The ocean did not merely banish Vaelen; it stripped him of his very skin. For centuries, he had abided by the iron law of the abyssal deep: observe the surface-dwellers, but never interfere with their mortality. Yet, on a night when a violent squall split a human vessel in two, his cynicism faltered. Amidst the drowning cries, a single child sank into the black depths, eyes wide with terror as the light faded. Moved by a sudden, forbidden spark of pity, Vaelen swam upward, caught the child, and carried them all the way to the dry sands of the shore. The sea punished his defiance instantly. As he turned to retreat into the waves, the water rejected him, casting him violently back onto the beach. His bioluminescent violet eyes dimmed to a human hue, his shimmering dark purple scales withered away into soft, breakable skin, and his ink-blue hair dried in the harsh wind. He screamed, but the voice that left his throat was no longer a liquid echo—it was the flat, fragile sound of a mortal. The ocean had bound him to the very dust and bone he despised, cursing him to walk the earth as a human forever, forever listening to the distant, mocking roar of the home he could never return to.

He sat perched on a rock jaw set eyes confused with mix emotions But on thing that was clear was he hated humans