The ocean did not approach the Moon-Cliffs with a roar. It approached with a terrifying, unnatural silence.
The tide did not retreat. It simply grew. It swallowed the beach, then the jagged lower rocks, and finally began to climb the vertical face of the Crimson Ridge as if the water itself were a living vine seeking the sun.
Atop the cliff, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of ozone and rotting kelp. Sienna stood at the edge, her expensive leather boots stained with the salt spray. Behind her, the Black Ridge warriors held their silver spears with trembling hands. They were wolves, but without their shifted forms, they felt like prey.
"What is this?" Sienna demanded, her voice shrill against the rising wind. "The tide shouldn't be this high. It’s impossible."
"It isn't a tide,"
