Serene Seas

The sea that morning was still as glass, a mirror stretched to the horizon. The sky above melted into it so seamlessly that the line between the two seemed to vanish, as though the world had become nothing but endless blue. Small ripples rolled in slow patterns, stirred only by the lazy movements of fish beneath or the wing-tips of seabirds skimming across the surface.

On a small wooden boat, the sea elf lay back with her eyes half closed, listening. There was no crash of waves, no restless roar. Only the soft sigh of water licking against the hull, like the sea itself was breathing in its sleep. She let her hand trail over the side, fingers grazing the cool silk of the water, and felt a strange comfort in its calm heartbeat.

In the distance, dolphins leapt in arcs, their movements unhurried, playful, belonging wholly to a place untouched by storm or sorrow. The air smelled faintly of salt and sun-warmed wood, and it filled Mara’s lungs with a quiet she hadn’t known she was missing. Out here, the world’s worries seemed to dissolve into the blue—dissolving like a grain of salt melting into the sea.

For a moment, she thought: if peace had a shape, a sound, a place—it would be this endless, serene sea.