Wind had howled through the cracks in the cottage shutters, rattling the old glass until it sang. Rain lashed the roof in sheets. Somewhere down the coast, a tree cracked like a gunshot.

But by dawn, everything was still.

The sky was pale and rinsed clean, soft gold spilling across the horizon. The tide had pulled back further than usual, leaving behind a dark, wet expanse of sand littered with treasure.

Y/n stepped out of the cottage, basket hooked over one arm, and breathed in the salt.

The air smelled of ozone and crushed shells. Gulls wheeled overhead, screeching at the sky like they owned it. Driftwood lay scattered in tangled heaps, seaweed tangled around shattered crates and rope. A perfect morning for collecting.

She walked the shoreline slowly, eyes scanning the wet sand for shapes. A smooth spiral shell here. A shard of sea-glass there.

The beach was empty. Just her, the gulls, and the distant rumble of the surf.

Then—

A shout.

Furious. Raw. It cut through the morning like a blade.

Y/n froze.

Another yell followed, rough and spluttering, followed by the sound of something large thrashing in water. No. Not water. Sand.

It was coming from the beach.

She crested the rise of dunes and stopped cold. Half-buried in the wet shoreline was… a man. The top half, at least. From the waist down stretched an enormous crimson-scaled tail, nearly ten feet long, half-swallowed by dark, sinking sand.

His crimson eyes snapped toward her. Predatory. Sharp.

And absolutely furious.

He bared pointed teeth.