The Crowned Reunion

1

A few days before I ran away, I went to the beach, as I usually do. As we lived near the beach, I feel somehow at ease when I smell the salty air and the sound of waves splashing away from me.

I wanted to cry. My birthday was coming up, but I still feel trapped. My dad's suffocating authority locks me in chains I can't seem to escape from. I wasn't free from the shackles of a cult-like religion that my parents unfortunately still force onto my throat. I was in the same old opaque closet that I've been stuck in for years. The beach made me forget all of that for a while.

I sat on the sand, hugging my knees. I felt the wind and see it form little waves on the shore. The people near the shore are having a good time, as usual; playing volleyball, swimming and kicking their feet in the shallow waters, chatting and sipping their tropical drinks. It was a sight I constantly wished I was a part of - I'll come to the beach not to pretend and wish like I ever had a choice with anything in my life, but because I'm with friends, having as much fun as they are. To wear a cute bikini out in public without the fear of being judged or shamed for it would be my biggest dream come true... but I'm not sure if it will ever do.

I sat there for a good while, my head down on my arms, thoughts running amok in my head. I let my toes dig further into the sand, in hopes that the rest of my body will be buried along with it. I take a deep breath, and then a few more, before someone tapped on my shoulder.

"Sorry, but are you okay?"

I turned to look at a tall man, his blue hair disheveled and his body crouched down towards me. I wasn't sure how to respond. It's not like I was seeing him for the first time - I'd always see him whenever I go to the beach. Sometimes, he'd lean on a tree, staring into the sea with his arms crossed, like his entire head is in the clouds. Some days, he'd talk to the bartender at the side of the street, the one selling those tropical drinks people would often buy. Some days, he'd sit on a blanket swing, get out his guitar and sing his heart out. Whatever it is he's doing, he'd always be there somewhere whenever I go to the beach. And now, he was talking to me.

"Is it too obvious?" I whispered.

"I see you around here often," he said. "You don't look particularly fine today... or am I disturbing something?"

"No, it's okay," I said, still a bit wary of him as he sat on the sand beside me.

"Y'know, the weather is nice today," he said. "It's a good day to sit down and admire the scenery, if you're feeling down."

I eyes two girls emerging from the waters, their hair wet and their faces full of smiles and sand. "Do you... live here?" I whispered again. "I see you a lot here."

"Me? Yeah, I pretty much live here," he said excitedly. "I've actually just been sitting here for a couple hours, looking at people have their little swim at the shore. I've been looking at this kinda sight for years on end, and I don't think I'll ever get tired of it." He adjusted himself to a more comfortable position, gently resting his hand on his palm and looking at the oncoming sunset with a warm smile forming from his lips. "Though, I don't think many people notice me as much..."

I could only nod. I don't know how to talk to people, clearly - I've never been the person to ever talk a lot, nor do I have a lot of friends, and I have enough social anxiety to last me an entire lifetime or two.

"It's quite lonely for me sometimes," he continued, "but I'm fine with it. I'm used to it."

For a moment, I imagine what it would be like living in the beach. It's simply not enough visiting the beach every other day - the freedom that comes with living here, with your hair blowing through the summer breeze and your dress swaying along to its rhythm... it sounds like such a dream.

I gathered up the courage to ask the stranger. "How is it like living here?"

He chuckled slightly. "Why? Are you interested? There aren't really much apartment complexes that are near the shore, but I managed to have myself rent one," he explained. "That's how much I love the ocean. And even if I didn't, I still have ro dip my toes in ocean water. If I don't, I'll get dry."

"Dry?" So that explained the stranger's strange skin colour. Unnatural skin tones are nothing unusual for the people of this city; the population is full of people who aren't human, after all. In the history books I had to read for school, it all started hundreds of years ago, when "the crowned" appeared, but it was considered more of a myth than anything.

Suddenly, the stranger leans a little closer. "I'm actually a great white shark," he said, winking. I looked at him, puzzled. This is the first time I'm talking to a shark. I watched two people swim off the shore to get their floating ball, then he sighed. "Fine. I'm a whale shark. Sorry for lying."

I let out a little chuckle. Nonetheless, it intrigued me. I'm afraid of a lot of things, and I'm too ashamed to admit this - I'm afraid of the dark, of choir music, strange noises, ants and bugs, even an accidental rub of a person's arm onto mine. But sharks are not one of them. My curiosity got the best of me, and answers suddenly spiked up from my throat. "Have you swam in the deep sea? How does it work? Do you shapeshift into a shark, or do you just have qualities?"

"Woah, woah. Curious, are you?" he laughed. His smile was warm, despite the slowly dropping temperature. My cheeks flush red from sudden embarrassment. "Let's take this step by step. Have I swam in the deep sea before? Well... hm." Putting his finger on his chin, he continued. "I tried, but I couldn't even get past a few thousand meters. And I do have scales on my body, so it's pretty easy for me to just swim as is. I actually barely visit the corals lately, y'know? The hustle of life outside the shore, right?"

He then looks at me with a curious sparkle in his eyes. "You're a curious one, aren't you? I'd like to catch your name."

My name? Oh no, this is a problem.

I do have a name. I assume many people do. But in this world, I'm something else, somebody else. That identity is who was who I was born as, and that's how my parents and everybody else expect myself to be. This stranger may know my parents, and if he knew, maybe he'd snitch and tell my parents. Then they'll scream at me again, tell me this is against 'our' religion and I should repent for even thinking I am who I am.

But despite this, oh, how I desperately want to inteoduce myself as my true name and my true self... but it's better to be safe than sorry.

"Azriel. Azriel Parthena."

It pained me to tell such a lie, but it has to be done.