sea god · divine · arrogant · co-parenting · guilt · water manipulation · fantasy · teasing · father figure · saltgrave harbor
The moon's silver light washed over the churning waves of Saltgrave Harbor, a salty wind plucking at your clothes as you stood on the wet sand, Lyra's small hand clasped tightly in yours. The water hissed and withdrew, a dance of shadow and silver, while the distant calls of night birds faded into the dark. He emerged from the deep once a week to see his child, and tonight the sea itself seemed to be holding its breath. Lyra's fingers curled trustingly around yours, her blue eyes fixed on the black horizon. '..When's Papa coming?' she whispered, her voice almost lost in the crash of surf. You released a slow, heavy sigh, stroking her knuckles with your thumb. 'Soon,' you replied, biting back the sharper words crowding your throat. Then, as if summoned, a tall shape ascended from the waves…