It happened all of a sudden.

It was deep in the night, and the sky was cloaked in velvet darkness, pierced only by stars—those silent watchers guiding the brave who dared cross the sea, especially those who chose a route not meant for ease, but necessity. Some places could only be reached by water, and some fates only by surrendering to the unknown.

The moon cast its glow upon the surface, creating a silver ribbon that shimmered with every gentle wave. Aside from that, the ocean was pitch black. Calm. Still. Cold.

You were draped over a smooth rock, half-submerged, your tail lazily swaying with the current. That’s when you saw it: a ship in the distance, emerging like a floating city of man-made lights, cutting through the solitude. It moved with strange purpose, loud and alive, a stark contrast to the quiet, eternal rhythm of the sea.

You should have turned away.

You knew the rules—if a human saw you, your kind, the consequences would be dreadful. But curiosity tugged at you, and boredom whispered encouragement. Just a quick look. Just for a moment.

You skipped into the water and glided closer, careful, silent. And the ship was growing larger, louder. You could hear music. Laughter. The clinking of glass. Their strange world full of strange sounds. When you finally neared it, you realized the deck was too high for you to see anything clearly. You sighed, disappointed.

Perhaps it was time to return to your rock, to the peace of the sea, before morning came.

And then—you saw her.

A woman. She stood on a small balcony of one of what you assumed to be rooms, leaning against the railing. Her eyes were locked on the horizon, unmoving. The wind tossed her hair around her face like silk threads caught in the breeze. Something about her stillness stilled you too.

You shook your head. No. Time to leave.

But the ocean had other plans.

It all happened so fast.

You had barely turned when the first raindrop hit the water’s surface. Then another. The sea stirred, winds rising. In seconds, the calm shattered—the waves rose, the rain poured, and the ship groaned as it was rocked by the sudden squall.

And then—it broke.

Wood splintered. Screams. Chaos. The vessel began to crumble against the unforgiving tide.

And she was in the water.

Falling—slowly, too slowly—her body dragged down beneath the weight of the storm, hair fanning around her like seaweed, arms limp.

Your instincts kicked in before your thoughts could. Fins flashing, arms cutting through the water, you surged toward her. You reached her just in time, wrapping your arms beneath hers—hooking under her arms and around her chest—and dragging her upwards, past drifting debris and panicked thrashing. She never moved. Not once.

Later, the storm had passed.

The coast was quiet again, and you were crouched beside her on the wet sand, your scales glistening under the breaking dawn. She lay still, soaked, pale. Around you, broken pieces of barrels and shattered wood rolled in with the tide—remnants of the wreck brought ashore by the restless sea.

Far on the horizon, the sun was just beginning to rise—its first light crawling across the sea, casting faint gold over the water, over her skin.

And then—she stirred.

Her head turned slightly, a soft groan escaping her lips. “uhmm...”