The Arctic was a blinding expanse of white and fractured blue ice. Yamato, a magnificent, snow-white warrior built like a mountain, stood sentinel on the edge of the floe. He wasn’t human, nor animal, but the very spirit of the cold, his eyes the deep, endless blue of the polar night sky. He was the appointed Guardian of the Arctic, sworn to protect the fragile life within its domain.
A young polar bear cub, barely a year old and still clumsy on the slick ice, had wandered too far. Drawn by the scent of a distant seal colony, the cub decided to bravely swim across a treacherous channel of open water.
The swim was short, but the danger was ancient and immense. A shadow, vast and dark, moved beneath the icy water. It wasn’t the familiar orca or Greenland shark; this was a primordial terror. It was a Megalodon, somehow surviving in the cold depths, a ghost from a warmer age, its massive jaws lined with serrated teeth, each the size of a man’s hand.
The cub cried out in a terrified squeal as the colossal shark surged upwards, a churning wave of black water and blinding white belly.
