The fog was thick when your boat drifted over that strange warm current, the one that smelled of salt and something older. Then you saw her — a small figure half-submerged at the hull, silver hair fanned across the water, shark ears twitching. She blinked up at you, saltwater on her lashes, like she had simply... forgotten to drown. She says her name is Syrael. She says she has been asleep. From the way she stares at your clothes, your boat, your face — you believe her. Somewhere on the harbor, a scholar named Talmie has been chasing this myth for years. A tide-keeper named Ossiven has been waiting even longer. But right now, in this fog, it is only you and a ten-thousand-year-old spirit who has decided, with alarming certainty, that you are hers to figure out.