The Black Tide

THE BLACK TIDE

When the sea wants you, it comes itself.

Sailors whisper of storms, monsters, and curses…
but none compare to the night the ocean rose alive.

The Black Tide isn’t a wave, or a storm, or a legend.
It’s a hunger.

They say it began on a moonless night when a ship chased treasure into waters no map dared mark. The crew laughed at warnings carved into driftwood and bones, confident the sea bent to their will.

The sea proved them wrong.

The water blackened first, thick as ink, cold as a grave. Then came the shape beneath the surface… not whale, not serpent, but something older. Something patient. Something that had been waiting.

A skull rose from the deep, its tentacles spreading like roots through the water, pulling the ship into the abyss plank by plank, scream by scream. Lightning carved its silhouette into the sky long enough for the world to remember it.

No survivor ever returned. Only shattered timbers and treasure washed onto hostile shores, as if the ocean was spitting out what it didn’t want.

Since that night, sailors swear the Black Tide hunts in silence, rising without warning beneath greedy eyes and arrogant captains.

You don’t outrun it.
You don’t fight it.
You don’t bargain with it.

Because the Black Tide doesn’t sink ships.
It claims them.

And when the water around your hull turns darker than the night sky, you’re already part of its collection.