The tide rose without wind.
That was the first wrong thing.
Lanterns still floated across Pelabuhan Tua (Old Harbor), their reflections trembling on calm water. Children laughed. Merchants argued over silk prices. A troupe prepared shadow screens for a late-night wayang performance.
Then the sea inhaled.
Not a wave.
Not a swell.
An inhale.
Hai Cheng felt it through the wooden planks beneath his sandals.
The Arus Dagang (Trade Current) shifted.
He froze mid-step.
That current never shifted during Lantern Week. The trade lanes were stabilized. The tide charts had been verified twice. Even the mangrove watchers from Kampung Laut (Sea Village) had reported smooth flow.
But now—
Something pressed upward from below.
Click.
The jade Suanpan (abacus) at his waist slid one bead on its own.
Hai Cheng's eyes narrowed.
A miscalculation in the sea was impossible.
Unless someone forced it.
The water between two anchored cargo ships bulged outward.
Dockworkers stopped shouting.
Lantern light bent strangely across the surface.
Then the harbor split.
A column of seawater erupted skyward, twisting violently. Ships lurched as mooring ropes snapped. Silk lanterns scattered like burning petals.
Screams filled the pier.
"Harimau Ombak (Tide Tiger)!" someone shouted blindly.
No.
Not yet.
This was raw distortion.
Hai Cheng stepped forward while others ran.
The pillar spiraled counterclockwise.
Wrong direction.
The Hukum Ombak (Law of the Tides) dictated clockwise rotation along the Serunai coastline. Every child born near the strait knew that.
This wasn't natural.
This was engineered.
Click.
Another bead slid.
Lines of faint turquoise light mapped themselves across Hai Cheng's vision. Invisible currents became visible geometry. Trade routes glowed like veins beneath the harbor floor.
There.
A puncture.
Deep below Pier Seven.
Metal intrusion into a Lingqi vein.
His pulse quickened.
"A furnace…" he muttered.
The water column collapsed outward.
A wave smashed into the dock, throwing men into the sea. A crane toppled, crushing crates of porcelain.
The sea rose again.
This time it took shape.
A massive striped silhouette formed within the spray—feline, elongated, translucent. Its eyes burned with bioluminescent fury.
Now.
A Harimau Ombak (Tide Tiger).
It wasn't attacking blindly.
It was responding.
Judging.
The tiger's head turned toward the seabed—toward the puncture.
Then it roared.
The sound wasn't heard with ears.
It vibrated through bone.
Hai Cheng stepped directly into its path.
Someone grabbed his sleeve. "Are you mad?!"
He pulled free.
"If it strikes the dock supports, half the harbor collapses."
The tiger lunged.
Hai Cheng slammed the Suanpan against the wooden planks.
"Stabilize."
The word wasn't shouted.
It aligned.
The beads flew outward, hovering mid-air. Jade light formed a circular Batik Lingkar (Batik Array) beneath his feet—intricate curves inspired by interwoven Peranakan tile symmetry.
The charging tiger hit the edge of the array—
—and froze mid-air.
For one breath.
Two.
Its claws trembled inches from Hai Cheng's face.
He could see the patterns across its spectral fur—batik swirls mixed with cloud motifs. A guardian twisted by imbalance.
"You're not the enemy," he murmured.
The tiger snarled, straining.
The sea beneath them churned violently.
Pressure built.
Too much.
The Suanpan vibrated painfully in his hands.
The puncture below widened.
Metal pipes erupted from the seabed.
A brass structure rose from the water, gears turning, core glowing blue-white.
A Grand Lingqi Furnace prototype.
Illegal.
Unregistered.
Powerful.
The crowd fell silent.
A slow clap echoed from behind.
"Well calculated."
Hai Cheng didn't need to turn.
He knew that voice.
The Silent Admiral walked calmly through spray and chaos, coat untouched by water. Brass insignia glinted faintly against his collar.
"You drilled into the Arus Dagang," Hai Cheng said coldly.
"I refined it," the Admiral replied.
The furnace pulsed.
Lingqi concentration spiked violently.
The Harimau Ombak howled as if pierced.
Hai Cheng staggered.
The tiger was not attacking.
It was being provoked.
"Extraction destabilizes the Hukum Ombak," Hai Cheng warned.
"The Hukum Ombak is inefficient," the Admiral replied evenly. "Trade built Kota Serunai (Serunai City). Not superstition."
The furnace roared louder.
The tiger convulsed, stripes fracturing into chaotic currents.
If it lost cohesion—
It would detonate.
Hai Cheng closed his eyes.
Not to calculate.
To listen.
Beneath the metallic grind of the furnace…
Beneath the panicked screams…
The deeper sea pulsed.
Slow.
Wounded.
But not broken.
The Arus Alam (Natural Current) still flowed beneath the damage.
The tiger wasn't furious.
It was suffocating.
Hai Cheng exhaled slowly.
Click.
Every bead aligned simultaneously.
The cracked jade frame glowed brighter than ever before.
The Batik Lingkar expanded outward across the dock, across the water's surface, forming layered geometry that locked onto the furnace's intake spirals.
The Admiral's expression sharpened.
"You cannot overpower engineered stability."
"I'm not overpowering it," Hai Cheng said quietly.
"I'm correcting it."
He thrust his palm forward.
The intake current reversed.
The furnace shrieked as pressure rebounded into its core. Gears snapped. Pipes twisted.
The Harimau Ombak stabilized mid-air.
Its fractured stripes reformed.
It landed silently on the water's surface.
The furnace imploded inward, collapsing its own instability before dissolving into harmless spray.
Silence fell over Pelabuhan Tua.
Lanterns floated calmly again.
The tiger turned toward Hai Cheng.
For one long moment, it studied him.
Then it dipped its head slightly—
—and dissolved back into mist.
The Admiral stared at the ruined furnace remains.
"You see the future too, don't you?" he asked quietly.
Hai Cheng wiped blood from his nose.
"What future?"
"One where nature fails. Where currents fracture beyond repair. Where only engineered control prevents collapse."
He turned to leave.
"You can stand against progress…"
He paused.
"…or you can stand beside me."
He walked away through stunned merchants and soaked dockworkers.
Hai Cheng remained still.
Beneath the harbor floor—
The Lingqi vein pulsed irregularly.
Not healed.
Not stable.
Something deeper stirred.
Far below the strait, ancient coils shifted.
A low vibration rippled through the water.
Not rage.
Awakening.
Hai Cheng looked toward the dark horizon.
Tonight, a furnace had pierced the sea.
Tomorrow—
The sea would answer.
And the Hukum Ombak had already begun to fracture.