The rocky shore was slippery, and the ocean’s chill bit through his thin jacket as he chased a skipping stone that had bounced farther than he expected. One careless step, and he slipped — tumbling headfirst into the cold embrace of the water.
The shock of the plunge stole his breath, but instinct kicked in. He kicked and paddled toward the darker depths, struggling to stay afloat.
And then, from the shadows beneath, something moved.
Lapis Lazuli.
Blue-hued and vast, the creature shifted silently beneath the waves. His eyes, clouded with sorrow and madness, saw nothing but the fractured echoes of his own mind. The gypsy woman’s voice teased him, drowning out everything real.
Eli splashed closer, heart pounding.
He waved his arms. “Hey! Hey! I’m here!”
But Lapis didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.
Frustration mounting, Eli took a deep breath and dove — straight toward the creature’s massive form.
The moment his fingers brushed Lapis’s rough, scale-like skin, the creature flinched — sharp claws slicing through the water near Eli’s arm in warning.
Eli gasped, startled, his heart hammering. Danger pulsed through the water like electric shock.
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But then, instead of striking again, Lapis recoiled — a tortured, hesitant retreat into the depths.
Eli surfaced, coughing, safe.
He smiled shakily. “Okay… I get it. You don’t want me.”
But he didn’t turn away.
For minutes more, Eli dove and swam around the creature, each time coming closer, learning the boundaries between curiosity and caution.
And though Lapis Lazuli’s eyes never met his, the boy felt something fragile and unspoken in the cold silence — a barrier not of hate, but of pain.
Neither spoke. Neither fled.
Two lonely souls, circling in the deep
Eli stood on the jagged reef ledge, salt-stung and dripping, clutching a small, flat rock in each hand. He peered down into the blue abyss where the strange creature sat—silent, unmoving, coiled like a statue older than time.
“Oi!” Eli shouted, squinting against the glare. “You deaf or just dumb?”
No answer.
The boy launched the first stone. It arced downward, a wobbling blur beneath the water. It bounced harmlessly off a distant fin. The creature didn’t stir. Not even an eye flicked.
Another rock followed. And another. The water swallowed each one with a gurgle and a shrug. The sea was too thick, too still. Eli might as well have been tossing pebbles into a dream.
He sat down on the reef, legs dangling, arms crossed.
“Lame,” he muttered.
But after a while—long enough for his temper to cool and the ache in his shoulders to fade—Eli found himself watching the creature again.
Lapis sat like a monument. His great shoulders were hunched inward, clawed arms cradled around his torso like a man hugging himself through winter. The blue-green sheen of his back was dulled now, dusted with sand and silence. There was something almost human in the way he slumped.
Eli tilted his head.
“…You look sad,” he whispered.
No reply, of course.
So the boy slipped into the water again—careful this time. Quiet. He swam down, heart hammering, until he hovered a foot away from the monster’s stony head. He hesitated, then reached out and gently—very gently—pressed his palm to the hard surface, like petting a sleeping dinosaur.
“You’re not scary,” Eli whispered. “You’re just lonely.”
For a moment, everything was still.
Then—
With a sudden hiss and a deep groan of shifting mass, Lapis’s head jerked up.
Eli screamed and kicked backward, nearly choking on saltwater.
Lapis’s eyes, wide and wild, stared right through him.
“WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO SINK?” he bellowed at nothing. “I AM THE LAST CANDLE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA!”
Eli clung to a rock ledge, panting. He blinked through the bubbles.
Lapis blinked, too.
His gills fluttered once, twice. Then he curled inward again, folding back into himself like a storm retreating into fog.
Eli didn’t flee.
After a long pause, he whispered, “You’re weird.”
And then, softly, “But I think I like you.”
