All my life, I’ve believed in the myth of the Sea God’s bride, passed down from grandmother to grandmother since the storms first appeared, when the kingdom was destroyed by conquerors from the West and the emperor thrown from the cliffs into the sea. The Sea God, who loved the emperor like a brother, sent the storms to punish the usurpers—the lashing rains were said to be his tears, the thunder his cries. The droughts were those years he’d felt the emptiness in his heart. But how much of myth is truth? And what do you do when your belief in it is breaking?
