Fires of Hina

A sacred vow. A war for Thalassa. One final guardian.

A story of loss, love, and legacy in a world gasping for breath.

In the aftermath of ecological collapse, Lani is one of the last whale protectors on a planet where silence has swallowed the sea. Haunted by the death of her cousin Sage—whose bond with the alien Nesoi once awakened global hope—Lani clings to a promise forged in blood and spirit: to guard the final songs of Earth’s sacred whales.

But when the last humpback dies in her arms and the UN lifts its ban on human exploitation of Thalassa—the untouched ocean world where Sage met her destiny—Lani is thrust into a battle far beyond grief. With rage in her heart and the voice of her cousin echoing in her dreams, she must decide: Will she let heartbreak consume her, or rise to become Thalassa’s final guardian?

From the black sands of Hawai‘i to the far reaches of interstellar space, Fires of Hina is a powerful journey through sorrow, healing, and the soul-deep music that binds all life. For fans of The Overstory, Dune, and Avatar, this is a story of indigenous wisdom, radical love, and the courage to fight for a living planet—before its last song fades into silence.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 from Fires of Hina

All was silent, except for the gentle lapping of water against the hull of her small boat. The sea was too quiet now. Not lifeless but hollow—like a song missing its voice, a body missing its soul. She had heard them once—long, mournful notes threading through water and bone, their songs older than language, older than time. She had watched them die one by one, their enchanting music silenced by metal and fire. With each whale lost, she etched their memory into her skin, a living elegy—until her body, like the sea, could hold no more grief. For years she’d carried their silence like a wound, searching for one last thread of song, one sacred note than might lead her to her soul sister’s spirit.

Floating on a calm cerulean sea, she watched the mists rise off glistening waters in the morning sun. Lani’s salt-dried hands squeezed her headphones as she strained to hear, her sun-bleached black hair spilling across her pitched face and down her shoulders. I’m still listening, sister. I haven’t forgotten. After years of searching the ends of the Earth for whale songs, all she heard was the dissonant chatter of a disturbed ocean. Her heart ached; she dropped her head in despair. The whales are gone. The songs have stopped. I have failed to keep my vow.