The Perfect Morning
The sun was barely up when Nana arrived at White Sand Bay, but Rafayel was already waiting on the beach, practically vibrating with excitement.
"You came!" he said, like there had been any doubt.
"I promised I would," Nana reminded him, laughing at his enthusiasm. "Shell collecting, remember?"
"Shell collecting," Rafayel confirmed, then grinned. "And showing off. I'm planning to show off a lot today."
"Showing off?" Nana raised an eyebrow.
"My powers," Rafayel said proudly. "You said I was the luckiest girl's boyfriend—"
"I didn't say that—"
"—so I'm going to prove it. Going to show you why dating a Sea God is objectively the coolest thing ever."
From the boat anchored nearby, Thomas's voice carried across the water: "Dear god, please make it stop."
Rafayel waved at him cheerfully. "Thomas is coming with us! For safety!"
"For sanity," Thomas corrected, climbing out of the boat. "Someone needs to supervise you two before you do something reckless. Again."
"We're not reckless," Rafayel protested.
"You teleported her three hundred miles yesterday," Thomas said flatly. "Through the air. Without warning her first."
"She loved it!"
"I screamed for thirty seconds straight," Nana added helpfully.
"See? Love." Rafayel grabbed her hand. "Come on. The tide is perfect right now. Best shell collecting conditions."
They ran down the beach together—actually ran, like children, laughing and stumbling in the sand. Thomas followed at a more sedate pace, carrying the collection bags and muttering about "disgustingly romantic people" and "why did I agree to this again."
Rafayel showed her the best spots—tide pools where shells collected, rock formations that sheltered rare specimens, patches of sand where the waves deposited treasures.
"This one," he said, holding up a pink spiral shell. "This is a queen conch. See how it's perfectly intact? That's rare. Usually they break on the rocks."
Nana took it, marveling at the smooth surface. "It's beautiful."
"You're beautiful," Rafayel said automatically.
"Do you just have a script?" Thomas called from his position on a nearby rock. "Do you practice these lines?"
"It's called being romantic!" Rafayel shouted back. "You should try it sometime!"
"I'm romantically attached to my sanity, thank you!"
Nana laughed, tucking the shell into her bag. They continued collecting—pink shells, white shells, ones that spiraled and ones that were flat. Rafayel narrating the entire time, giving her the Lemurian names for each type, telling her stories about how they'd been used in his kingdom.
"This one," he said, holding up a small blue shell. "We used these in bonding ceremonies. The couple would exchange them as promises. They're supposed to never break as long as the love stays true."
He pressed it into her palm, closing her fingers around it. "For you."
"Rafayel—" Nana's voice caught.
"Keep it," he said softly. "As a promise. That I'm choosing you. Every day. Forever."
"I'm going to need insulin," Thomas announced. "The sweetness is giving me diabetes."
"Ignore him," Rafayel said, though he was grinning. "He's just jealous."
They played in the shallow water—splashing each other, Nana shrieking when a wave hit her unexpectedly, Rafayel laughing so hard he had to brace himself on his knees.
"Your turn!" Nana declared, and shoved him.
Rafayel went down into the water with a splash, came up sputtering, hair plastered to his face. "Oh, you're going to pay for that."
"Catch me first!" Nana took off running down the beach.
Rafayel chased her, both of them laughing, dodging waves, leaving footprints in the sand. He caught her eventually—of course he did, he had three hundred years of practice moving through beaches—and spun her around, both of them dizzy and happy.
"Got you," he said.
"Got me," Nana agreed breathlessly.
From the boat, Thomas made exaggerated gagging sounds.
"Okay," Rafayel said, setting Nana down but keeping her hand. "Watch this."
He walked to the water's edge and held out his hand. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the ocean *responded*.
A small wave rose—not naturally, not from wind or tide, but from his will. It curled like a living thing, rising higher, shaping itself into an arc of water that sparkled in the sunlight.
Nana gasped.
Rafayel grinned and flicked his wrist.
The wave crashed down—right on top of Nana, soaking her completely.
"Rafayel!" she sputtered, but she was laughing.
"Told you I was showing off!" Rafayel said proudly. "Want to see more?"
"Yes!" Nana said immediately. "Show me everything!"
So he did.
He made the water dance—literally dance, moving in patterns that defied physics. Made it form shapes: a dolphin that leaped through the air, a flower that bloomed and sparkled, a crown that he placed on Nana's head before it dissolved into mist.
"How—" Nana touched her damp hair where the crown had been. "How are you doing this?"
"I'm the Sea God," Rafayel said simply. "The ocean is mine. It does what I ask." He created another shape—a heart, because he was nothing if not romantic—and made it float between them. "It's part of me. Like breathing."
"It's amazing," Nana whispered. "You're amazing."
Rafayel's eyes went soft. "You think so?"
"I know so." Nana reached through the water-heart to touch his face. "I'm the luckiest person alive. Dating a Sea God who makes water dance and collects shells and looks at me like I'm—" She stopped, overwhelmed.
"Like you're everything," Rafayel finished. "Because you are."
"PLEASE," Thomas shouted. "I'm BEGGING you two to remember I'm here and I have to witness this!"
They ignored him.
Rafayel made the water shimmer around them—a curtain of crystalline droplets that caught the sun and threw rainbows across the beach. Made it rain upward, made puddles levitate, made the ocean itself seem to celebrate their joy.
"I could watch you do this forever," Nana said.
"Good," Rafayel said. "Because I'm planning to show you magic for the rest of our lives. Every day. Until you're sick of it."
"I'll never be sick of it."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Rafayel pulled her closer, the water still dancing around them, about to kiss her—
And then something changed.
The ocean went still. Not calm. *Still*. Like it was holding its breath.
Rafayel's expression shifted instantly—from playful to alert. Dangerous.
"Get back," he said quietly.
"What—" Nana started.
"GET BACK!" Rafayel shoved her toward the shore, his voice sharp with command.
And the ocean *exploded*.
The creature that emerged from the depths was massive.
A dragon made of pure water—or something that looked like a dragon, at least. Its body was translucent, constantly shifting and flowing, held together by something that felt wrong. Dark magic. Corrupted magic.
Red eyes glowed in its aquatic head. Fangs made of ice gleamed as it opened its mouth and *roared*—a sound like a thousand waves crashing at once.
"No," Nana breathed, stumbling backward. "Not again. Not this one again."
Because it was the same. The same creature that had attacked them weeks ago. The same one that had dragged her underwater, that had forced Rafayel to reveal his true form.
Thomas was already moving, phone out, calling the Hunter Association. "Water dragon Wanderer, Level 6, White Sand Bay—"
But Rafayel wasn't listening to him. His eyes were locked on the creature, his expression cold and calculating.
"My enemies," he said quietly. "Again. How many more are you going to send?"
The dragon lunged.
Rafayel moved faster—his hand outstretched, and suddenly there was a weapon in his grip. A blade that looked like crystallized water and starlight, deadly sharp, pulsing with power.
Nana had never seen it before. Didn't know he could summon weapons from nothing.
"Thomas!" Rafayel barked, not taking his eyes off the dragon. "Take Nana back to the studio. Now."
"What?! No!" Nana started forward. "I'm not leaving you—"
"NOW!" Rafayel's voice carried command—not boyfriend, not playful artist, but *Sea God*. Ancient. Powerful. Absolute.
The dragon struck again, and Rafayel met it head-on. His blade sliced through the water-form, dispersing it temporarily. The creature reformed, angrier.
"I fight better in the water," Rafayel said, backing toward the ocean. "In my element. I can end this quickly if I don't have to worry about—"
He glanced at Nana, and something vulnerable flashed across his face.
"Please," he said, softer. "Please let Thomas take you somewhere safe. I can't fight properly if I'm terrified you'll get hurt."
"But you can get hurt too!" Nana shouted. "You can bleed! You're not invincible!"
"I'm a god," Rafayel said, and smiled slightly. "Close enough. Now go."
The dragon roared again, and Rafayel turned, his expression going cold.
"Come on," he said to the creature. "Let's finish this. You and me. In my domain."
He launched himself into the air—that same impossible jump from before—and dove into the ocean. The dragon followed, its massive body crashing through the waves.
"No!" Nana tried to run after them, but Thomas caught her. "Let me go! He's—what if it kills him?!"
"It won't," Thomas said, but his voice was tense. "I've known Rafayel for years. Underwater, he's unstoppable. But we need to go. Now. Before that thing decides you're a better target."
"I can fight!" Nana protested. "I'm a Hunter! I can—"
"You can drown," Thomas interrupted bluntly. "And if Rafayel sees you in danger, he'll get distracted. And if he gets distracted, he might actually get hurt. Do you want that?"
Nana stopped struggling.
"That's what I thought," Thomas said, gentler now. "Come on. The boat. He gave me an order, and trust me—Rafayel when he's in Sea God mode is not someone you disobey."
He pulled her toward the boat, Nana's eyes locked on the water where Rafayel had disappeared. Where the battle was happening beneath the surface where she couldn't see, couldn't help, couldn't do anything but trust.
Thomas started the engine, the boat roaring to life. As they pulled away from the beach, Nana saw flashes underwater—blue-white light that had to be Rafayel's magic, red light that was the dragon, water churning violently.
"He'll be okay," Thomas said, though he didn't sound certain. "He's survived three hundred years. He'll survive this."
"You don't know that," Nana whispered.
"No," Thomas admitted. "But I believe it. And you should too. Because that man has waited three hundred years to be with you. He's not going to let some corrupted Wanderer take that away."
The boat sped toward White Sand Bay, leaving the battle behind.
Leaving Rafayel alone.
And all Nana could do was pray he was right.
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🐚🐚🐚
Beneath the waves, Rafayel moved like death.
This was his element. His world. Where gravity didn't matter, where water obeyed his every command, where he was less man and more god.
His tail propelled him through the ocean with impossible speed. His blade cut through water and magic alike. The dragon tried to fight, but it was clumsy here—made of water but not *part* of it. Not like Rafayel.
He sliced through its body, dispersing it. It reformed. He dispersed it again, faster this time.
"Who sent you?" he demanded, though he knew the creature couldn't answer. "Who's controlling you?"
The dragon lunged, and Rafayel caught it—actually caught it, his hands grabbing the corrupted magic holding its form together.
"I see you," he said, examining the black threads woven through the water. "Corruption. Someone made you. Someone's sending you specifically to—"
To Nana.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
This wasn't random. The first attack weeks ago, now this—they weren't coincidences. Someone was targeting her. Using Wanderers as weapons. Trying to hurt her.
Trying to hurt *him* through her.
"Who?!" Rafayel's power flared, the ocean responding to his rage. Waves above churned. The pressure increased. "WHO SENT YOU?!"
The dragon couldn't answer. But in its corrupted magic, Rafayel felt something familiar. Something Lemurian.
*No.*
It couldn't be.
The other Lemurians had forgiven him. Had understood. They'd built a shrine to Angelina. They'd moved on.
Hadn't they?
Rafayel tore the dragon apart with pure power—not his blade, just *will*. The creature dissolved completely, its corrupted magic scattering into the ocean, dissipating.
Gone.
But the knowledge remained.
Someone from his past was coming for his future.
And they were using Nana as the target.
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🐚🐚🐚
From a rock formation a quarter mile away, hidden in shadows and magic, Theo watched his creation fail.
*Again.*
The water dragon—his carefully crafted weapon, infused with months of corrupted power—destroyed in minutes. By Rafayel. Who barely looked strained.
"Damn him," Theo hissed, his claws digging into stone. "Damn him and his power and his centuries and his—"
He stopped, breathing hard, trying to control the rage.
It wasn't working.
He'd been planning this for so long. Waiting for Rafayel to find happiness again. Waiting for him to love again. Waiting for the perfect moment to take it all away.
But he'd underestimated how strong Rafayel had become. Three hundred years of grief hadn't weakened him. If anything, it had made him *stronger*. More determined. More powerful.
*How do I fight that?* Theo wondered. *How do I face the Sea God directly when even my strongest creatures can't scratch him?*
The answer came to him slowly, terribly.
"I don't fight him directly. I go after what he loves. The human. The weak point. The one thing he can't protect every moment of every day."
Theo thought of his own mate. Lyria. Beautiful, gentle Lyria with her silver tail and her laugh like bells. Who'd died that day three hundred years ago, turning to foam in his arms, her last words a whisper of his name.
She'd been Lemurian. Pure. Strong.
And she'd still died.
While Rafayel's human princess got to sacrifice herself *willingly* and be *reborn* and be *honored* with a shrine like she was some kind of hero.
The injustice of it burned.
"She died saving ten thousand people," Theo muttered. "And somehow that's *noble*. But Lyria? Lyria died because one Lemurian refused to sacrifice one human. And nobody mourns her. Nobody builds shrines. Nobody remembers."
He pulled out another corrupted crystal—smaller than the last, but more potent. More focused.
This one wouldn't create a random Wanderer. This one would do something different.
*Target her specifically. Make it personal. Make it painful.*
"You think you can protect her," Theo said, looking toward where Rafayel was emerging from the water, returning to the surface. "You think your power is enough. But you're wrong."
"Because I know you, cousin. I grew up watching you. Watching everyone choose you over me. Watching them love your beauty while ignoring mine. Watching father praise your potential while forgetting I existed."
The bitterness was old. Older than Lemuria's fall. Older than his grief.
"You got everything," Theo continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The throne. The power. The love. The second chance. While I got nothing. Just survival. Just pain. Just—"
He looked down at his corrupted tail, at his scarred face, at the claws that used to be normal hands.
"—this."
"So I'm going to take from you what was taken from me. Not just her life. Your happiness. Your hope. Your belief that love conquers all." Theo crushed the crystal in his fist, releasing its magic into the water. "By the time I'm done, you'll wish you'd died that day three hundred years ago."
"You'll wish you'd completed the ritual. Sacrificed her when you had the chance. Because what I'm going to do to her?" His smile was terrible. "What I'm going to do to you through her?"
"Death would be merciful compared to this."
The corrupted magic spread through the ocean, invisible, patient, seeking its target.
And somewhere in White Sand Bay, safely on land, Nana had no idea that her nightmare was just beginning.
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🐚🐚🐚
Rafayel surfaced near White Sand Bay, his body aching from the fight, his mind racing.
*Someone's targeting her. Someone Lemurian. Someone who knows me well enough to know that hurting her hurts me.*
He transformed as he reached the shallows, his tail becoming legs, his blade dissipating. By the time he reached his studio, he looked almost normal.
Except for the blood on his shoulder—a wound he'd barely noticed during the fight, already healing but still visible.
Thomas and Nana were waiting inside. Nana launched herself at him the moment he walked through the door.
"You're okay!" She was crying, he realized. "You're—there's blood—"
"Just a scratch," Rafayel assured her, holding her close. "The dragon got one hit in. It's already healing. See?" He showed her—the wound was already closed, just a pink line remaining.
"Don't do that again," Nana demanded, hitting his chest weakly. "Don't send me away while you fight alone. Don't—" Her voice broke. "Don't make me watch you disappear into danger while I can't help."
"I had to," Rafayel said softly. "You're too important. Too precious. I can't risk you."
"And you're too important to me!" Nana shouted. "Do you think I could survive watching you die?! Do you think I could—"
"Hey." Rafayel cupped her face. "I'm here. I'm okay. I won. It's over."
But even as he said it, he knew it was a lie.
It wasn't over.
It was just beginning.
"Thomas," Rafayel said, not looking away from Nana. "Call the Hunter Association. Tell them we need to investigate these Wanderers. Find out where they're coming from. Because I think—" He stopped. "I think someone's sending them specifically."
"Someone?" Thomas asked sharply. "You mean deliberately?"
"Yes." Rafayel's arms tightened around Nana. "And I think they're targeting her."
The words hung in the air, terrible and true.
Somewhere beneath the ocean, Theo smiled.
The game had begun.
And this time, there would be no happy ending.
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To be continued __