King Tide (POE2)

They say Kraken’s Cove wasn’t built so much as left behind.

When Wraeclast’s greatest king tide in living memory rose, the sea didn’t just swallow the coast—it climbed it. A trade vessel, already fleeing a storm, was lifted whole and hurled inland, shattered across the black rocks like driftwood in a god’s hand. When the waters finally receded, the ship never followed.

Planks were wedged into cliffs. Masts leaned like broken spines. Cargo crates fused with coral and rust. Something vast had wrapped around the hull before it broke—suction scars still mark the stone.

An exile came later, drawn by the wreck and the smell of brine that never fades. They made a refuge from what remained, lighting braziers in the ribs of the ship and anchoring waypoints where the tide once stood.

The sea still listens there.
And on certain nights, when the waves are high and the atlas hums, something below answers back.