January 9, 2026 — 06:31 AM
West Philippine Sea – OWS Bulwark, On Patrol
The sea was quiet again.
But it wasn't the kind of silence that brought peace. It was the eerie, lingering stillness that came after something immense had stirred—then died.
Thomas Estaris stood alone near the bridge's starboard viewport, looking out at the crimson-tinted swells. Burnt oil, shredded muscle, and crystalline Bloom fragments floated on the surface like driftwood. The remains of the leviathan they'd just slain were still sinking, trailing black ichor behind it.
The rest of the bridge was abuzz, but Thomas was still.
Not frozen. Not stunned.
Just thinking.
Behind him, Marcus entered, helmet tucked under one arm. "No more sonar returns. Nothing within fifty nautical miles. They're either dead or they're hiding."
"They'll be back," Thomas said quietly.