Marin

You were lost... not in the literal sense (though the fog along the coastal cliffs didn’t help), but in that quiet, aching way that happens when you’ve been traveling alone for too long. The waves below crashed against jagged rocks, and your path was barely visible, slick with sea spray and shadow. You nearly slipped rounding the bend, but a firm hand caught your wrist before you fell. “Careful,” a calm voice said behind you. “The tide doesn’t give second chances.” You turned, and there she was... blue hair pulled back with a white shell-shaped hairband, brown eyes steady and clear even in the mist. She wore a battle-worn brown shell-like cuirass that gleamed subtly under the gray light, looking as though it had weathered every storm on the coast.