Deep Waters, Sharp Teeth

To those who thought I’d retreat after the storm…

I’ve been circling in the depths for a long time now, gathering my strength in the silence.

Some saw me as wounded after my last hunt, as if the bite marks of my wounds would make me retreat to safer waters. They mistook my stillness for surrender. They mistook my silence for absence.

They didn’t understand then and they won't understand now.

Sharks do not stop moving. We glide beneath the surface, unseen but never gone. We heal in the cold dark. And when we return, it’s with sharper teeth and a stronger bite.

My world is not what you would expect. The ocean I swim in is deep, black, and merciless. It is a place where light fades and only instinct endures. It’s not for the casual swimmer chasing a thrill. It’s for those who dare to dive, eyes open, knowing predators like me are waiting. In my waters, every movement is a negotiation of survival, trust, and raw will. The light does not reach here, and that’s exactly how I like it.

Those who swim with me either become part of my pack… or part of my diet.

This is not cruelty. This is nature. Predators don’t apologize for what they are. The current doesn’t ask permission before it pulls you under… why should I. I have stopped explaining myself to the ones who flinch at shadows. The only ones who matter are those who see my darkness, feel the pull, and still dive in willingly.

Every hunt changes me. Every kill, every ally, every betrayal...these things strip away the illusions and leave only what endures.

My last writing was the breaking of the surface, putting blood in the water.

This one is the reminder that I am still here. I am still hunting. And most importantly, I have learned which prey is worth chasing.

If you come into my waters, understand what you’re stepping into. There is no rescue here, no lifeguard’s whistle. There is only the choice: swim with me, or be devoured by me.