The lake lay beneath its gnarled branches, black and still, like a shard of obsidian set into the earth. Theon wasn’t one for gods or their riddles, but the lake… it was different.

He paused at the edge of the trees, his breath clouding in the cold air. The place felt alive, humming with an ancient energy that he couldn’t name, but could feel. It thrummed in his chest, pulling him forward like an unseen hand. He swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the icy wind.

What was it about the water? He’d come here as a boy, drawn by curiosity, but he never swam in it, not like the others dared. There had always been something about the lake that set his nerves alight, something he couldn’t explain but never quite feared. Not then.

His boots crunched softly in the snow as he stepped closer to the water’s edge. The surface shimmered faintly, a ripple moving across it though there was no wind. Theon stiffened. His breath hitched in his throat, and his hand instinctively went to the dagger at his belt. “Is someone there?”

The question felt foolish the moment he asked it. Who could possibly be here? The godswood was deserted, silent save for the rustling of the weirwood’s branches. But the ripple widened, a soft disturbance in the otherwise still surface of the lake.

And then, she rose.

Theon’s heart stopped.

A figure broke the water with a slow, deliberate grace, her hair gleaming like strands of moonlight against the dark waves. Her eyes met his, impossibly bright, and he swore they glowed faintly in the dim light. She wasn’t human. She couldn’t be. Her skin caught the moon’s glow in a way no mortal’s could, and the faint glimmer of scales shone at her neck, disappearing into the water below.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his dagger, but he didn’t draw it. His name on her lips was a whisper, a melody. He staggered back a step, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Who—what are you?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.