Far beneath the churning waves of the Mare Dulce, where sunlight never reached and even monsters dared not roam, the sea floor rumbled as power older than the sea itself moved through it.
At the deepest point, encased in blackened stone and bound by living roots as thick as towers, lay the slumbering form of Shing, the Tidecaller Ancestor.
His body was still well preserved, draped in ceremonial armor created out of coral and bone, and etched with glyphs of the old Tidecaller language.
Around him, the roots moved faintly, glowing with green light, pulsing in time with the world tree, Yggdrasil.
Then, suddenly, Shing opened his eyes.
They were cloudy at first, old and tired. But recognition flashed through them, followed by fury.
He struggled, straining against the roots. The seabed shook. A pressure wave rippled through the ocean, disturbing the creatures that dove deep and snapping coral towers in half.
"No!" He growled, voice muffled by water and age. "Not yet."
