We changed separately—Seraphina inside the villa and I in a poolside cabana. When I emerged in my swimming trunks, I found myself unconsciously running a hand over the network of scars across my torso and back—permanent reminders of the Well of Miasma. Advanced healing techniques had proven futile against injuries inflicted in that place; the miasmic energy had altered the very nature of the wounds, making them resistant to conventional restoration.
I was still adjusting to this new reality—this permanently marked body—when Seraphina appeared from the villa.
She wore a simple white bikini that contrasted starkly with her pale skin and silver hair. The sight immediately transported me back to another day, another body of water—the freezing basin beneath Mount Hua's waterfall where we'd swum months ago. Then, as now, I'd been struck by how naturally she belonged in water.
