You should've felt peace.
After all the storms.
After defeating a god.
After surviving the Deep and choosing each other again and again.
But some loves aren't allowed to rest.
Some become legend.
And legends are never left alone for long.
It began with a ship.
You spotted it at dawn, far out on the horizon. It wasn't drifting like the usual fishing boats or leisure cruisers that sometimes speckled the water.
No.
This one was still.
Watching.
A metal beast with sharp lines, long antennae, and no name painted on its hull. Military, maybe. Scientific, possibly. Uninvited, definitely.
Lumian stood beside you on the rocks, bare-chested, wet from the morning swim. His jaw clenched when he saw it.
"They've come," he said flatly.
"Who?"
He didn't look away. "The surface. The ones who always search for what they shouldn't."
You felt it in your stomach—that tight twist of dread. It wasn't just the ship.
It was what it meant.
Someone had seen what happened.
Someone knew.
For days, the ship hovered offshore.
You tried to ignore it.
You tried to lose yourself in Lumian's touch, his mouth on yours in the shallows, your skin slick with salt and affection, your bodies curling together in the sand like waves folding over each other.
But you couldn't shake the feeling.
It was like being watched by something colder than the Deep. Something more calculating.
Then one night, while Lumian slept curled around you, you heard voices on the beach.
Human ones.
You slipped from his arms and followed the sound.
There were two of them. Figures in black wetsuits, strange glowing devices in their hands. They whispered in code. Moved like predators.
And one of them pointed to your footprints—glowing faintly in the moonlight, as if the ocean still clung to you.
You stepped forward.
"Looking for something?"
They spun. Shocked.
One raised a device. "Stay where you are!"
But you didn't.
You raised your hand.
And the ocean behind you rose—a wall of water that hovered like a living curtain, humming with ancient energy. You didn't speak a word.
The wave spoke for you.
The figures fled. Scrambled back to their raft. You let them go.
But as they vanished into the dark, you knew: more would come.
Lumian woke as you returned. His eyes snapped open, finding you immediately. "You felt it too."
"They're not just watching," you said. "They're studying."
He cupped your face. "We can leave."
"No," you said, voice steady. "We stay. This is our shore now."
Something passed between you. A wordless promise.
Not to run.
Not to hide.
But to protect.
Each other.
The sea.
The balance.
The next morning, the ship was gone.
But in its place, others came.
People.
Strangers walking the coast. Taking photos. Tossing stones into the waves like they expected the sea to whisper back. Some asked questions.
Some said your names.
You'd become a rumor.
A myth retold.
The couple who glowed. The lovers in the waves. The kiss that summoned the sea.
And with it came pressure.
Eyes.
Stories.
The sense that the life you'd fought to build—the love you'd almost drowned for—was no longer just yours.
You sat on the rocks that night, Lumian behind you, his arms wrapped tight, chin resting on your shoulder.
"We can't be what we were," you said quietly.
"No," he said. "But maybe that's not a curse."
You leaned into him. "Then what is it?"
He kissed your shoulder, soft. "An evolution."
You looked down at your hands—fingers still faintly glowing, the ocean sighing in your blood.
"Do you think this will ever stop?" you asked.
He turned you gently to face him. "No. But love like ours isn't supposed to stop."
And then he kissed you again.
Slow.
Certain.
Eternal.
Not a goodbye.
Not even a beginning.
Just the kind of kiss you give someone when you finally accept that forever might actually be real.