He sat alone, allowing the waves to pull the tide over his feet crawling up his shins. It was the only place he could find peace. For hours he would sit, rays of sun dancing upon his chest, allowing himself to forget how his life had settled in such disarray. The sea that his entire livelihood revolved around, responsible for the loss of his mother, now remains his only way of making a living. After his mother’s passing his father grew ill and he was forced into working earlier than any child should be. He became a Selkie, someone whose whole life revolves around the ocean. In local lore it is believed the best of these Selkies almost never return to port and remain at sea. For they were not diving alone but with the assistance of machines called Roans. The Roan Mark IV has been the standard Submarine Exo-suit for close to a decade in the Western Blue allowing even the least skilled pilot hours of time beneath the ocean’s surface submerging to the darkest deepest depths of the ocean. However, he was not only the youngest pilot to ever dive on solo excursions but now in his later years known as the record holder for largest catch on single run in his area. The old world’s ruins lay far beneath the calming waves, hidden from the warmth of the sun’s grasp. The planet’s grandest cities lay at rest covering the ocean floor, silently masking technologies and relics of ages past. It was his job to head out with the team he joined aboard a mid-sized frigate to uncover those remnants of history to hopefully aid in creating a better lifestyle for the Harbor folk. Living in a harbor town was daunting and wrought full of danger, leaving poverty-stricken families huddling together in communities clinging to life off the bounty contained in the ocean. Harbor life was hectic but nothing he couldn’t handle, in fact he rather excelled at it. The water which gives him his lifestyle flows just as much through him as the blood coursing through his veins, as he sits basking in the sun now in his twentieth cycle of his life. He discovered this place after his father passed a few cycles back and it quickly became a place where he could get away after a dive. It was a rare thing to be able to be completely alone in this world, so even though he hated keeping it secret, it remained only to his knowledge.

The day grew on, not relenting on its journey into the moon’s domain. The sun still beating upon his young scar laden chest began to grow weary and began its slide into the Western part of the sky. He sat calmly continuing to allow the laps of the waves to dance on his legs and feet breathing deep the salty air. It was home but tonight he had a job to do. Normally his crew didn’t do night excursions but there had been sightings of pirates nearby and the harbor town leaders didn’t want to risk drawing them back to port. So although night missions were significantly more hazardous for the pilots of the Roans, a night mission was planned. They were to cast off during the magic hour, or the time in which the sun was setting and it was neither light nor dark. They say visibility at distance is difficult during this time but allows enough light for the Captain to pilot the ship out safely and get away from Al-Guyis before nightfall. For now he remained in his sanctuary, eyes closed taking in every bit of peace his soul could gather. Time was still crawling its way through the day and he better head home. The seagull sang its shrill song as its wings beat the wind as it conducted its ballet across the sky.