(Open Sea, Approaching Southern Tanna — Higashihama Bay, 299 BC)
That night—a night of nights. No stars. No moon. Nothing but rumbling heavens and a sky fracturing into dark pavilions of violet cloud-columns touching the horizons. Lightning flashing in eerie purple veins, staining the sea with unnatural hues, as though the waters themselves had been bruised. The last watch of the night, and the rains of horror pouring down without mercy upon the ten ships pressing through unknown waters toward southern Tanna.
The wind howled like a living thing. Not merely strong—killer-caliber. It screamed through rigging and oarlocks, ripping breath from lungs, and hurling waves against the hulls like warring giants settling ancient grudges. The sea rose and fell in foaming walls, each advance met by twice the retreat. The ships were never meant for crossings such as this. Every pitch drew out the sound of protesting wood—creaks, groans, the long complaint of timbers begging not to split.
Men strained at the oars, tightening knots with numb fingers already blistered raw. Their jaws clenched as they massaged shoulders and biceps mid-stroke, refusing rest. Voices cut through the storm in disciplined rhythm.
“MOVE IT—KEEP ROWING!”
“Power ten!”
Across all ten vessels the call echoed, answered by a chorus of rowers.
“POWER TEN!”
Thunder crashed over their cry, the sky itself mocked their defiance.
On deck, men formed a living perimeter, bracing their bodies to keep women and children from being swept overboard. Nodding to one another—no words needed—while the women's hands clenched in prayers beneath their breath, fingers locked around amulets, around each other, around hope. Children cried into soaked sleeves, their sobs stolen by the wind.
A wave climbed higher than a grown man. The ship lurched at the wrong moment, and the crest slammed sideways into the hull. Salt spray exploded across the deck, stinging eyes, knocking breath from chests. Somewhere, a child screamed. Somewhere else, a man laughed—sharp and hysterical—then choked it back.
Ten nights at sea. Ten nights of this.
On one of the smaller vessels, a father clutched his young son to his chest, arms locked like iron.
“Father,” the boy asked, voice trembling but steady with effort, “will we survive?”
The man swallowed, rain streaming down his beard.
“We’ve weathered worse, lad,” he said, forcing calm into his tone. “The Good Lord watches over us. Just hold my hand—it will be all right.”
The boy nodded, eyes wide and glassy.
The sentence never finished.
A massive gust struck.
The mast screamed.
CRACK.
Splinters flew like knives. The broken mast began to fall, toward the clustered women and children below.
“DOWN!”
“GET BACK!”
“SAINTS PRESERVE US—!”
The ships pitched violently. Two vessels nearly rammed one another as waves pivoted their bows at murderous angles. The deck became a slick of rain and seawater. People slid, arms flailing, feet losing purchase. Panic spiked—raw, contagious.
Then three figures moved.
Toho, not yet sixteen, leapt forward without thought. He seized a thick rope still lashed to the falling mast and braced himself, boots skidding. Every muscle screamed as he hauled back, rope burning his forearm. He glanced once—just once—toward the cluster of women and children. Among them, Chika. Fear flickered across her face, then steel.
Determination hardened him.
“Together!” he roared, voice cutting through the chaos. “We don’t lose anyone tonight!”
Beside him, Sawai surged into motion—broad-shouldered, raw power coiled tight. As another wave struck, he read the sea like a tactician reads terrain.
“Like this—use the wave!” Toho yelled.
Sawai planted his feet and shoved with all his strength, pivoting the mast outward, letting the wave’s momentum carry it away from the deck. His core wobbled—strength exceeding balance—and he nearly slid himself into the rail, teeth bared in effort.
Meanwhile, Imei spotted an elderly man skidding helplessly toward the edge. With a dramatic lunge, he grabbed the man by the belt and collar, hauling him back with a grunt.
“Easy there, Grandpa!” Imei shouted, rain plastering his hair to his face. “Can’t have you swimming without your morning tea!”
A weak chuckle escaped the old man, absurd and precious.
The mast swung free at last, tearing loose with a final shriek and crashing into the sea in a violent splash. The deck shuddered—but held.
For a heartbeat, there was victory.
A cheer rose—ragged, brief, defiant—swallowed almost instantly by the storm. Releasing the rope, Toho steadied the others, hauling a woman upright, shoving a crate back into place. His gaze met hers again. Gratitude passed between them, unspoken, electric.
The wind shifted, just slightly. The ships stabilized enough for breath to return. Exiles huddled closer, bodies pressed together against the cold. The father found his son again, pulling him close, whispering thanks into the boy’s hair.
“Is everything all right, pal?” Toho asked Imei.
Imei flashed a grin despite the rain.
“Oki-doki,” he said, exaggerated and bright, making a few children laugh through their tears.
For a moment—just one—Toho went still.
The wind fell silent.
Not calm, but absent.
A chill crawled up his spine. The hairs on his arms rose. Something was approaching, something vast and wrong, as if the sea were drawing breath.
“—!” he shouted suddenly, startled by his own voice.
No one else felt it.
Sawai shot him a look. “Hoy, hero,” he called over the rain, “we don’t want to repeat what we just did.”
Imei nodded solemnly, then ruined it by stage-whispering, “Aye, my heart can only take so much bravery per watch,” earning another nervous laugh from the children.
Then it happened.
BAAAM.
A wall of wind struck the vessel—not a gust, but a solid force. The ship lurched violently sideways, ropes snapping taut, oars jerking from hands. In an instant, it was torn away from the formation, severed from the other nine ships like a limb ripped from a body.
Cries rose in alarm as the vessel spun, carried fast by an unseen current.
Ahead, through the eerie flash, jagged shapes emerged from me ruins.
They were being driven straight toward the Seal Rock Ruins of Higashihama—forgotten teeth of an older world, waiting beneath the aves.
“What in the world is that…?”
Sawai’s voice cut through the storm, sharp and incredulous, as the ship slid unnaturally between shadowed silhouettes rising from th Toho standing ona. Near the deck rail, rain stroke dhisho’s face, violet lightning flaring behind his eyes.
“They look like… houses,” he said slowly.
“Abandoned house?” Imei echoed, disbelief mixing with fear. “in rocks?”
The shapes were wrong—too rigid, too skeletal. As lightning split the sky again, the truth revealed itself in pieces: rotted hulls, broken prows, masts petrified by salt and time, frozen mid-collapse like corpses reaching out of the sea. Ship graveyards. Ancient ones.
Before another word could be spoken, the wind howled—not forward, but sideways.
Lanterns from the other ships flickered wildly, then vanished as violent waves and wind shear tore the formation apart. Signal cries were swallowed by thunder. Darkness reclaimed the sea.
“THE WAVES ARE FOAMING!!!” the lookout screamed.
Toho’s eyes locked ahead. Purple flares illuminated jagged rocks and splintered timbers jutting upward like the teeth of some colossal beast. Before the rowers could resynchronize—
SCRAAAAAPE.
Once.
SCRAAAAAPE.
Twice.
The hull shuddered. Wood screamed. Water surged through seams, thin fingers of death creeping across the deck.
Panic erupted.
Children cried openly now. Women clutched each other, some whispering prayers, others screaming names. Elderly men dropped to their knees, gripping railings with white knuckles.
“We’re sinking—!” “Hold the child—hold him!” “Mother—don’t let go!”
Over twenty lives were moments away from being dashed against the reef line.
Climbing to the prow, boots slipping on rain-soaked planks, every step measured. Time slowed around him.
Rain droplets hung in the air. Foam churned lazily.
The chaos dimmed to a distant ech.
Ship too heavy.
Sits too low.
Poor maneuverabiity.
He raised his hand into the gale. The wind shoved sideway.
The wind is forcing us sideways—into the rocks.
“Toho—this is not the time to daydream!” Imei shouted desperately, wrestling with panicking rowers.
His eyes snapped to the remaining mast stump—its tangled rigging whipping violently, catching wind like a cursed sai.
It’s worsening the drift.
Realization struck like lightning.
“Silence!” he shouted.
His voice was calm—but absolute.
“We have one chance. The ship is too heavy and too slow. We make her light and quick—now!”
No hesitation followed.
“Sawai—mast-pole push!”
Sawai stared back, “You sure? We don’t know how long till land!”
Toho nodded once. No explanation. Only certainty.
“Jettison! Now!”
Hands froze for a heartbeat. Then survival took command.
Barrels were rolled. Splash. Splash.
Chests vanished with hollow splashes. Lifetimes of possessions were sacrificed without farewell.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
It was Chika.
“Toho—I can help.”
He met her eyes. Daughter of a clan leader. Noble blood. None of that mattered now.
“Good,” he said. “Then you’re with me.”
He turned sharply. “Women and children—low center! Sit tight together—balance the deck!”
“Imei!” he barked. “You and every man not rowing—cargo jettison, now!”
Imei, slim and soaked, grinned nervously. “I really should’ve stayed a scholar.”
Despite fear, movement synchronized. The ship rose, just inches—but it was enough.
Then the sea lifted them.
A massive wave reared like a wall.
“NOW!”
Sawai and his group slammed the mast section against a protruding boulder. Using the wave’s momentum, raw force twisted the bow sideways.
The hull groaned, scraped brutally along submerged rock—wood splintered, water surged below deck.
A child slipped—
“Got you!” he shouted, grabbing the boy’s arm as he dangled over the rail.
“Papa!” the child cried.
“Hold tight, little one" he said, hauling him back. “You’re not dying tonight.”
The ship burst through a narrow channel between rocks.
Free.
Battered. Flooded ankle-deep below deck.
But afloat.
A broken cheer rose—weak, disbelieving, alive.
They bailed water furiously. Toho moved among them, checking faces, gripping shoulders.
He found Chika. Alive. Shaking.
“You did well,” he said quietly.
She exhaled, tears mixing with rain. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
Neither of them smiled.
The storm eased—slightly. The sea smoothed into something passable.
Sawai collapsed onto the deck, laughing breathlessly. “Now that is teamwork.”
Imei lay sprawled nearby. “I never signed up for this".
In the darkness of the night Toho stood scanning beyond the waves.
“There,” he said. “The other ships. Move toward the group.”
Lanterns flickered in the distance—waving frantically.
Unease coiled in his chest.
What if we shouldn’t have left the ruins?
The wind returned violent.
Sawai stared into the black water. "Why is it… rising?"
"What is rising?” Toho asked, turning—
The sea swelled.
Higher.
Higher.
A wall forming where none should exist.
Color drained from Imei’s face. “I’ve seen this… in my homeland.”
Silence fell.
“A tsunami.”
“To all men!” Toho roared. “Women and children—hold them—hold them!”
Too late.
The ocean collapsed.
Ships shattered like toys. Timber exploded. Lanterns vanished. Screams were erased.
Then—nothing.
Black water.
Silence.
From the wreckage, bodies surfaced. Men swimming with women and children clutched to debris.
Toho broke the surface coughing—eyes searching wildly.
“CHIKA!”
She was sinking faster.
“Imei!” Sawai shouted.
Imei tied a rope around Toho’s waist without a word.
“GO!”
Toho dove.
The pressure crushed him. Darkness pressed in. He found Chika, limp—pulled her upward—
But strength failed.
“Sawai—PULL!” Imei screamed.
They dragged them up.
Air tore back into Toho’s lungs as he coughed violently.
“Hold on,” Sawai gasped. “We’ve got you.”
Vision blurring.
The night deepened.
The sea calmed.
And consciousness slipped away.
The water stopped tasting salty.
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160Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2aRyy0G8sB
160Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKn7v4mcyOS
160Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5SmHF8ONDr
160Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLbYoKVUzAn
160Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5b8rFSIQbO
160Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsHpAuPnClp
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