The village was not itself.
Rowan had grown used to waking to laughter — children darting barefoot through the huts, women humming as they prepared food, the low murmur of men mending nets or shaping coral tools. Today there was none of that. The air was heavy, strained, as if the island itself braced for a storm.
He followed the crowd to the council ground, a wide clearing above the beach where a circle of stones marked the place of gathering.
The chiefs and elders stood at the center, their faces grim. Warriors gathered around them in tense silence, holding spears, blades, and crude shields. The younger Islanders were the loudest, voices sharp with anger.
"We cannot wait!" one shouted. "They will strike again, and next time it will be our children."
Another spat into the sand. "Blood for blood. That is the only language the Thalriss understand."
The chief raised a hand, and silence fell. His lined face was carved with weariness. "The sea runs red with our kin," he said heavily. "But rushing to meet them in the water is death. They are faster. Stronger. To fight them in their home is to give them our throats."
Rowan glanced at Luna. She stood rigid at her father's side, her dolphin Soulkin flickering faintly, emerald eyes hard. She said nothing, but her jaw was set like stone.
"We fight on land," another elder declared. "Or on boats, where we have footing. Spears, nets, and oars — let them come to us. We will not be dragged down into their depths."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some nodded. Others scowled.
Rowan shifted uneasily. Lyra leaned toward him, her voice low. "They're right. Fighting in the sea is suicide. The only chance is to force the Thalriss onto the shallows, where their speed means nothing."
"Unless they refuse to come," Callen muttered, his arms crossed, eyes blazing. "Unless they stay just beyond reach, picking us apart one by one. Then what? You think a few canoes will frighten them?"
"They're not fools," Lyra shot back. "They won't waste themselves throwing spears at shadows."
Mira's voice cracked as she pushed forward. "Stop it! Stop talking as if slaughter is inevitable. Did none of you hear them? They're starving. Their children are gone. This isn't war — it's desperation!"
The young warrior who had shouted for blood turned on her with fury. "And what of our dead? Our dolphins butchered, whales harpooned, calves torn from the sea? Do you call that desperation too?"
Mira faltered, Todd pulsing faintly at her shoulder, but she held her ground. "Yes. I do. Because if it were us — if it were our people — wouldn't you do the same?"
The warriors bristled, muttering darkly. Rowan felt the tension coiling like a drawn bow. Darin stepped between them, his deep voice steady. "Enough. This anger only feeds the tide. Do you not feel it? The sea itself is restless."
The words hung heavy.
The chief finally raised his staff, striking it against the stone. "Enough. You will prepare the defenses. We fight where the land meets the sea. We will not take their bait in the deep. If they come, they come on our terms."
---
The rest of the day was consumed with preparation.
Rowan walked among the Islanders as they worked, the air alive with the clang of tools, the thud of wood on sand, the rasp of rope pulled taut. Spears of bone and coral were stacked in bundles. Nets were weighted with stones and coiled neatly along the beach. Wooden shields were shaped from driftwood, their surfaces etched with protective sigils.
Canoes were pulled into the shallows, crews drilling with oars. Larger vessels, with high sides and reinforced hulls, were dragged from storage and fitted with crude ballistae — great crossbows lashed from wood and sinew, designed to hurl bolts heavy enough to pierce a whale's hide.
Children ran messages back and forth, their small faces pale but determined. Elders murmured prayers over bundles of shells, handing them to warriors as charms. Women sharpened blades and sang low under their breath, not the joyous songs Rowan had come to love but dark, steady rhythms to drive fear from their hearts.
Rowan felt the weight of it pressing on him. He tightened his grip on his harpoon until his hands ached.
Lyra tested her spear, twirling it in sharp arcs before planting the butt in the sand. "At least here we stand a chance."
Callen scoffed. "A chance? You think a few sticks and boats will stop them? They'll drag us under before the first drumbeat."
"Then stay on the sand and let the rest of us fight," Lyra snapped.
Mira stepped between them, tears brimming in her eyes. "Don't you see? Every word you speak is exactly what they want — blood, anger, blame. But it isn't them. Something else is driving this!"
Rowan said nothing. He looked out at the horizon where the waves shimmered, the water too calm, too still. Midg hovered anxiously, darting in small circles. He felt it too.
---
By dusk, the Islanders were ready.
They lined the beach in tight ranks, spears and shields in hand. The canoes waited in the shallows, crews poised with oars. The larger vessels rocked slowly, ballistae armed and ready.
Drums pounded in steady rhythm, each beat echoing through Rowan's chest. Not song — not the living rhythm of Taichii — but war's heartbeat, grim and unyielding.
Beyond the reef, shadows moved.
The Thalriss glided through the water, their sleek forms cutting the waves. Every so often one would breach, arcing high before crashing back into the surf. They sang as they moved, eerie wails that rose and fell like the cries of whales, but twisted, sharper, meant to unnerve.
Rowan's breath caught. The two forces faced each other across the surf, waiting for the other to move.
The silence stretched. The drums pounded. The sea seemed to hold its breath.
Then Midg darted in front of him, glowing brighter than ever. Rowan frowned, tightening his grip. "What is it?"
The minnow spun frantically, then shot toward the surf. Rowan followed his gaze. At first he saw only waves. Then—
A ripple.
Not a wave. Not wind. Something else.
The water shimmered silver. Then it broke.
---
A school of minnows erupted from the reef, tens of thousands of tiny bodies flashing like shards of glass in the sun. They swarmed together in perfect unison, a living river streaming past the island.
Gasps broke from the Islanders.
Behind them came larger fish — whole shoals of tuna and barracuda, their sleek bodies slicing the waves. Then predators: sharks, dozens of them, fins cutting sharp lines through the sea, jaws snapping in agitation.
Rowan's heart hammered.
It didn't stop.
Whales breached in the distance, their massive forms arching high before crashing back with thunderous force. Dozens, then scores, their mournful cries carrying across the wind — not the low, soothing songs Rowan had heard before, but sharp, frantic wails of fear.
Manta rays soared beneath the surface, their wide wings undulating like sails. Sea turtles plowed through the current, their heavy shells gleaming. Jellyfish swarmed in glowing masses, pulsing like lanterns in daylight, all moving in the same direction.
It was everything.
Every living thing in the sea was fleeing.
The beach erupted into chaos. Islanders dropped spears, some crying out in terror, others collapsing to their knees. Mothers clutched children close. Elders wept openly, whispering frantic prayers. Fishermen stared hollow-eyed, their livelihoods swept away before their eyes.
"The sea flees!" one woman wailed. "Even she abandons us!"
Rowan's gut clenched.
On the horizon, the Thalriss broke the surface, their voices wailing in eerie harmony. They struck their chests, their cries carrying across the waves. Luna stiffened beside Rowan, translating under her breath.
"They call it a funeral march. They believe the sea herself dies."
Mira's hands trembled, Todd flickering wildly. "It's not just them. It's everything. The whole sea is emptying."
Lyra shook her head slowly, her usual sharpness gone. "No one commands the ocean like this. Not the Thalriss. Not the Islanders."
Darin's deep voice rumbled. "Then something else does. And whatever it is… it drives even whales to flee."
Rowan could only stare, his harpoon forgotten in his hands, as the endless river of life surged past into the horizon.
This was no battle. This was no war.
It was something far worse, moving in the deep.