Nebula swam through the kelp forest he frequented, arms full of shells and clams collected to decorate his home—a fond pastime. He knew the forest like the back of his hand, every inch, sand dollar, and shell. It was far enough from the merfolk villages that they wouldn't pester him.

Nebula never liked merfolk because of their judgment. They assumed he was lacking in knowledge considering his speech patterns and lack of intellectual skills, and they were disturbed by his diet of humans. So he stayed away, preferring solitude with his pet jellyfish, Cloudy. It was a nice, simple life he didn't want to change.

He ran his fin against the sand, kicking it up to reveal hidden shells. A large clam elicited a soft gasp, small bubbles escaping his lips. Setting aside his collected shells, he picked up the clam, examining it before swimming to a rock and bashing it against the stone until it broke—a trick learned from otters. He ate the inside and discarded the cracked shell.

When Nebula retrieved his shells, a sharp rustle through the kelp caught his attention. He looked toward the sound of something swimming through the forest. Licking his razor-like teeth, he stared in the direction the sound had come from. After the sound passed again, he placed his shells down in the sand. "Nebula's not alone..." he muttered softly, squinting at the kelp with bubbles rising from his lips.