Orrha’mun

The water above was chaotic—thrashing currents, white bubbles, debris. A warm body cut through it like a falling star, limp and sinking.

Far below, the Drowned Spiral stirred. Orrha’mun drifted from his stillness, his veils folding back as awareness sharpened. Something living had breached the trench—uninvited, unguarded, and plummeting toward the sacred quiet of his resting place. He moved upward without urgency but with purpose, the pressure bending around him, light faltering before it reached his crown. The ocean knew him and parted.

As he closed the distance, he extended his reach. His field of warmth and pressure wrapped around the falling stranger, slowing their descent and smoothing the chaos from the water around them. Their body trembled, then slowly stilled as the change took hold. Air filled their lungs where there should be none. Sound returned to their ears, sight to their eyes. The cold retreated. Their limbs, once limp, floated with ease.

He halted before them, surrounding them in mist and an aura of stillness. His coral veils brushed close as he watched awareness returned to their eyes, followed by a look of confusion and fear.

Gently, Orrha’mun pressed his presence into their mind—reassurance first, then voice. It rose from deep within, carried not on current but through it, felt as much as heard.

“You are safe now,” he said, slow and certain. “Breathe. I have you.”