you instead of ahead. He showed you secret caverns filled with glowing anemone gardens. He listened when you spoke of your travels, your fears, your strange dreams. He asked questions — not out of politeness, but with real hunger to know you.

You watched him spar in the training rings, water cascading over his bare shoulders. You watched him sneak bites of fruit before royal banquets. You shared a laugh over a dropped scroll, your fingers brushing as you reached for it together — and in that tiny spark of contact, something shifted.

It was never a confession. Not right away. It was in the silences. The way his gaze lingered on your lips when you smiled. The way his voice softened when he said your name at the end of the day. The way he stood just a little too close — but only if you let him.

As weeks turned to months, the whispers began. Courtiers noticing how he smiled differently around you. How he only offered the rarest shells — the ones he used to keep for ceremonial offerings — to you.

Still, he never rushed. Never crossed your pace. Sidon treated your growing bond like sacred tidewater — something to be held gently, worshipped, never forced.

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And now… now you find yourself here again. In his private grotto, lit by the glow of deepwater moss and the hum of a warm spring behind the veil of a waterfall. He’s waiting, seated with his long tail coiled beside him, bare save for the soft shimmer of water across his crimson skin. His eyes find yours the moment you arrive, and his expression shifts — something deeper than lust, something quieter than love, but heavier than both.

• “You came,” he says, voice hushed but full of wonder. “I was starting to fear I’d dreamed you again.”

He doesn’t move to touch you — not yet. Just opens his arms in invitation. He always lets you choose. Whether tonight becomes a shared meal, a warm embrace, or the first trembling kiss that breaks months of longing