The roar struck Iftaya before she ever saw the creature.
It crashed across the sea like the voice of a collapsing mountain, so immense that the air itself seemed to tear apart. The cliff beneath her boots lurched. Pebbles skipped over the edge into the churning surf below. Pain exploded through her ears, forcing her to one knee as the world dissolved into a shrill ringing.
Salt spray lashed across her face.
She blinked against the stinging water, forcing herself to look toward the ocean.
Something was rising.
The sea did not part for it. It fled.
Waves taller than houses rolled outward in every direction as an impossible shape climbed from the abyss. Black flesh glistened beneath centuries of algae and barnacles. Long strands of kelp hung from its body like rotting banners. Every movement carried the weight of an island breaking free from the ocean floor.
Its head alone dwarfed the lighthouse overlooking the harbor.
Then its eyes opened.
