For when the black tides came, they brought more than just the waters
They brought the Reckoning.
Yaxkin had heard the stories all her life. The elders spoke of the black tides as if they were an old enemy, a force that had been asleep for centuries but would one day rise again.
Legends told of a time when the black waters swallowed entire villages, dragging souls to the depths as payment for the sins of the people.
But Yaxkin, ever the skeptic, believed it to be a story used to keep children in line. That was, until the night the black moon rose.It was a night like no other.
The sky had turned a deep indigo, with a faint shimmer of silver stars scattered like dust.
But the moon, great and swollen, hovered over the sea like a dark omen. And with it came the sound of rushing water. It wasn’t the usual, rhythmic crashing of waves; this sound was different. Angry. Roaring.
Yaxkin stood at the edge of the cliff, her feet planted in the earth as she watched the ocean pull away, revealing the vast seabed beneath. The creatures of the deep lay exposed, writhing and gasping in the moonlight.
The tide had retreated farther than anyone had ever seen.Then came the sound—a distant, low rumble, like the groan of a sleeping giant stirring in its bed.
The black tide. It surged forward like a beast awakening from a long slumber, angry and ravenous. Within its depths, Yaxkin could see shapes. They were not human, not anymore.
These were the lost souls forever bound to the tides. Creeping closer with each curling tide.
Her breath caught in her throat as she realised what was about to happen.
The black waters roared forward, swallowing everything in its path.
Her fear dissolved into something deeper, like a stone gently sinking into the sand, embracing the truth of its existence.
It was to cleanse. To remind the people of Horuk that no matter how far they pushed the boundaries of their land, no matter how much they took.
the sea would always take back what was owed.
The black water was almost upon her, towering above her like a moving wall endless regrets. A collective hoard of secrets stored in the ship.
Her instinct screamed to run, but something deeper, something primal, rooted her to the spot. This was the moment. Her whole life had led her here.
The tide was not just water. It was memory, and as the first icy wave brushed her feet, Yaxkin cradled the soft sand into a familiar shape, the shape of loss and pain.
