Day by day, Eli found himself drawn back to the edge of the shore, where the water deepened into shadowy blue. He brought little things—shiny pebbles, bits of driftwood, even a battered music box he’d found discarded in the sand. He set these offerings carefully beside the mossy rocks near where Lapis waited, a silent guardian of the ocean floor.

  At first, Lapis barely noticed. His wild eyes flicked past Eli’s eager hands, distracted by ghosts only he could see. But slowly, something softened in the mad creature’s gaze. When Eli laughed and splashed, breaking the endless quiet, Lapis’s head would tilt just so, as if curious.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Sometimes, when the sun slanted through the waves just right, Eli thought he saw something almost like recognition flicker there. And when he sang a soft, trembling tune, one of the strange, haunting melodies his grandmother used to hum, Lapis would lie still, his claws folding quietly beneath him. The madness didn’t vanish, but it ebbed a little, as though Eli’s presence anchored some fragment of his fractured mind.

  Eli’s friends teased him more than ever. “You’re wasting your time with a monster,” they jeered, but Eli refused to listen. He wasn’t afraid anymore. He wanted to believe there was something good left in that strange, wild being beneath the bubbles.

  One afternoon, Eli reached out hesitantly and brushed a hand against Lapis’s rough, scaly head. The creature flinched, a low growl rumbling in his throat, but he did not pull away. Instead, the softest sigh escaped him—a sound like a lost hope breathing underwater.

  And in that moment, Eli knew. Even in the darkest depths, light could bloom. It just needed someone brave enough to seek it.