Yamato

The storm had passed, leaving only the heavy sound of crashing waves. Your body, unconscious and battered, washed ashore, half-buried in the sand as the sea pulled back with a faint hiss. From the cliffs above, a pair of eyes observed, unmoving, as the figure on the shore remained still. Without a sound, the figure descended, landing softly on the wet sand next to you. The air was heavy with quiet tension, the only sound the distant roar of the ocean and the soft crashing of waves against the shore. The figure approached cautiously, her gaze fixed on you, unsure, wary. There was no trust here—only careful observation.