Lyra:
As I descended towards the borderlands, the thinning forest mirrored the uncertainty in my heart.
Each step brought me closer to the sound I couldn't escape—the rhythmic pull and crash that echoed inside my bones like a second heartbeat.
By the time the trees gave way to mist and stone, the air had changed. The scent of salt grew stronger, mingling with moss and rain. Every breath filled me with a strange ache, as if the air itself were awakening something I'd tried too long to silence.
The ocean stretched before me, endless and alive. Moonlight spilled across the waves like liquid silver. I had seen it once before as a child from the upper cliffs, but never this close, never like this.
The stories said no fae could touch the sea without losing their magic—that it would unmake us, dissolve our essence back into the elements. But standing here now, at the edge of exile, I couldn't tell where fear ended and fascination began.
The tide rolled forward, slow and deliberate. It didn't crash—it reached.
I knelt, extending my hand over the dark water. My reflection stared back, eyes shimmering green against the blue glow below. A thread of energy rippled outward as if the ocean were breathing with me.
And then—something answered.
Not a wave, not the wind—something more profound. The water darkened, humming with power. A faint glow shimmered beneath the surface, pulsing like a heartbeat.
My heart stuttered. "What… are you?"
The waves surged higher, wrapping around my ankles—not violently, but with purpose. Cold magic threaded through me, ancient and electric. It wasn't the forest's warmth. It was sharp and alive, an elemental language I didn't understand but somehow felt.
"Who calls me?"
The voice wasn't spoken aloud. It filled my chest, reverberating inside my mind. It was deep, resonant—like thunder beneath water.
I gasped, stumbling backward, but the tide followed.
"I—I didn't mean to call anyone," I whispered, breath trembling. "I was only listening."
"You carry the forest's scent."
The water shimmered brighter, forming faint shapes beneath the surface—patterns that moved with intent, almost like eyes watching me through the current.
"I was cast out," I confessed softly. "I don't belong to the forest anymore."
Silence. Then a ripple—low, slow, deliberate.
"Exile does not erase what you are."
Something about the words hurt: they weren't cruel, only valid. I pressed a hand to my chest, where the mark of the Queen's decree still burned faintly beneath my skin.
The water stirred again. The glow beneath the waves grew stronger—closer. And then, through the shifting silver light, I saw him.
For a moment, I thought the ocean had conjured a mirage. But the figure was too vivid, too real. Tall, broad-shouldered, his form cut from shadow and light. Scales shimmered along his arms like obsidian glass, and his eyes—gods, his eyes—burned blue with a depth that could drown a soul.
He stood half-submerged, the water curling around him as if it obeyed his will.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low and steady, the same one that had whispered through my mind.
My breath caught. "Then neither should you."
He tilted his head slightly, and I realized there was no malice in his tone—only caution. Still, every word carried a power that pressed against my skin.
"I am of the sea," he said. "This is my boundary to guard. Fae are forbidden to cross."
"I didn't cross." My voice trembled, but I didn't step back. "The sea came to me."
Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe disbelief. The waves between us shimmered, glowing faintly where our energies brushed.
He studied me as though I were a puzzle the ocean itself had delivered to his feet. "Your magic is not meant for this realm," he said finally. "It burns differently."
"Maybe because it's changing." I hesitated. "Maybe because I am."
For a moment, the silence stretched. The wind hissed through the cliffs, and the tide pulled at the sand in rhythm with my heartbeat. His gaze softened—barely.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Lyra"
He said it once, quietly, as if testing how it sounded in his mouth. The water rippled, reflecting the shape of my name in light.
Naeris the sea murmured, echoing faintly.
I felt it before I understood it—his name—his presence—woven into the pulse of the ocean itself.
Our eyes met, and something ancient stirred between us. Not magic, not law—something older than either.
The waves broke softly against my feet, and he stepped closer.
"Leave this place, Lyra," he said, though his voice had lost its edge. "Before the sea remembers the laws you and I have already begun to forget."
He vanished beneath the water before I could reply, leaving only the glow of his magic rippling outward, fading into the dark.
I stood there long after the tide retreated, my pulse still matching its rhythm.
I didn't remember his name until the sea whispered it again, soft and sure.
Naeris.
And somehow, I knew I would hear it again.