Dawn had not yet fully broken, but a pale line on the eastern horizon slowly spread across the sea's surface. The Pacific Ocean was never truly "pacific" — its endless expanse was always alive, always breathing, calm yet carrying a hidden fury. In the colors of the water, the shimmer of dawn appeared — purple, deep blue, and golden hues mixing together, rippling as though it were living fabric. They were at least fifty kilometers away from Seabrook Port. Looking back, the blurry black outline of the coast could barely be seen, and the city lights had already faded, replaced by the last faint sparkle of small stars. The sea was so vast that one could feel as if lost in infinity. The waves were not very high, but their constant pounding against the boat's iron hull left ringing echoes. The smell of the sea — salty, heavy, as though it had absorbed the whole world — filled the air. Each year at this season, fishermen set out to sea, yet one never truly felt safe here: the sea was both generous and merciless. The waves, though gentle, still carried power — each strike against the iron hull resounded with a dry clang, as though the ocean were singing its eternal song. The air, thick with salt and the ocean's heavy scent, seeped deeply into one's lungs.
At the stern of the boat stood a tall, broad-shouldered yet somewhat lean young man. This was Ethan. He wore a fisherman's outfit of faded yellow, tinged reddish with time, and an old shirt marked with stains of salty water. On his head rested a sun-bleached yellow cap of the same set. His black hair, messy and slightly disheveled, poked out from beneath the cap, falling across his forehead. His eyes, golden in tone with dark bluish shadows beneath them, looked as though he had not slept well. His beard and mustache were unkempt, grown out, and his face bore not the marks of youth but of weariness and a heavy burden. He seemed older than his years, as though already past thirty — yet in truth, he had only just turned twenty-four, nearing twenty-five.
Ethan had only been learning the trade of fishing for half a year. Despite that, he was already adapting to the life. Yet at that moment, he was not thinking about work, but about his past. Memories of days gone by, of certain losses, of sweet yet painful recollections passed through his mind. He sighed deeply, almost unconsciously.
From the boat's control cabin came a rough but somewhat weary voice. It was Walter, the boat's owner and Ethan's employer. He too wore the yellow fisherman's gear, though his body was stouter and his height more average. His hair was still mostly black but streaked with gray, as though life's many trials had aged him alongside time. His eyes were yellowish yet dull — years of nights and hardships at sea had drained him. His rounder face softened his features, yet his beard grew uneven and half-gray.
The boat itself reflected their lives. Made of iron, an old fishing vessel with many years of service behind it. Its sides were marked by salt stains and rust patches. Scratches lined its hull, each mark a memory of harsh days at sea. Nets lay scattered at the entrance, half-dried. The handles were blackened with grease, the control panel worn, its buttons faded and levers used countless times. The smell of salt and rotting fish clung to every corner, strongest inside. Below deck, barrels of water and equipment sat among rotting wood and rusting iron. Yet despite all this, the boat still endured the ocean's rage, carrying them out to earn their living.
Walter stood at the cabin window, watching Ethan. Though tall, the young man looked weighed down, sorrowful. Walter called out in a muffled but still loud voice:
"Hey, Ethan! How long do you plan to stand there? We've reached the spot to cast the nets. Look at the weather — it's starting to turn. Best get moving quickly."
Ethan slowly raised his head. The words reached him, but his mind was still elsewhere. He squinted into the thickening mist over the sea, then let his shoulders drop. With another deep sigh he answered quietly:
"Alright… alright, I'll do it now."
He walked slowly to the heavy nets scattered across the deck. Lifting his hands, he began to set them in order. Droplets of salty water slid from the wet ropes, the smell of fish clinging strongly to his hands.
Walter stepped out from the cabin and onto the deck. His steps were slow as he looked at Ethan. His eyes lingered on the young man's weary, troubled face. At last, with a heavy sigh, he spoke:
"Ethan, are you alright today? You seem strange. Did something happen?"
Ethan paused while gathering the nets. He heard the question clearly but hesitated, unsure how to answer. Inwardly he thought: "Whether I tell the truth or a lie, what difference will it make? It won't change anything…"
At last he looked up, meeting Walter's eyes. In them was genuine concern, even warmth. Ethan lowered his gaze back to the nets and replied softly:
"I don't know… Just… memories of my youth, my home, my parents came to me, that's all."
Walter smiled faintly. His smile was touched with sadness, but also warmth.
"Ah, so that's it. I thought something bad had happened. But what's wrong with remembering? The past is ours — our childhood, our friends, our family, those precious moments. Even if they hurt, they're still valuable."
Silence fell between them. Only the calm yet relentless sounds of the sea were heard. The wind slowly grew stronger, swaying the lamps hanging over the deck.
Walter broke the silence, his voice thoughtful:
"You're twenty-four now, aren't you?"
Ethan bowed his head slightly, answering in a low tone:
"Sadly… yes."
"Sadly?" Walter thought. He shook his head with a half-smile.
"Well, you're not that young anymore. Tell me, why aren't you married yet?"
Ethan looked at him for a moment. Something unspoken lingered in his eyes. Finally, he sighed deeply and said:
"I don't know…"
Walter stroked his chin, his tone half-curious, half-teasing:
"What do you mean you don't know? Maybe you loved someone, and after she left, you've avoided marriage since? Heh."
Ethan's reply came sharply, almost defensive:
"No… what's the point of love anyway? That's not for me."
Walter tilted his head.
"Then why?"
Ethan remained silent for a while, fiddling with the nets in his hands, staring downward. Then, slowly, pausing between words, he spoke:
"I just… don't know. Maybe I have no desire for it now. Maybe the chance came, but I never noticed."
Walter nodded slowly.
"Maybe so. Still, walking this life alone isn't good for you, I think."
Ethan was quiet, then gazed at the sea, his voice tinged with sorrow:
"Maybe… or maybe loneliness isn't so bad."
Walter caught the pain in his tone and looked at him more seriously.
"Ethan, I've known you for half a year. I know what kind of man you are, and I know about your past. Don't be offended, but listen — I have a daughter about your age. I raised her myself. She's well-mannered, beautiful too. You've even seen her once or twice."
Ethan stood frozen, staring at the sea. His gaze hardened, but fear showed clearly in his face.
"Ethan, are you even listening to me?" Walter raised his voice. "I'm saying I'd give you my daughter!"
Ethan spoke faintly, his words trembling with fear:
"The sea… the water is pulling back…"
At first, Walter didn't understand. But the moment he too looked at the sea, his eyes widened. Indeed, the water was retreating, the seabed showing itself. At the same time, the fog thickened.
"Damn it…" Walter muttered hoarsely. Then he shouted: "Tsunami! To the cabin, quick!"
They both rushed inside. Ethan's heart pounded wildly.
"How?!" Walter stammered in panic. "We're far from shore! How could a tsunami appear here?!"
He shook, shouting again:
"Signal the port! Quickly!"
Ethan hurried to the radio, pressing buttons, switching channels. But the radio gave no reply — only harsh static. Then, not far from the boat, the water began to swell unnaturally. At first it seemed like an ordinary wave, but it grew larger every second, rising into the shape of a towering wall. Soon it loomed as high as a five-story building.
Walter's face drained of color. Ethan froze, breath caught. The enormous wall of water roared, crashing toward them with terrifying force. In an instant, their boat — once solid as iron — was tossed aside like a toy.