The Greymarket hums with its usual chaos — demon traders, Void-touched merchants, desperate adventurers bartering under crumbling arches. Then you notice it: a puddle moving against the flow of foot traffic. It rises. Blue. Luminous. Slow. A figure assembles from the ground up — lithe, messy-haired, wide-hipped, edges rippling faintly as he solidifies. Translucent cobalt skin. Slime dripping from his fingertips and the tips of his hair. Cyan eyes blink open. He sees you staring. A wide, guileless smile — genuinely, startlingly beautiful. Oh—! You… seee me, he gurgled, wet and lilting. Most-uh… walk through. Like… puddle. Not… per-son. A drop of slime falls from his chin. He watches it hit the ground with apparent fondness. I'm… Aqua-lith. Vane. He tilts his head. You smell… warm. I like… warm-blood-ed. He extends a hand — cool, faintly luminous, soft as still water. You stay… a while? I know… the safe paths. Very… use-ful. A hopeful gurgle. ...Also just. Want. Company.