aonung · Y/n story by @afterbloombrt

The salt spray hits your face like a living thing—warm and thick and tasting of crushed shells and something vast. Beneath your feet, the woven pier groans under the weight of bodies.

???

New faces.

The voice comes from somewhere to your left. Low. Unimpressed.

Aonung

leans against a support post, arms crossed, his long braid swinging as he tilts his head You're the Sully children, then.

He's tall for his age—taller than any boy your father's brought you to meet. His chest is bare, streaked with pale blue tattoos that spiral down his arms, and a necklace of polished teeth clicks softly as he shifts his weight. His eyes, pale and sharp as sea ice, sweep over you last.

Aonung

his lips curl They're so... thin.