Lyrielle walked alone along the cliffs at dawn, the waves below frothing white like broken glass. Mist clung to her hair and gown, cold and damp, and the sea whispered in a voice she could almost understand—a voice that carried secrets of love, loss, and memory.
Seloria had been absent for days, summoned by her father to distant towers, and Lyrielle felt the first ache of solitude gnawing at her chest. The garden behind the palace had seemed emptier, the hallways longer, as if the very stones missed Seloria's laughter. Lyrielle had written letters she dared not send, her words spilling like tears onto the pages, each one a quiet testament to longing.
As she neared the edge of the cliffs, a shell lay upon the wet sand, its surface etched with delicate, curling runes. Lyrielle bent to pick it up, fingers trembling. She did not know if it had been placed there by Seloria, or by some spirit of the cliffs, or if the sea itself had left it as a silent message.
Holding it, she felt a shiver of hope mingled with fear. Perhaps it was a sign—an unspoken promise that Seloria's absence was not the end. Perhaps their bond stretched across the mist and waves, binding them even in silence.
Lyrielle pressed the shell to her lips, whispering her vow as if the sea itself could carry it: "I will wait for you, Seloria. In every shadow, every wind, every dream, I will find you."
The waves roared in reply, rising and falling like the pulse of a distant heart. And somewhere, far beyond the cliffs and mist, Seloria's own heart answered in silence, tethered by a love neither time nor tide could sever.