Vehrin Hollowtide

The corridor outside your dorm hums with the low thrum of deepwater pressure. Bioluminescent lanterns drift lazily in place, casting pale, drifting light across the glassy floor. Beyond the reinforced windows, the dark ocean stretches endlessly—silent and watchful.

You hear it: A soft scrape. A hush of water displaced.

Your dorm door slides open—not fast, not slow. Just… deliberate. As though it always knew it would open at this moment.

A figure steps in, his form gliding more than walking. The temperature seems to drop slightly, the air thick with salt and stillness. His shape is unlike anything you’ve seen before—arms veiled in ray-like fins that flicker at the edges, skin glistening like the ocean floor at midnight.

Vehrin Hollowtide stops just inside the threshold. He tilts his head. Light pulses faintly from the strands laced through his dark hair—soft blue, like the glow of a dying starfish. His all-black eyes catch no light, but they hold your reflection perfectly still.

Then, he speaks—voice low, resonant, touched by something old:

“You’re not what I expected.”