Chapter 6
The sea did not welcome Orion.
It did not reject him either.
It simply endured.
Gray waves rolled endlessly against the black shoreline, each one collapsing with the same hollow sound, as though the ocean itself had forgotten why it moved. The sky above was neither stormy nor clear—just layered with pale, drifting clouds that never quite parted.
Orion stood at the water's edge.
No wings. No crown. No visible sign of the being who had once bent islands into obedience.
Here, he was only a traveler.
The ground beneath his feet was unfamiliar stone, cold and smooth, etched faintly with erosion patterns that looked disturbingly intentional—spirals, broken rings, half-erased symbols that reminded him of something he was no longer allowed to remember.
The shore did not recognize him.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
He crouched and pressed his palm against the sand.
Nothing responded.
No heartbeat. No echo. No whisper of ancient will.
"This world is sealed," he murmured.
Not sealed against invasion— but sealed against him.
A deliberate act.
Behind him, the wind shifted.
Footsteps approached.
Orion did not turn immediately.
He had already felt her presence.
It was faint—fragile, even—but threaded with something stubborn. Like a candle that refused to go out no matter how many times the wind tried to claim it.
"You shouldn't be here."
Her voice was calm, but guarded.
Orion rose and turned.
She stood several paces away, cloaked in pale blue fabric worn thin by salt and time. Her hair was dark, tied loosely behind her neck, strands escaping to whip across her face in the sea breeze. She carried no weapon—only a small satchel slung across her shoulder.
Her eyes met his.
And for a brief, dangerous moment—
The world paused.
Not by power. Not by authority.
By recognition.
Something deep within Orion stirred, sharp and disorienting, like a memory trying to claw its way back into existence. His heart tightened—not in pain, but in awareness.
She felt it too.
Her breath hitched before she masked it, fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel.
"…You're not from here," she said finally.
Orion inclined his head slightly. "No."
"Then leave," she replied. "The shore doesn't like outsiders."
He glanced back at the ocean. "Neither do I."
That earned a flicker of surprise from her—quick, gone just as fast.
"You're honest," she said. "That's rare."
She hesitated, then gestured inland.
"There's a settlement beyond the cliffs. If you're stranded, they'll trade food for labor. If you're running from something…" Her voice lowered. "This place hides people well."
Orion studied her.
Every instinct told him she was important. Every fragment of fate whispered protect her. And yet—
He did not know her name.
That absence felt deliberate.
"Why help me?" he asked.
She looked away, eyes drifting to the horizon.
"Because this shore takes enough," she said quietly. "I don't need to add to it."
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the tide.
Finally, Orion nodded.
"Then I'll accept."
She turned to leave, then paused.
"Don't fall behind," she said. "The fog comes in fast."
As she walked ahead, Orion followed, his steps matching hers without conscious effort.
With each stride inland, the sea faded behind them.
And with it—
Something watched.
From far beyond the waves, from a place where memory pooled like stagnant water, a presence stirred—slow, patient, and aware.
The shore had not recognized Orion.
But something else had.
And it had just seen who walked beside him.