95

The waves come in as a deep aquamarine and turn golden as they churn the sand on the shore. Each hue is made more pretty by the brilliant white of the crests, drawing the eye away from the cloudless sky.

The waves roll in, each of them as strong and bold as the last. They come without fear of the beach, embracing their destiny upon the dawn sands. Caleb walks forwards until the water soaks his bare feet, his shoes already dangling in his left hand. Not once does he gaze downward at the water, instead preferring to lock his eyes on the horizon and feel the coldness, hear the rhythmic crashing, taste the brine as much as smell it.

Rain began to patter from a dark sky and fire rose to meet them; lightning cracked the sky in two, smoke whirled around ships and galleys, dead things shambled through the damp soil beneath a wall. Wind rose and a white storm covered the land, and then the white turned to ashes. One by one, the waves crashed but never rose again.