From my understanding, the invasion began west of the Bronze Sea.
The Monoah Tribe of Shell Island was an easygoing community who always found a reason to celebrate every moment of their lives – no matter the looming military presence that lurked in the jungle south of the village, breathing down their necks. Such a place of unity and peace was rare to find in the tumultuous War Seas. Such a place was where cruel Posiedon, alongside his brother Zeus, decided to strike first.
That night, a full moon acted as a spotlight, illuminating the stage where the first act would begin. I recall an old folktale that the Monoah would tell their children to ease their minds during a thunderstorm:
“Since the beginning of the world, the sea has always been in love with the moon. When the sun grew weary and the moon began to show its face over the horizon, the calm waters of the day would turn into the turbulent waves of the night, desperately trying to reach its arms out towards the beauty it saw in the sky. To impress it, the sea would even reflect its face on its surface, showing to the moon its own radiance.”
“‘My face only serves to mirror yours, to give those as lowly as I even a chance to imagine you within our reach.”’
“The moon on most nights would only give a half-hearted smile back, pitying the ocean for its intense feelings. It didn’t understand the loneliness the sea had felt for centuries, as the moon had company amongst the stars, clouds, and the sun. The ocean longed to join the celebration in the sky, anguished that it seemed so far out of its reach, despite their images painted constantly on its surface. Those in the sky would try to reassure the ocean that they are with it, even if they are only reflections, but the illusion of inclusivity wasn’t the same as what the sea believed could be a real connection.”
“When the moon shows its entire face in all its glory, or when it turns its back on the world completely, the agony of the sea boils over, and it begins to unleash the emotions that have been bubbling up. The winds howl with the cries of the brokenhearted, the tides rise and crash together in a fiery temper, the clouds hide the ocean from the sky in its shame. The thunder is the ocean screaming out for an answer, demanding to know why it has to live in isolation, why couldn’t the moon return its love? The rain is the ocean’s tears, pouring down upon the land, never being able to stay in the air, closer to its beloved, for as long as it would’ve preferred.”
“When the sun rises in the morning, it soothes the waters, its light breaking through the clouds and helping it see reason. The sea would back away from the land due to its shameful display of immaturity, and would keep to itself, until the moon once again sends its greetings.”
I wonder how many parents spun this very same tale (hopefully with a much more whimsical presentation), sat at the foot of their young’s bed, as the indigo clouds rolled in from the west. But there would be no peaceful slumbers, no dreams of tales of unrequited love.
What had the moon done that night to anger the ocean so?
This was no ordinary storm, as I’d come to know soon. Once the villagers noticed that the fishing docks were already several meters under the waves even before the rain had started, I watched as a wave of knowingness washed over the awake population. As if rehearsed, the villagers soon began to mobilize, evacuating their elevated wooden homes and scrambling up the cliffside at the edge of the jungle, overlooking the small civilization.
The people of Shell Island knew the sea as well as one would know a good neighbor. The waters were an extension of their village, their homes, their lives. This wasn’t the sea they remembered; Not the one that gave them food to place upon their tables, offered its treasures at the shoreline, provided opportunities greater than their humble hometown. This sea never gave back – it only took more and more of the village with it. Soon, the waves that slammed relentlessly against the wooden beams supporting the seaside town gave way, kicking the community in the back of their knees, and one by one, their homes were consumed by their wrath.
The soldiers that hail from another nation, stationed at a campsite deep within the jungle, were quick to respond to the emergency, ensuring that the people of Monoah Village were safe from harm. Once everyone was evacuated and accounted for, temporary campsites began to sprout up around the base of the central mountain, the summit able to break through the blanket of murky fog that fell upon the island. Thus, the islanders would hold their breaths, and wait until the sea saw reason as it always had.
But the sun never came.
How long has it been since I’ve felt its warmth?
Instead, what they saw rising from the wreckage of their home were the creatures that they had once fed upon, taking new, disturbing forms.
In its loneliness, it seemed that the ocean had created its own company.
The people of Shell Island weren’t prepared. Who would be in a time like this? The elders of the crowd seemed to recognize the threat in their stunned silence, while the children wailed and pointed, demanding to know why their nightmares had been actualized. The able men and women quickly armed themselves with whatever weapons they were able to salvage before the flood, and the soldiers tore through crates of their own supplies, distributing gear of gleaming bronze to the makeshift army. It wasn’t enough.
As the monsters scaled the cliff, I watched as the group split in half, the same way a poor soul who had been caught first in the grotesque claws of one of them was torn in two effortlessly. The beasts descended upon the young man, distracted by their first meal enough to give some of the islanders time to snap out of their shock and retreat south.
Those who stayed on the frontlines, most clad in bronze, would find that what little hope they could’ve possibly had in this moment abandoned them, and relocated itself in the other half of survivors, guiding them to a cave entrance on the opposite face of the island. For most of them, this was their first encounter with death itself, and would learn quickly that this would be much more formidable than any criminal at large they would’ve been tasked to apprehend. These new enemies had the strength of twenty of them combined each, armed with scales as tough as titanium, teeth as sharp as daggers, and a hunger insatiable.
Even as they finished feasting upon the small resistance, their leftovers cast back into the water behind them, it was clear to me that to them, this was only the appetizer.
The stars looked down, the bodies in the water mimicking their patterns.
The moon and sun would continue to hide their faces in shame.
With each soul it took, the ocean received what it had been craving for so long.
The Monoah Tribe of Shell Island always found a reason to celebrate every moment of their lives. The last words I heard from them was a collective melody, a song of clashing metal and wails of the mangled, dissolving into the night sky. At the same time, I heard the echo of a harmony from down beneath the ground in which I stood.