Tano had never seen the sea this full.

  War canoes covered the water as far as he could see, their hulls dark against the churn of waves. Paddles rose and fell in disciplined rhythm, the sound rolling across the bay like a single, massive heartbeat.

  At the front of the lead canoe stood Saron.

  He did not brace himself against the wind.He did not raise his voice.

  Spray broke against the prow and scattered across his legs, but he did not shift. His hands were clasped behind his back, feet planted, eyes fixed on the shore ahead. The storm, the warriors, the weight of thousands behind him all seemed to pass around him rather than through him.

  Behind him came the coalition.

  Not all canoes were the same.

  To the left, the great vessels of Ralik and Ratak pushed through the water with unstoppable momentum. Their broad hulls rode the waves instead of cutting them, built to endure open ocean and carry war like weight. They moved slowly and deliberately, walls set loose upon the sea.

  To the right, sleek canoes from Waab skimmed along the edges of the formation, low and fast. Their paddlers worked in sharp, precise bursts, darting forward, vanishing back into the lines, then appearing again somewhere else entirely. They were never still long enough to count, never where the eye expected them to be.

  Different islands.Different strengths.One direction.

  Warriors from lands that had once raided and bled each other now moved as one. Their shields bore the same mark, a single star carved, burned, or painted into wood and hide. Spears trembled in eager hands. Tano could feel the tension rolling backward through the fleet, thick and electric.

  Ahead, the warriors of Viti waited on the beach.

  They were enormous.

  Dark-skinned and thick with muscle, their bodies were wrapped in dense tattoos that crawled over shoulder, chest, and thigh. Through those markings, red mana pulsed in bright streaks, glowing beneath the skin like veins of living embers. The light flared as they breathed, as they laughed, as anticipation sharpened their smiles.

  Many rolled their necks slowly, loosening muscle. Others bounced lightly on the balls of their feet, grinning wide, eyes hungry. They looked less like an army and more like predators held just short of release.

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  Bone necklaces clacked softly with each movement.Boar tusks gleamed white against dark skin.

  These were not men who feared battle.These were men who ached for it.

  Above them, the sky broke open.

  Storm clouds churned and collided, wind screaming across the bay as thunder rolled low and constant. Rain threatened but did not fall. The air crackled with power, mana pulling and twisting like a living thing.

  Viti shamans stood among their warriors, arms raised, tattoos blazing as red mana surged through them. They shouted demands into the sky, calling the storm with raw force and daring it to answer.

  From the canoes, the coalition’s shamans answered back.

  Their voices were steadier. Older. They layered their chants carefully, weaving counter-calls into the air, binding wind against wind, will against will. The storm strained, clouds boiling overhead, then stalled. Furious, but held.

  The sky trembled.

  On the shore, a Viti chieftain stepped forward.

  He was massive even among his people, his tattoos thick with red light, mana flaring brighter as he moved. His hair hung wild around his shoulders, his weapon resting easily across one arm. He lifted it and shouted across the water, his voice cutting through wind and thunder alike.

  “Chief of weaklings!” he roared, laughter sharp and mocking.“Is this the man who hides behind small islands and borrowed strength?”

  Laughter erupted from the Viti ranks, loud and fearless. Red streaks along their bodies pulsed brighter with the sound.

  Behind Tano, the coalition bristled.

  Warriors shifted. Chiefs stepped forward. Spears lifted a fraction higher. Anger rippled through the fleet, sharp and immediate. One voice shouted back before restraint could take hold, fury cracking through discipline.

  Tano’s heart hammered in his chest.

  This was it.This was where it shattered.

  Then Saron raised his hand.

  Just one.

  The effect was immediate.

  Shouts died mid-breath.Chiefs froze.Canoes slowed, then stopped, as if the sea itself had bowed its head.

  Even the wind seemed to hesitate.

  Tano swallowed hard.

  He had seen Saron still councils and camps before, but never like this. Never with ten thousand warriors watching. Never with red mana blazing across enemy skin and a storm screaming overhead.

  On the shore, the Viti chieftain’s grin faltered.

  Just slightly.

  For a heartbeat, nothing moved.

  Waves slapped against hulls. Sails strained. Above them, the storm raged, furious and bound, waiting.

  Then Saron lowered his hand.

  Oars struck the water.

  The fleet surged forward.

  Tano felt it settle into his bones. Not fear, but certainty. Heavy. Unavoidable.

  History would argue about this moment later. About who struck first. About when unity truly began.

  They would give Saron many names.

  They would carve his image into wood and stone.

  Standing behind him now, watching the shore rush closer, Tano knew only one thing.

  Whatever happened next, the islands would never be the same.