Submission (#522) Approved

(Permission to use Zephyra from GalaxyFeathers)
The sun hung heavy and hot above the inlet, painting everything in hues of gold and pale blue. The air shimmered slightly where it met the white sand, heat curling upward like an invisible dance. Most Tatsukoi were clustered farther down the beach, where parasols cast enchanted shade and children shrieked as they chased each other through the surf. But not Nadira. She stalked alone down the shoreline, past the noise and laughter, to the stretch of coast where the rocks were sharp and the tidepools weren’t picked clean. Her tail dragged glowing streaks behind her in the wet sand, gleaming with every flick. Even off-duty, her energy crackled — her movements were restless, like lightning trapped in a bottle.
Her claws swiped through a tangle of seaweed with practiced ease, rummaging like she was looking for a fight and a prize in equal measure. Her eyes scanned each glint of shell and glimmer of tideglass with the same intensity she'd bring to a battlefield.
“C’mon, c’mon…” she muttered. “Where’s the good stuff?”
And then she saw it. A single shell, buried halfway beneath a frill of kelp—spiraled, glistening, almost opalescent in the sun. She tugged it free, holding it up. It was hollow and curved, and when the breeze caught it, the shell hummed with a soft tone that sent a thrill down her spine. Nadira’s grin was sharp enough to slice kelp.
“Ohoho yes. This is the one.” Without ceremony, she brought the shell to her lips and blew. The sound that burst forth was wild—a haunting, unsteady note that flared across the open coast. A few seagulls squawked and took off in a flurry of indignant feathers. Somewhere in the distance, a fish jumped out of the water and promptly changed course. Nadira’s laughter broke across the shore in a cackle that was more thunder than mirth.
“Now that is what I call a stage entrance.” She snapped her wings open, carved a swath of damp sand into a makeshift arena, and set to work. Kelp draped over a driftwood branch became a garland. Pebbles were arranged in meticulous rings like footlights. And three unfortunate crabs were scooped up, positioned into a sad little formation, and bribed with dried shrimp into becoming backup dancers. They did not look thrilled, but they did shuffle nervously when she clapped. That was enough.
“This is it,” she declared, planting the shell in the sand like a mic stand. “My beach. My rules. My show.” And from that moment, she wasn't just Nadira anymore. She was Nadira the Stormqueen. The first note that left her mouth wasn’t graceful—it was feral. But Nadira didn’t care. Her voice tore through the air like a wave through glass, rough and unapologetic. Improvised lyrics spilled out of her in staccato bursts, full of wild metaphors and reckless power.
“Drown the sky, break the wave, storm in my blood and a name in my blaze!” The wind answered her with a sharp gust, and Nadira spun with it—tail lashing, claws raised, wings flaring like stage curtains. The beach, for this moment, was hers and hers alone. Even the crashing tide seemed to pause to listen. And then, mid-spin, she felt it.
That indescribable weight of someone watching her. Not just watching, but studying. Her gaze snapped to the high rock that overlooked the inlet. There. A figure. Still as stone. Leaning against a boulder, shades glinting in the sun, arms folded. Zephyra. Her heart hiccuped in her chest—but she didn’t dare break rhythm. Oh no. If anything, she turned the tempo up.
The crabs were now flailing more than dancing, but that just made it better. Nadira grabbed the shell, spun it in her claw like a baton, and belted the next verse as if the ocean itself was her orchestra and she was the only voice it would obey.
She tossed her mane with theatrical flair and launched into a dramatic solo. Her golden eyes flicked toward Zephyra with every spin, every beat. He hadn’t moved. Typical. Like a statue carved from obsidian and disdain. But she knew he was watching. The final note rose like a battle cry. And when she dropped the shell to the sand with a theatrical thunk, she didn’t even glance his way—until a beat later, when she turned, smirk already forming. There he was. Still there. Shades lowered just enough to see his eyes. His expression unreadable.
He didn’t clap. But he didn’t leave either. Her tail flicked. “Well look who finally decided to crash my private concert,” she said aloud—not to him, but to the nearest crab, who looked ready to defect. “Guess even the silent types can’t resist a front-row seat to greatness.” And though he said nothing yet, the energy between them changed—like something unspoken had just been sung into existence.
Nadira let the silence hang for dramatic effect—just long enough for the waves to crash in punctuation. Then, casually, like she hadn’t just delivered a performance worthy of a spotlight and a stadium, she turned toward the boulder and stretched. Her claws flexed overhead, her wings caught the sunlight like jagged glass, and her voice dropped into that cocky, velvet drawl that always spelled trouble.
“Didn’t know I was taking VIPs today, Zeph,” she called, brushing a wet lock of hair from her eyes. “But since you’re here, might as well stay for the encore.” Zephyra didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just stood there—arms still folded, shades now hanging from his collar, unreadable gaze fixed squarely on her.
Nadira’s heart beat like a war drum. But she’d never let that show. With a flick of her tail and a mischievous grin, she snatched the shell from the sand and spun it on one claw. “Let’s turn it up, boys!” she barked to the crabs—two had attempted escape, and one was pretending to be dead. She corralled them with practiced flair and kicked the tempo back up with a new rhythm—this one lower, punchier, aggressive. The second number wasn’t a song so much as a challenge. Her feet pounded the wet sand in rhythm. Her claws tapped percussive beats on driftwood as she snarled out sharp lyrics that rolled like thunder. Something about being untouchable. Unbreakable. Wild. The sea joined her—waves crashing harder, the wind curling her voice toward the cliffs. Her wings pulsed with the beat, scales catching the light like electricity. And still, Zephyra watched. Cool. Silent. Occasionally his fingers twitched—just slightly—in time with the rhythm. That was all she needed.
She ended it all with a power slide down the slope, spraying a curtain of seawater into the air as she spun to a halt. Her wings flared behind her like a banner in the wind, and the final note left her throat in a triumphant growl. Then silence again. Zephyra stepped forward. Just a few paces. Slow. Intentional. The surf crept up to greet his feet. He offered one slow clap. Then another. It was... dry. Unimpressed. But his eyes?
His eyes told a different story. “Not bad,” he said, voice calm, nearly drowned beneath the ocean. “Do you always sing to crabs, or am I just special?”
Nadira smirked, fangs glinting. “They’re my regulars. You just got lucky.” She tossed the shell toward him. He caught it with one hand. Effortless.
“If you’re gonna crash my beach gig,” she added, tail flicking like a cat mid-hunt, “you better be ready for the aftershow.” And with that, she turned on her heel and dove into the surf, wings slicing the air, laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon.
The sun was sinking, now—a molten smear across the sea’s horizon. The tide had mellowed, lazy and slow, like even the waves had settled down to catch their breath after Nadira’s storm. She floated near the shallows, arms behind her head, wings drifting lazily in the water. Her eyes half-lidded, golden in the evening glow, watching the clouds. She hummed to herself, barely audible over the rhythmic lull of the waves. When she tilted her head back, Zephyra was still there. Now sitting just at the edge where surf kissed the shore, forearms resting on his knees. His shades were gone entirely. His silhouette was sharp against the golden backdrop, wind tousling his pale hair. He hadn’t left.
Nadira bit the inside of her cheek, but her smirk returned. Just a little smaller. “You come to critique my choreography,” she called lazily, “or are you secretly dying to ask me for singing lessons?”
Zephyra didn’t answer immediately. He watched the sea, eyes scanning the water like it was a mission brief. Then, quietly: “You didn’t need a stage. You were the show.”
Nadira blinked. That—okay. That one hit her like a wave out of nowhere. She snorted. “Hah! Stars above, you almost sounded like a fan there.” She flipped onto her belly, resting her chin on her arms. “Say stuff like that and I’ll start thinking you’ve got taste.”
Zephyra tilted his head, not smiling, but not dismissing her either. "You perform like someone who’s been fighting their whole life," he said, voice low. "Even when you’re smiling." That one? That stopped her cold. The sea bumped gently against her side, coaxing breath back into her lungs.
“…Yeah. Well.” She sat up a little in the water, voice quieter now. “I guess that’s the only way I know how. I was raised in a city where strength was survival, and anything soft got crushed or sold off. You didn’t just exist. You had to leave an impression.” She scooped a handful of water, let it run through her claws.
“Singing’s the only time I get to be loud without being angry. Like I’m finally allowed to scream without anyone telling me to shut up.” Zephyra didn’t interrupt. He just watched her, listening without judgment. That was worse somehow. Made her feel seen.
After a beat, he said, “Don’t let this place tame that.”
She tilted her head. “Tame?”
He nodded once. “Peace is good. But too much of it makes warriors forget how to burn. You’ve got fire, Nadira. Today, you let it sing.”
Nadira stared at him.
Then, lips twitching—“You’re really bad at being chill, y’know that?”
He raised a brow. She splashed him dead center in the chest. He blinked slowly. No change in expression. So she splashed him again. Harder. This time, his fingers flicked. A ripple of water arced toward her—not enough to knock her off balance, but enough to count as retaliation.
“Ohhh, it’s on now,” she grinned, diving under the waves. It wasn’t a real fight. It was a quiet skirmish between fire and steel—playful, ridiculous, ridiculous because he actually played along. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in honeyed shadows, Nadira floated quietly again, water cooling her skin, her heart still doing flips.
Zephyra sat nearby, sleeves damp, hair tousled, calm as ever. She didn’t say anything. But her storm was quiet now and somehow, that was enough.

Reward	Amount
Gold	10
Summer Daze Music Festival - Design and MYO Raffles (Raffle Ticket)	1