The Thirteenth Wave

Spring of Year 689, Spiritual Garrison

The hall had gone quiet after the briefing. Svetlana's orders had been brisk and sharp, and mostly in that clipped and heavily accented Gilnan that sounded hostile even when she was being polite. She scanned the room, hands clasped behind her back and hat low on her head, before adding a final remark.

"And if they give any further trouble..." Svetlana paused, her icy eyes sweeping the room. "Give them thirteenth wave."

No one moved. At the back of the room, a man coughed.

Tesserarius Ralden cleared his throat. "The... thirteenth wave?"

Svetlana stared at him with blue eyes that didn't blink. "You know."

Ralden didn't know. Nobody in the room knew. But she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world and the tone suggested it was career or possibly life ending to admit ignorance.

"O-of course." Ralden said, fidgeting nervously.

"Good." Svetlana's boots clacked on the floor as she left the hall.

The moment she was gone, the whispers started immediately.

"What's the thirteenth wave?"
"Sounds bad."
"My cousin said that's how they drown their prey."
"I heard it's when the tide just pulls you under."
"My uncle Fred claims it's how they execute criminals."

By the end of the week, 'the thirteenth wave' was being used to mean anything from "scare them", to "make them disappear without a trace", and only one thing was certain. Nobody wanted to ask Svetlana to clarify.