The sea was calm the day the world ended.
Captain Elias stood on the deck of the Mariana’s Dream , his calloused hands gripping the railing. The radio had gone silent three days ago. No more frantic broadcasts, no more desperate pleas—just static. The crew had whispered among themselves, but Elias had kept his silence. He knew.
The water was too still. No gulls, no wind, no distant hum of tankers on the horizon. Just the endless blue, stretching until it met the bleeding sun.
Maria, the ship’s engineer, stepped beside him. "We’re the last, aren’t we?"
Elias didn’t answer. He watched the horizon, where the sky had begun to darken—not with clouds, but with something else. Something vast.
The first wave came without sound. A wall of black water, rising higher than the mast. The crew screamed, but Elias only closed his eyes.
The sea had always been patient. And now, at last, it had reclaimed them all.