Ka'Puaka - The Mooncradle Crustracean

Found clinging to the sun-warmed reefs and rocky vents surrounding the Shark Tooth Isles, the Kah’puaka is a vibrant, semi-translucent crustacean known for its sweet, succulent flesh and hypnotic blue bioluminescence. Revered as a sacred food of the Ki'Inori, it is only edible — and truly delectable — in its juvenile, reef-bound form. At this stage, the Kah’puaka is fully aquatic, feeding on algae and trace minerals released from underwater vents, glowing gently under the moonlight as it clusters in the shallows. But every few lunar cycles, during what the Ki'Inori call the Tethalu Phase, the Kah’puaka begins its metamorphosis — retreating into deep crevices to undergo a dramatic transformation. Over three days and nights, it weaves a silken cocoon of spun coral fibres and mineral threads. When it emerges, it is larger, more heavily armoured, and now fully amphibious — able to scuttle onto shorelines and climb volcanic slopes in search of heat. The transformation causes its flesh to become rubbery and bitter, leading to strict cultural taboos against eating Kah’puaka post-Tethalu. Consuming one after its change is considered both disrespectful and a spiritual misstep, said to curse the eater with restlessness and fevered dreams. The Ki'Inori celebrate the final harvest of the season’s Kah’puaka with reefside feasts, lighting lanterns to mimic their glow and honouring the balance between bounty and renewal. In art and tattooing, the Kah’puaka is often depicted mid-transformation — symbolising the bittersweet tension between beauty, growth, and loss. For those who live by the tides, it is a reminder: consume only what is ready, and never that which has already moved on. The shifting life cycle of the Kah’puaka has also led to a thriving oral tradition among the Ki'Inori, with folktales warning of those who ignore the natural order. One such tale tells of a greedy chieftain who hoarded maturing Kah’puaka, forcing his people to eat the bitter meat long after the Tethalu. He was said to be driven mad by visions of the ocean weeping, his skin turning rough and carapaced until he vanished into the sea, never to be seen again. Today, this story is told to children not just as a lesson in respect for nature’s timing, but also as a broader allegory — that forcing transformation before its time, or clinging to what has passed, will always invite ruin.