The surface stills.
Kael is watching now, body tense, food forgotten. “Did you see what it was?”
I shake my head, stomach clenching. “Just a ripple. But it was big.”
Silence. Then another ripple. Closer.
I grip my dagger tighter. “Tell me,” I murmur, not taking my eyes off the water. “The creatures that aren’t harmless… what exactly are we talking about here?”
The water ripples again, and before I can ask more questions, Kael’s entire demeanour changes. His bioluminescent markings flicker excitedly, and his nostrils flare as he watches whatever’s lurking beneath the surface.
His next word? Brimming with enthusiasm. “Food.”
I blink. “What?”
Without another word, he’s moving, stripping off his outer gear and stepping towards the water’s edge like a hunter who’s just spotted the perfect prey. And fuck me, I can’t look away.
His physique is something else—not like a human’s, but just as unfairly sexy. His muscles don’t just sit beneath his skin; they shift with a fluidity that makes it impossible not to stare, like every movement is pure efficiency wrapped in strength. The markings across his body pulse faintly, tracing over the ridges of his arms, his shoulders, the powerful curve of his back.
He looks even bigger now, practically naked, which makes no sense—he’s wearing less, not more, but somehow, without the extra layers, he seems larger than life.
I swallow. Hard.
And then he continues forwards, oblivious to my absolutely unhinged thoughts.
“Kael,” I say slowly, watching as he crouches, eyes finally trained on the inky depths. “You’re not seriously thinking?—”
He dives.
“Bloody hell.” I clap a hand over my mouth, half in horror, half in amazement, as he vanishes beneath the surface. A second later, there’s a violent splash, then another, and then—pure chaos.
Turns out, Kael? Not a natural fisherman. Or whatever the hell the equivalent of that would be in this situation.
Water explodes around him as he thrashes, lunging after something just out of reach. He makes a grab—misses. Swipes—misses again. It’s fast. Too fast. I can’t see much beyond theflashes of movement beneath the surface, but whatever it is, it’s big, and Kael? Kael is determined.
“You could just give up,” I offer helpfully, watching as he narrowly avoids a faceful of lake-ocean-whatever-the-hell water. “Not everything is meant to be caught, you know.”
He grunts in response, which I think means “fuck off,” and lunges again.
Another splash.
Another struggle.
And then—somehow, miraculously—Kael emerges from the water, victorious.
Dripping, completely soaked—and now more purple than his usual deep blue—but he’s triumphant. His bioluminescent markings are practically dancing with pride as he hefts his prize—a monstrous, writhing, abomination of a creature—out of the water.
And then he beams at me, looking more alive than I’ve ever seen him.
“I have caught it,” he announces, like he’s just won the bloody lotto.
I stare.
It’s… horrible. The creature, not Kael.
The thing has too many eyes, scattered unevenly across its slippery, finned body. Its skin is a mottled mix of dark grey and something almost translucent, like an eel that got ambitious and decided to evolve into a nightmare. The fins are jagged, the mouth should not be that wide, and the worst part? It’s still moving.
Kael thrusts it towards me, looking obscenely proud. “Take it,” he says.
