The tide lay low that evening, sucking back from the reefs and leaving behind jagged spines that glittered in the dying light like shattered glass. They cut sharp shapes against the horizon, black teeth in a gray mouth, glistening with salt as the last whispers of sunlight scattered across their surfaces. The sea itself seemed subdued, restless waves lapping the shoals not with fury but with exhaustion, as though it too had spent its strength in the battle.
All through Pearlbay, the scent of smoke lingered. The villagers had burned driftwood and salted kelp for the mourning fires, and though many flames had now guttered into smoldering coils, the acrid tang clung to the air. It mixed with brine, blood, and broken coral, weaving a perfume of grief that could not be ignored.
