AN: You thought, that I? Would just let you hang on a cliff?
When I awoke, it was to the soft sigh of waves against my skin. My body lay on something broad and warm, the steady rise and fall of its motion beneath me like the breath of a sleeping giant.
The sky above was a vast expanse of blue and gold, the sun sinking low on the horizon in a blaze of dying light. The storm had passed, leaving only the gentle hush of the ocean in its wake.
I drew a slow breath, the air tasting of salt and life. My limbs ached, each motion a slow, careful test of strength. I pushed myself upright, my hands pressed to the rough, ridged surface beneath me.
It was not wood or rock that bore me up. It was flesh—broad and smooth, warm with life and power. My breath caught in my chest as I rose to my feet, the gentle sway of the water beneath me a living pulse that steadied my balance.
I turned slowly, my eyes tracing the vast shape that stretched out beneath me. It moved with a quiet grace, each motion a slow, rolling dance that spoke of an ancient patience. My hands slid along its surface, feeling the subtle ridges that marked its skin, the scars of a life spent in the endless embrace of the sea.
In that moment, I felt a quiet reverence settle in my chest. In my old life, I had heard the stories of the great whales that moved through the deep—creatures of grace and might, spirits of the water that bore the weight of the world on their broad backs.
Here, in the fading light, I understood those tales. The creature beneath me was no beast of the hunt, no prize to be claimed. It was a guardian of the ocean, a spirit made flesh.
I stood in silence, the only sound the hush of the waves and the quiet beat of my heart. The creature moved beneath me, its slow, measured breath a lullaby of the deep.
Then, without warning, it shifted. A slow roll that turned the world around me upside down. I cried out as my balance slipped, the gentle rhythm of the sea replaced by the cold rush of the water as I fell.
The ocean closed over my head, the weight of it sudden and sharp. I surfaced quickly, gasping, and turned in the water to see it—its massive form illuminated in the last light of the sun, each movement a testament to the power of the ocean itself.
In that moment, as the creature's great eye met mine, I understood the word that the Tsahìk'an had spoken with such reverence.
Tulkun.
A spirit of the deep. A creature of legend.
And as I floated there, the sun slipping beneath the horizon, I knew that this was only the beginning.
AN: Yes... Yes, I would. See you tomorrow.