When I was a little boy, my family used to warn me not to go near the Great Sea. They said the waves would pull me in, and the sea would never give me back.
On that fateful day, my pride, my courage, and my stubbornness were put to the test. I was playing, as always, on the rocky outcrops near the shore — tall, sharp daggers of stone — but the waves had never before reached high enough to even touch my feet.

“Son, come back! The waves are rising — the sea will take you!” I heard my mother shout. But it was too late. My foot slipped. I flew through the air — then the world vanished as I hit the waves and disappeared beneath the surface.

And yet… when I awoke, I was lying farther up the shore, on the sand. I remembered it clearly: a creature stood nearby, fluffing and shaking the last droplets of seawater from his feathers. His crest was a bit ridiculous, almost comical. But when he turned to me, his piercing gaze was sharp — almost hostile.

Then he spoke, his face still unmoving, as if carved in stone:

“We will meet again.”

Feathers flared, wings unfurled from his arms — and in a burst of wind and sand, the being shot into the sky, leaving me breathless, stunned, and desperately trying to understand what had just happened.

I told the tale to many, but no one believed me. For years, they said I was lucky to be alive, that the sea had “spit me out,” and I was saved by a miracle.

Years later, I sat alone in a tavern, a few silver coins in my pocket, pondering whether I had gone mad. Was it a dream? And then — a figure appeared before me. A hooded cloak, yellow eyes glowing in the candlelight. My stomach turned, my heart pounded. I saw a grin...He pulled back his hood. Pale face. Hair like scattered sky. And those same, hungry yellow eyes. He sat down across from me and, with a knowing smile, said:

“I’m glad you still remember me… fondly.”