The Terton Ocean was usually so calm. Its beaches were soft, its weather was gorgeous, and its waves were always predictable things. The surrounding area was densely inhabited, packed with humble homes made from the bark and leaves of the nearby trees. Each of the beach houses was its own work of art. There were no contractors in that day and age, no one you could call up and ask for help, so to live there, everyone built their own home from scratch. Some of them stood prouder than others, but they were all special. Filled with memories. Lived in by a strong, honest people that got their energy from the fresh ocean air.

No one could have seen the tidal wave coming. It was too fast, too high – many suspected the intervention of an ill-intentioned mage, it was so unnatural. There wasn't any time to evacuate; the torrent of saltwater claimed the beach in the blink of an eye. Houses fell to bits. Their residents were either thrown into the cliffside that separated their beach from the rest of Terrata, impaled by flailing debris, or drowned, lost to the sea. There were no survivors. Hundreds of lives, swallowed by the void.

The reddened waters dragged in countless human bodies, and after the ocean regained its usual rhythm, it deposited many of them back onto the sand. Bloated with seawater, the corpses gave rise to a stench unlike any other, one that drove away all life within miles. That would not stop their souls from escaping, however; the diffused energy was pulled into the air as soon as their mortal containers settled onto the beach. But instead of drifting harmlessly into the air unseen, the souls of the dead were drawn to each other. They began to stick together, trying to find some structure that would bring them back to life.

Soon a human shape took form in the chaos. More and more souls donated parts of themselves to the being, creating something new. Within minutes it had solidified: long white hair, sunken eyes, and the same dense, wiry muscle the inhabitants of the beach had spent their lives developing. He was clothed in simple monochrome, grays ruled by the crushing sadness that filled their final moments. His mind latched onto their memories, stringing together those last thoughts into something coherent. In the storm, a name floated to the surface.

Shiro fell to his knees and screamed. The wail ripped into his throat almost faster than the details of his body could form. The anguish of all the dead souls were dominating his thoughts, their screams ringing in his ears, and all he could do was echo the pain until his voice gave out.

There was no answer from the residents of the beach.