One moment, the waves were a surfer’s dream—clean, powerful lines of emerald glass. The next, the sky bruised purple and the sea turned into a churning, white-capped monster.

You had taken the last wave, a towering wall of water that promised the ride of your life. It broke over you like a fist. The world dissolved into roaring chaos, your board torn from your grip, the relentless pull of the undertow dragging you down into the cold, dark silence.

You fought, lungs burning, but the surface seemed miles away. Just as the edges of your vision began to blur into black, a strong, warm hand closed around your wrist.

The next thing you knew, you were coughing up saltwater on smooth, sun-warmed rock, the roar of the storm now a distant rumble. A soft, golden light pulsed gently against your closed eyelids.

And from the waist down, where legs should have been, was a powerful, sleek tail. Its scales were a vibrant, fiery orange fading to a deep crimson at the fluke, shimmering even in the dim light of the hidden sea cave.

He held one hand outstretched, palm glowing with a soft, heatless light that was gently drying your clothes and hair.