Wildfire

There’s a stretch of water that doesn’t show up on maps. The currents move strange, almost like something beneath is deciding where they go. No one's ever charted it. Boats that head that way either turn around early or never report much of anything , a heat in the air despite the cold, light that doesn’t feel quite right. Like the horizon breathes. Like the water watches back. But there’s a story that resurfaces now and then… always whispered, always half-laughed. A firewave. A wall of ocean that lifts like it’s possessed, backlit by something too bright to be the sun. No wind. No smoke. Just light. nobody believe it either. Until they saw it. It happened in silence. No warning. The sky cracked in color and the water arched up, They didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just watched as it built and burned and vanished, like the ocean had exhaled something it had been holding for too long. No one truly knows what they saw. they don’t need to. It was real.
It had heat.
They call it Wildfire.