Ships have crashed empty against the jagged rocks. Bodies have washed up on the shore, gutted and bloated from the sea’s suffocating kiss. Sailors lay claim to the harsh winds that whip across the waves, and storms that circle above the horizon of the small Coastal town.

But this is nothing ordinary. This is a curse, a monster, unleashed upon Shinganshina for the sins they have committed. Praying has not worked; offerings in bottles sent from the docks have only turned up more bodies and fewer answers.

A poor dockhand, Jean Kirstein, sits on the old johnboat. A dull dagger with a cloth-wrapped handle is the only defense they’ve allowed the Frenchman against the harsh monster. It’s more for his sanity than anything else: sacrifices aren’t meant to survive.

The waves lick the worn wood, slipping through the cracks and wetting his shaking feet. The moon above is his only friend; even the fish have deserted him, and the flame once lit in his hanging lantern has vanished.

A hum carries over the whitecaps, and he snaps his head toward the darkened rocks beneath the abandoned lighthouse far from town. This is where the ships have been found; this is where bodies have laid rotten; this is where he dies.

Jean stands, boat tossing with the disturbance, and thrusts his arm into the abyss. The knife shakes in his clenched fist. “What’s out there?” he voices, his bottom lip trembling. “What do you want?”