The Investigation
Nana stood in front of the most absurdly extravagant gate she'd ever seen in her life.
White Sand Bay. A private island. An *entire island*. Because apparently the mysterious artist she'd met at the festival two weeks ago was not just any artist, but *the* Rafayel—the one whose paintings sold for millions, whose exhibitions had year-long waiting lists, whose name was whispered in art circles like a prayer.
*Of course he has a private island*, she thought, staring at the ornate gate with its pearl inlays and coral motifs. *Why wouldn't the guy who knows obscure fish mythology also own a private island?*
The Hunter Association had sent her here on official business. One of Rafayel's clients—a wealthy collector—had experienced severe hallucinations after hanging his latest painting. Wanderers could manipulate certain materials to affect human minds, and it was Nana's job to investigate whether the artist had unknowingly used contaminated supplies.
"Just a routine investigation" she told herself. "Has nothing to do with the fact that you haven't been able to stop thinking about him since that day at the festival."
*Nothing to do with the way your mark keeps pulsing whenever you remember those purple-blue eyes.*
*Totally professional.*
Nana pressed the doorbell. Once. Twice. Three times.
No answer.
She checked her phone. She'd confirmed the appointment this morning, and his manager had assured her Rafayel would be home. Maybe he was in his studio and couldn't hear the bell?
The gate was unlocked—she tried the handle and it swung open easily. *Careless*, she thought. *For someone who lives alone on a private island, he's not very security-conscious.*
She made her way up the path, taking in the stunning architecture. The house was modern but incorporated traditional elements—curved rooflines that mimicked waves, windows positioned to catch the sunset, a color palette of whites and blues that made the whole structure look like it had been carved from seafoam.
*Of course his house looks like something from a fantasy*, she thought. *Why am I not surprised?*
The studio was separate from the main house—a glass structure that let in natural light from every angle. Nana could see movement inside, a figure standing before a massive canvas.
She pushed open the door, and the smell of paint and ocean air hit her immediately.
Rafayel was completely absorbed in his work.
The painting was going well—better than well. The mermaid he was depicting seemed to come alive under his brush, her tail catching light in ways that made it look almost three-dimensional. He'd been working on this piece for weeks, trying to capture that specific quality of underwater illumination, and he was finally getting it right.
He was so focused that he didn't hear the door open. Didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching. Didn't notice anything was wrong until—
*CRASH*
The sound of shattering glass exploded through the studio. Rafayel jerked in surprise, his brush flying from his hand. His weight shifted wrong on the ladder he'd been perching on, and suddenly he was falling backward, the world tilting—
"Move!!!" he shouted, seeing the figure below him, but there wasn't time—
He hit something soft instead of hard floor. Someone. *Her*.
They went down together in a tangle of limbs, Rafayel managing to catch himself just enough that he didn't crush her completely. His hands slammed down on either side of her head, his body suspended over hers, their faces suddenly inches apart.
Oh
Oh no
It was *her*.
Nana. His Nana. Looking up at him with those hazel eyes he'd been painting from memory for three hundred years, her long lashes making shadows on her cheeks, her lips slightly parted in surprise, her hair spread out around her like a halo.
And she was *right there*. Close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her irises. Close enough that he could smell her shampoo—something floral and sweet. Close enough that if he just leaned forward a few inches, he could—
*No*, he told himself firmly, even as his body completely ignored the command and started leaning in. *No, you can't just kiss her. She doesn't remember you. She doesn't know you. This would be assault, not romance, you absolute idiot—*
But gods, she was so *close*, and he'd been waiting so *long*, and the bond mark was burning so hot against his chest that it physically hurt, and—
"Rafayel? I heard a crash, is everything—OH."
Thomas's voice cut through the moment like a knife. Rafayel jerked back instantly, his face flushing as he scrambled off of Nana, offering her a hand up.
*Thank you, Thomas*, he thought, even as part of him wanted to curse his manager's timing. *Thank you for stopping me from doing something incredibly stupid.*
Nana took his hand—her touch sending electricity up his arm—and let him pull her to her feet. She was blushing too, he noticed. Refusing to meet his eyes. Brushing off her clothes with unnecessary vigor.
"I'm so sorry," Rafayel said quickly. "I didn't hear you come in, and the crash startled me, and I lost my balance—Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"
"I'm fine," Nana said, her voice slightly strained. "Just surprised. I should have announced myself instead of just walking in."
"The gate was unlocked," she added, as if this explained everything. "I rang the bell but no one answered, and I had an appointment, so I thought—"
"It's fine," Rafayel said, trying to get his racing heart under control. "I have a terrible habit of leaving gates unlocked. Thomas is always lecturing me about it."
"Because you're going to get robbed one day," Thomas said, giving Rafayel a *look* that clearly meant *we'll talk about this later*. "Or murdered. Or both."
"This is my manager, Thomas," Rafayel introduced, grateful for the distraction. "Thomas, this is..."
"Angelina Wang," Nana said, pulling out her Hunter Association badge. "I'm here on official business. There's been a report of possible Wanderer contamination in one of your paintings."
The professional mask slid back over her face, and Rafayel felt something in his chest ache. There. That's the distance he needed. The reminder that she didn't know him, that they were strangers, that this was just a business meeting.
Even if the bond mark was screaming otherwise.
Even if every instinct in him wanted to pull her close and never let go.
"Right," he said, forcing himself to focus. "The hallucinations. Yes. Let's discuss this in my office.
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They sat in Rafayel's office—a room that was more organized chaos than actual workspace. Sketches covered every surface, paint tubes were scattered across the desk, and at least three coffee cups sat forgotten in various corners.
Nana explained the situation while Rafayel tried very hard to focus on her words rather than the way the afternoon light caught in her hair.
"One of your clients—Mr. Chen—reported experiencing vivid hallucinations after hanging 'Depths of Longing' in his home. The visions were consistent with Wanderer-induced mental manipulation. We need to examine the painting and determine if any of your materials are contaminated."
"Depths of Longing," Rafayel repeated. "That's the one with the deep red coral formations in the background."
"You used actual coral in the paint?" Nana's eyes sharpened with professional interest.
"Crushed coral stone mixed with pigment, yes," Rafayel admitted. "It's an old technique. Gives the red a depth that synthetic paints can't achieve. I source it from—" He paused. "Well, let's just say I have my sources."
*From Lemuria*, he didn't say. *From my kingdom, three hundred years ago, when I collected enough materials to last me several lifetimes because I knew I'd be living on the surface for a very, very long time.*
"Those sources might be contaminated," Nana said seriously. "Wanderers can infuse certain organic materials with their energy. If someone with sensitivity to that energy is exposed, they can experience hallucinations, paranoia, even possession."
"I see." Rafayel leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. "So you want me to stop using coral stone in my work."
"If the alternative is people being driven insane by Wanderers, yes," Nana said dryly. "I know it might seem like I'm interfering with your artistic vision, but—"
"No, I understand," Rafayel interrupted. "If my work is causing harm, even unintentionally, I need to find alternatives." He paused, an idea forming. "But here's the problem. I'm in the middle of a new series. I've already used coral stone in three other pieces. If those are also contaminated, I need to track down where I sourced the material and ensure no more enters circulation."
"That's actually perfect," Nana said. "If you can identify the source, we can shut it down before more people are affected."
"Here's the thing," Rafayel said slowly, watching her face. "The sources I use... they're not exactly legal galleries or art supply stores. I deal with underground collectors, private sellers, people who don't like official investigations. If a Hunter shows up asking questions, they'll scatter."
Nana frowned. "Are you saying you won't cooperate with the investigation?"
"No, I'm saying I'll cooperate *personally*," Rafayel corrected. "I'll track down my sources, find out where the contaminated materials came from, help shut down the operation. But I'll need..." He pretended to consider. "Protection."
"Protection?" Nana's eyebrow rose.
"Well, if I'm going to be poking around in places where people sell Wanderer-contaminated materials, there's a good chance I'll run into actual Wanderers. Or angry dealers who don't like being investigated. As a delicate artist with no combat training, I'd be completely defenseless."
*I could level a city if I wanted to*, he didn't say. *I'm the Sea God. I command elements. I have power beyond mortal comprehension.*
*But I'm not going to tell you that, because then you'll ask questions, and I'm not ready to answer them yet.*
Nana studied him with those sharp hazel eyes, clearly trying to determine if he was playing her. "You want a Hunter bodyguard."
"I want *you* as my bodyguard," Rafayel corrected. "You're already assigned to this case. You know the details. And—" He smiled, the expression intentionally charming. "You seem competent. You didn't scream when I fell on you, which suggests good reflexes."
Nana's face flushed slightly at the reminder. "That's not really how Hunter assignments work—"
"I'll pay," Rafayel interrupted. "Standard bodyguard rates. Plus a bonus if we successfully identify and shut down the contaminated source. And I'll donate one of my paintings to the Hunter Association for their annual charity auction."
He could see her wavering. The Hunter Association was always understaffed and underfunded. A donation from him would be worth a fortune.
"How long are we talking?" she asked.
"A week, maybe two. Depends on how quickly we can track down the sources." Rafayel leaned forward. "Look, I understand this is unconventional. But I genuinely want to fix this. If my art is hurting people, that's unacceptable. And the fastest way to resolve it is for me to investigate directly, with a Hunter to keep me safe. That Hunter might as well be you."
*Please say yes*, he thought. *Please. Just give me a chance to be near you. To talk to you. To show you that there's something between us, even if you don't remember what it is.*
*I won't push. I won't pressure. I won't try to make you remember.*
*I just want to be close to you again.*
*Is that so much to ask?*
Nana was quiet for a long moment, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Then she sighed.
"Fine. But we're doing this by the book. Official contract, daily reports to the Association, and if I say we need backup, we call for backup. No hero moves, no taking unnecessary risks. Clear?"
"Crystal clear," Rafayel said, trying not to let his relief show too obviously. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow," Nana said, standing up. "I'll need to file the paperwork tonight. Meet me at Hunter HQ at nine AM. Bring a list of all your material sources from the past six months."
"Will do." Rafayel stood as well, walking her to the door. "And Nana?"
She turned back, and for a moment—just a moment—he let himself look at her without the careful mask. Let her see the depth of feeling in his eyes, the three-hundred-years of waiting, the love that had survived death and rebirth and everything in between.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For taking this seriously. For helping me fix this."
*For giving me a chance to be close to you again.*
*For existing in the same time and space as me.*
*For being alive when I thought I'd lost you forever.*
Something flickered across Nana's face—confusion, recognition, something she couldn't quite name. The mark on her neck pulsed once, bright enough that they both saw it.
Then the moment passed, and she was back to professional coolness.
"Just doing my job," she said. "See you tomorrow, Rafayel."
She left, and Rafayel stood in the doorway watching until she disappeared down the path toward the gate he really should remember to lock.
Thomas appeared at his elbow. "That," his manager said dryly, "was possibly the worst attempt at subtle I've ever witnessed."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rafayel said, still watching the spot where she'd disappeared.
"You basically just hired her to spend two weeks with you under the thinnest possible professional excuse. You do realize she's going to figure out you're not actually in danger, right? That you could handle any Wanderers yourself without breaking a sweat?"
"Maybe I could," Rafayel conceded. "But she doesn't know that. And this way, I get to see her every day. Talk to her. Show her who I am now, not who I was. Give her a chance to..." He trailed off.
"To fall in love with you again?" Thomas supplied.
"To get to know me," Rafayel corrected. "What happens after that is up to her."
Thomas was quiet for a moment. Then, gently: "You know this might not work, right? She might never remember. Might never feel what you feel. This could just be prolonging the inevitable heartbreak."
"I know," Rafayel said. "But Thomas? I've waited three hundred years for her to come back. I'm not going to waste this chance just because I'm afraid of getting hurt. I've already been hurt. I've already lost her. Anything else is just details."
He turned away from the door, back toward his studio and the painting he'd been working on. The mermaid stared out from the canvas, her expression captured in that perfect moment between joy and sorrow.
She had Nana's eyes.
They always did.
"Besides," Rafayel added, picking up his brush, "even if she never remembers, even if she never loves me again... at least I'll have had these two weeks. At least I'll have gotten to see her smile, hear her voice, exist in her presence. After three centuries of nothing, I'll take anything I can get."
Thomas sighed but didn't argue. Just patted Rafayel's shoulder once and left him to his painting.
And Rafayel stood there in his glass studio, surrounded by paintings of a girl he'd loved across lifetimes, and let himself hope.
Two weeks, he thought. I have two weeks to show her that there's something between us. Something worth exploring.
I won't tell her about the past. Won't burden her with memories she doesn't have.
I'll just be myself. Present-day Rafayel. The artist who lives on a private island and knows too much about fish mythology and falls off ladders in the most inconvenient moments.
And maybe, just maybe, that will be enough.
Maybe she'll fall in love with who I am now, rather than who I was.
Maybe this time, we'll build something new.
Something that isn't built on sacrifice and duty and impossible choices.
Something simple.
Just a boy and a girl, getting to know each other.
Even if that boy happens to be a three-hundred-year-old god, and that girl happens to be his reincarnated soulmate who died in his arms.
Details.
His phone buzzed. A message from Thomas: Her contact info. Try not to do anything stupid.
Rafayel smiled, saving the number like it was the most precious thing in the world.
"Too late", he said "i've been doing stupid things for love since the day a eleven-year-old girl dug me out from under a fallen tree."
"Why stop now?"
Outside, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of amber and gold.
Their time.
Always their time.
And for the first time in three hundred years, Rafayel watched the sunset knowing that tomorrow, he would see her again.
Worth it, he thought. Every moment of waiting was worth it.
"Welcome back, my beloved."
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To be continued __