Njord wearily emerges from his cavern home. Sleep eluded him all night, and he was woken by a strange, pervasive restlessness. His instincts keep prodding at him to do something, but he has no idea what. It’s maddening. 

The sight he emerges to has him pausing mid-yawn. His reef, usually a bountiful haven of colours and life, is empty. Not a single fish is anywhere to be seen among the corals and kelp. Glittering morning sunlight pierces the surface above, but there are no shiny scales or translucent fins for it to reflect off of. The strange feeling in Njord’s chest grows tighter. 

Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. 

Pushing away from the mouth of his cave, he surveys the reef. Creatures with less mobility, such as starfish and mussels, are still to be found as usual, clinging to rocky surfaces or dug into the scattered patches of sand, but no fish. From the corner of his eye, he spots a crab hastily ducking into a small crevice, and he dives down to investigate. 

Peering into the crack in the volcanic rock, he’s met with dozens of other crabs staring back at him with beady eyes. They’re all crammed into the already tight space, and don’t appear to mind each other’s presence. 

“Huh,” Njord mumbles. “What are you all doing in there?” 

Crabs don’t speak, of course, and Njord moves on. If the crabs are suddenly gathering like that, perhaps other animals are, as well. 

He patrols the entire reef, and finds several clusters of various animals; hidden under outcroppings in the rock, in small caves, down in ravines, and other such spaces. A shark comes close to biting off one of the fins on his face when he sticks his head into its hiding spot. He hastily retreats, but he can’t shake the feeling that all of this must mean something. 

He’s making his way back to his cave when something changes. The current shifts without warning, suddenly pulling outwards instead of in towards the distant shore. Njord swims up to the surface and looks for any passing ships that might be large enough to disturb the waves, but there is nothing to be seen on the wide horizon except for faraway mountain peaks. 

But, wait. 

Njord squints. The reef has a long, tall ridge of rock that rises out of the water in a handful of places. He turns to it, now, and watches the waves crashing against it. Slowly, the ridge grows taller. Or rather: the water lowers. 

Njord knows his home well. He knows it’s not the tide pulling back. There’s only one other thing it could be. 

A tsunami. 

As he dives back underwater, his heartrate speeding up, he considers how far away the nearest island is. Does anyone live there? Do they know what’s coming, have they seen the waves receding? 

His fins flutter nervously as he floats, indecisive. 

Then he sets his jaw and spears off towards the island, dodging corals and long strings of kelp until he’s on the other side, where the water is colder and deeper. His tail thrashes back and forth to propel him onwards as fast as he can go, kicking up a cloud of mud and sand behind him. Particles in the water rush by him like tiny shooting stars, but his eyes are locked on the sandy shoreline just beginning to emerge in the distance. 

When the water becomes too shallow for him to move any closer without risk of beaching himself, he pokes his head out of the water. He can’t see any huts or similar structures, but that doesn’t mean the island is deserted. Anyone, human or dragon, could be living in the tropical forest farther inland. 

He turns back to face the ocean, and a chill spike of fear lances through his chest at the sight that meets him: a rising wave that spans the entire width of the horizon, gradually growing taller and taller as it rushes towards the shore at breakneck speed. 

Njord glances back over his shoulder. He can’t be sure if it’s his eyes playing tricks on him, but he swears he catches the briefest glimpse of someone on the shore. 

The tsunami looms closer and closer. Already, Njord can hear the rushing roar of its approach. It’s now or never. 

Taking a deep breath, he locks his gaze on the tsunami. He stretches out his fins, letting them trail loosely in the water. Feels the whisper of the current along his body. Reaches for his connection to the Aether. Prays to whoever may or may not be listening that his efforts will be enough, as the connection takes hold and he can suddenly feel the ocean around him like an extension of himself. 

The tsunami is almost upon him. 

He closes his eyes. And tells the water to halt. 

The water... listens, as well as it can. Something of that size and weight does not simply stop in place. The force roiling inside the tsunami needs somewhere to go. And Njord directs it upwards. 

He feels the strength of the tsunami like a physical weight he’s trying to lift, straining his muscles and his magic in equal amounts. But his bares his teeth and clings to his magic with everything he has, mentally wrapping himself around that glowing thread at the back of his mind until he can no longer tell where he ends and it begins. He is the ocean, the ocean is him. 

The tsunami splashes and rages as he holds it back. Like hitting an invisible wall, it rushes directly upwards in a spray of saltwater and foam, growing to more than twice its original height. Njord’s breathing is shallow, and his whole body aches from the tension running through him. 

Just a little longer. 

At last, the top of the giant waves crests and falls backward in on itself. Njord immediately drops his grip on the water, and lets himself be pulled along as the tsunami crashes back down and disperses, defeated. The waves – regular, smaller ones – gently push him ashore as the water level settles again, crawling back up the long stretch of sandy beach. 

Njord lies panting, only half submerged, and watches as a curious crowd emerges from the treeline. Humans and dragons alike look at him and then out at where the tsunami loomed not even a minute ago, and he can only find the strength to flap one fin in a half-hearted, weary greeting. 

He’ll get back up soon. He just needs a little nap, after all that. Yes, just a short one... 

He closes his eyes, and sleep takes him instantly.