-2024- — Tahong

That night, he dreamed of the water.

They found no village. No people. No boats. Just a stretch of shore covered in a thick carpet of green-lipped mussels, glistening in the morning sun. The largest shells were arranged in a rough circle, facing inward, as if listening to something the sea had forgotten to say. Tahong -2024-

The cot was empty. The blanket was still warm. Outside, the sea had risen — not in a wave, not in a storm surge, but simply lifted , as if the ocean had decided to stand up and stretch. Water lapped at the stilts of the house. In the distance, the western beds glowed faintly, a sickly green phosphorescence that lit the undersides of the clouds. That night, he dreamed of the water

Kiko was gone.

The water was wrong. That was the first thing she noticed. It had a sheen to it, a rainbow slick like oil but thicker, heavier, almost gelatinous. The tahong hung from the ropes in curtains, swaying in a current she couldn’t feel. She reached for the nearest cluster and paused. No boats