They called me reckless.
Said I asked too many questions. Wandered too far from the caves. I didn't pray for safety - I hunted it. Said I was too much fire for a world still afraid of sparks.
I didn't care. I wasn't born to huddle around smoke and wait for someone else to find the sun. I've always been drawn to the sea. The elders warned me not to chase the waves. "Know your place," they said. "The sea doesn't keep what it takes." They spoke like the ocean was a grave. I didn't see the sea as an ending. I saw it as the only place big enough to hold everything I was becoming.
One night, the sky split open with lightning. The waves thrashing against the cliff edge. Most of the tribe stayed huddled in the caves. Maybe that was considered the wiser choice. Me? I walked straight to the cliff and dove. I didn't dive to prove anything. I dove because I felt it - like something in the tide was waiting for me.
He suddenly came out of the black water. Teeth like carved bone. Eyes sharp, scarred, and curious. Not the biggest megalodon, but mean looking. Young and full of fight. We circled each other for what felt like a lifetime in a single breath. He held a stare that matched my own: I don't trust you, but I see you.
Then, without a word, I climbed onto his back. No saddle. No reins. Just faith and a mutual refusal to die easy. I don't know why he let me. Maybe he sense I was something wild too - raised without fear. Or maybe he just wanted to see if I could hold on. I did.
I named him Gloom - not because he was sad, but because he moved like something just before it breaks loose. Quiet. Stealthy. Now the sea is our hunting ground. The storm is our signal. I've heard the clans whisper about me. They say I haunt the tides. That I ride the ghost of the deep. That I'm a shadow in the waves, a myth with a spear and a grin.
Let them talk.
They never gave me a name before - so I claimed one.
Phantom of the Tides.
Not because I'm unseen. But because I refuse to be forgotten. We are the shadows slicing through the water. A woman sitting tall on the back of something feared.
I'm not coming for you.
But I could.
And that's the fun of it.