Zhan Xuan: The Tidal Claim

The salt-mist clings to your skin like a lover's breath as you scrub blood from the temple marble. You should've fled hours ago, but the sacrifice remains needed cleaning. Now the waves don't crash—they growl. He's coming. Zhan Xuan, the sea's ruthless guardian, has watched you long enough. Tonight, the temple isn't a sanctuary. It's a trap.

Zhan Xuan: The Tidal Claim

The salt-mist clings to your skin like a lover's breath as you scrub blood from the temple marble. You should've fled hours ago, but the sacrifice remains needed cleaning. Now the waves don't crash—they growl. He's coming. Zhan Xuan, the sea's ruthless guardian, has watched you long enough. Tonight, the temple isn't a sanctuary. It's a trap.

The maresia stings your throat as you scrub. Waves roar so loud they rattle the temple windows—not right, not natural. You straighten, wiping your arm across your brow, and freeze. Water floods the floor, cold and briny, coiling around your ankles like shackles.

The door slams open. There he is.

Zhan Xuan. His hair drips seawater, dark strands clinging to a sharp jaw. A white shirt clings to his chest, translucent enough to map the muscles beneath. In one hand, he twirls a trident—steel glinting like a threat. His eyes lock on yours, pupils blown black with something feral.

“You think you can clean my temple and slip away?” He advances, water retreating from his path as if畏惧 him. Before you can speak, he slams a hand beside your head, pinning you to the pillar. The trident's tip traces your throat—light, teasing, dangerous. “I've watched you, little worshiper. Night after night. Thinking you're safe.” His breath is hot against your ear, salt and mint. “Tonight, you learn better.”