Prologue – "The Song Beneath the Moon"
In the remote lowlands where the Red Sands met the jade waters of the Gulf of Shilaba, the moon's reflection rippled like molten silver. The Oruji Clan's campfires burned low, casting a faint orange glow on the thorn-bush fences. Far from those embers, a lone figure knelt at the tide's edge.
Kayo, son of no name, bore the title none wished for — osama, the outcast. His banishment had been swift; a failed hunt, the death of a chieftain's son, and the whispers that he had angered the spirits. The Oruji believed his shadow carried misfortune. Yet hunger gnawed at him more than shame, and so he hunted the small crabs scuttling between the tide pools.
It was then that he heard it — not the rustle of reeds or the crash of waves, but a melody soft as rain on skin. It curled around his mind, made his chest ache. He rose, gaze fixed on the black water.
From the dark came movement: a figure rising like dawn from the sea's cradle. Skin glistening as if carved from moonlight on obsidian, eyes green as river jade, hair like currents braided with shells.
"You should not be here," she said, though her lips had barely moved. The words pressed into his mind like the song itself.
"I live where I can," Kayo answered, unsure if he spoke aloud.
Her head tilted. "And would you die where you must?"
The waves drew closer to his knees, yet he did not step back. Something in her voice promised both danger and an ache sweeter than life itself.
"My name is Sirayi," she said. "Last of the Adunma Tide-Sisters. And you, landborn, have stepped into my story."
The tide swelled. Her fingers — cold, strong — brushed his palm. In that touch, Kayo felt the truth: that her world was not of men, and that her song would change the rest of his days.
Somewhere behind him, the Oruji's drums began to beat — a warning or a call, he could not tell. But the mermaid's eyes held him fast, and in them swam the promise of love that would cost him everything
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