Waves lapped lazily against the jagged reefs that rose barely visible above the water. These treacherous sentinels, submerged at high tide, shielded the picturesque lagoon and the sprawling fishing village on its shore from storms and enemies alike. Atop the crest of the highest reef sat a young woman, her face turned toward the sun as it prepared to break over the horizon. A gentle morning breeze toyed with her long, sleek black hair, alternately lifting it behind her and scattering the silky strands across her bare, sun-kissed shoulders. Her eyes were closed; her supple fingers slowly traced the carved beads of her rosary. Her breathing was even and calm. She was meditating. The eastern rim of the sky flushed first a lemon-yellow, then a peach-orange, before softening into a delicate pink. The surface of the sea, rippled by the light breeze, shimmered with shifting hues of opal-blue and mother-of-pearl, as if the dawn were being born somewhere in the deep. Then, the first orange-red sliver of the sun pierced the horizon line. Isaura opened her eyes to greet the light. She rose to her full height, lifting her pressed palms above her head. She bowed low to the flaming disc ascending the sky, then spread her arms wide. Swaying her hips in a gentle, dancing rhythm, she began to sing. Her low, resonant voice carried a hymn of gratitude to the sun and the sea—the givers of life and prosperity to the village that had once taken in a newborn girl found in a washed-up boat. Raised by a local witch, Isaura had learned to guide schools of fish to aid the fishermen. She could divine an impending storm and, if it was not too fierce, soothe its wrath. She could banish rain clouds for hours during the rainy season, so the fishermen could cast their nets and hunters could venture into the jungle. Possessing these arts and more, she was revered by the folk as the daughter of the sea goddess, Yemanja. Thus, she held it her sacred duty to protect the villagers, who had always enveloped her in warmth and love. She sang of the dense, evergreen jungles and the majestic mountains that hid the secret trails she had once walked with her adoptive mother. She sang of the boundless sea, yielding its treasures to the people—be it fish, mollusks, coral, or priceless pearls. The louder Isaura sang, the hotter the fire burned within her chest, demanding a release it could not yet find. It felt as though, at any moment, pure light would spill from her eyes, but it did not happen. It was too soon. She had not yet found the man who could unlock the power slumbering deep inside her. As the final notes of her song faded, Isaura bowed once more to the sun and the sea. Then, with a powerful spring, she dove into the water. Only once a month, during the full moon and the highest tide, did she dare plunge into the open abyss just beyond the outer reef. Of course, Isaura never dove all the way to the seafloor—the depths here were immense, conquered only by the strongest, most seasoned divers. Yet even at her reach, the deep held wonders. Locked fast among the coral lay the old, half-rotted helm of a ship wrecked long ago. Now, it served as a sanctuary for several anemones. Isaura ran her hand over the pale purple tentacles swaying in time with the swells, startling a pair of orange-and-white clownfish. The anemones never stung her as they did others. Beneath the helm lived a massive blue crab, which hoisted a hefty claw as if in warning. The piercing rays of the rising sun danced upon a wild sprawl of coral of every shape and hue, upon clusters of sea lilies, and ribbons of kelp. Isaura surfaced. Strong as she was, and capable of enduring underwater for long stretches, she still needed to breathe. Recovering her wind and filling her lungs, she submerged once more. Near a deep crevice where an ancient moray eel made its home, she broke off a fragment of petrified coral and tucked it into the folds of her loincloth. With one final dive, she gathered fleshy, edible seaweed into the woven basket at her waist and prepared to return. Back in her boat, moored to the reef on the lagoon side, Isaura slipped on her skirt. Pushing off from the rock with an oar, she rowed toward the shore. The Daughter of the Sea had performed her ritual; the goddess Yemanja would look with favor upon the coast.