The Tempestamic Ocean was
a living force, a colossus of water and fury stretching to the horizon, its
dark waves roaring like a restless beast. They crashed against the hull of
Kain's small boat with violence, flinging salty foam that clung to the worn
wood like tears of salt. He gripped the helm with a calloused hand, long
fingers adjusting the course with the precision of someone who knew that
treacherous sea. His brown eyes, sharp as blades, narrowed against the cutting
wind that lashed his angular face, the thin scar on his left eyebrow—a souvenir
from a brawl in a forgotten port—standing out in the dim light. His brown hair,
damp and tousled by the ocean spray, fell over his forehead in rebellious
strands, which he brushed aside with a brusque, almost irritated gesture.
At 22, Kain had the body
of someone who lived out of stubbornness. Lean but not frail, his broad
shoulders and defined arms beneath a tattered gray tunic bore the strength of
nights climbing rotten ropes and hauling stolen chests. His bronzed skin, marked
by old cuts, told stories he kept to himself. His other hand rested on the
sword's sheath, where the Ruby—a blood-red stone pulsing with a faint
glow—seemed alive beneath the dark clouds. He'd found it two years ago in a
seaweed-draped wreck and kept it out of attachment, or maybe an instinct he
wouldn't admit. "Probably just a pretty rock some fool lost," he thought,
drumming his fingers on the sheath. "Great," he muttered, his hoarse voice
tinged with sarcasm. "Nothing like a storm to remind me the world hates me as
much as I hate it."
Kain wasn't one for
company. Years as a thief, slinking through shadowy markets and wrecks, had
taught him trust was for fools. Reserved, he spoke little and thought plenty,
his mind swirling with mistakes he buried under indifference. Now, he hunted
relics out of necessity—a scrap of dry bread, a dry corner to sleep, maybe a
decent swig of rum. That's what he told himself as he rowed toward the Isle of
Currents, a forgotten strip of land in the heart of the Tempestamic Ocean.
Tavern rumors spoke of a merchant ship sunk there, loaded with something
valuable. Kain didn't believe half the tales, but the emptiness in his stomach
kept him rowing.
The boat rocked, waves
pounding like fists. He leaned into it to steady it, muscles taut, veins
bulging on his forearms. Above, the sky was a mantle of gray and black, slashed
by lightning that lit the clouds like veins of a sleeping monster. The Isle of
Currents loomed on the horizon, a silhouette of black rocks and twisted trees,
their gnarled branches like broken fingers against the wind. The dark sandy
beach emerged, littered with debris—rotten wood, frayed ropes, fragments of a
past swallowed by the sea. Kain tied his hair back with a worn leather cord,
his movements quick and economical. He was almost there, almost free to scour
the wreck, when he heard it—a muffled scream, nearly lost in the waves' roar.
He frowned, the scar
deepening as he tilted his head. "Probably some dumb bird stuck somewhere," he
grumbled, disdain dripping from his voice. But the scream came again, sharp and
laced with desperation. Kain tapped his fingers on the sword, the Ruby pulsing
under his touch. "Great," he huffed. "There goes my peace." He rowed faster,
the effort highlighting the veins in his arms, the boat cutting through the
waves with stubbornness. As he rounded the coast, the scene unfolded: three
mercenaries dragging a young woman across the wet sand.
The leader was a brute
with sunburned skin, his face crisscrossed with scars like a map of lost
battles. His cruel eyes glinted under a sweaty brow, and he gripped a rusty
chain with thick hands, the iron rings clinking. Beside him, a wiry, nervous
man with greasy black hair falling over sunken eyes carried a net and a short
sword, his movements twitchy like a rat's. The third, short and stocky, his
face under a tattered hood, wielded a dagger with the confidence of someone
who'd killed before.
The young woman was their
opposite. Lirien, as Kain would later learn, was 20 and carried an energy that
defied the storm. Her blonde hair, tangled by the salty wind, danced like
golden flames, framing a face of sharp features—straight nose, firm chin, green
eyes blazing with anger and determination. Slender but agile, she wore a faded
blue tunic, torn at the sleeves, and worn boots that sank into the sand as she
thrashed, kicking with ferocity.
Kain stopped the boat,
eyes fixed on the scene. "I could turn this damn thing around and pretend I
didn't see a thing," he muttered. "Would be easier." But Lirien landed a kick
on the wiry man's knee, drawing a shrill yelp, and a crooked smile slipped onto
Kain's lips. "Well, she's got guts," he thought. "That complicates things."
He leapt from the boat,
feet sinking into the sand, and advanced with silent steps, hand on his sword.
The leader yanked the chain, snarling, "Quiet, you pest!" His voice was deep,
rough with salt and smoke, and he raised a hand to strike, rings glinting.
Lirien met it with a defiant glare, teeth gritted, green eyes burning.
Kain sprinted, driven by
reflexes honed in dark streets and treacherous wrecks. He reached the leader in
three strides, spinning the sword to strike the wrist with the hilt in a sharp
blow. The chain fell with a clink, and Kain kicked the man's chest, sending him
sprawling into the sand with a grunt. The others turned—the wiry one drawing
his sword with trembling fingers, the stocky one lunging with the dagger.
"You picked the worst day
to piss me off," Kain said, voice cutting. He dodged the wiry man's clumsy
swing, spinning behind him and twisting his arm until the sword dropped. With a
shove, he sent him crashing into the rocks, where he crumpled, groaning. The
stocky one came next, dagger aiming for his flank, but Kain rolled through the
sand, rising with feline grace. He grabbed the fallen chain and whipped it,
wrapping the mercenary's legs and yanking. The man faceplanted, the dagger
flying and embedding in the sand.
Lirien, freed, rolled to
her feet, green eyes flashing with relief and defiance. "Who are you?" she
asked, voice breathless but steady, clutching a rock with resolve.
"Someone who's already
regretting this," Kain shot back, brushing sand off his tunic. The leader
staggered up, spitting sand and hate. "Yariv'll skin you for this, you filthy
rat!" he roared, drawing a serrated dagger. Kain snorted, lunging with a precise
strike that disarmed him, followed by a punch to the jaw that dropped him cold.
Silence fell, broken only
by the waves and Lirien's breathing. She dropped the rock, wiping her hands on
her tunic with confidence. "Thanks," she said, voice clear and strong. "But I
could've handled it myself."
Kain arched an eyebrow,
the scar shifting. "Sure," he replied, sarcasm dripping. "You were in charge
while getting dragged like a fish in a net."
She laughed, a light sound
that cut the tension. "I'm Lirien," she said, crossing her arms, blonde hair
fluttering. "And you are…?"
"Kain," he answered, curt,
sheathing the sword. "And no, I don't do this out of kindness. These idiots
probably have something I can sell."
"Your heart of gold's well
hidden," she teased, eyes glinting with amusement. "Those mercenaries work for
Yariv," she went on, tone sobering. "He's hunting something in the waters…
something that shouldn't be found."
Kain frowned, the name
"Yariv" prodding a distant memory—a ruthless relic hunter. He glanced at the
Ruby, intrigued by its faint glow but without answers. "Sounds like the kind of
trouble I avoid," he muttered.
"You don't seem the type
to run from trouble," Lirien countered, a challenging smile on her lips.
He snorted, turning to the
boat. "You don't know me, girl," he said, voice rough, masking a growing
unease. "Let's go before more of them show up."
Kain tied the boat to a
rock and helped Lirien aboard, movements precise, but his mind wandered. As he
rowed back into the sea, the boat slicing the waves, the Ruby's weight against
his thigh felt heavier. Her green eyes followed him, steady and probing, like a
current he wasn't sure he wanted to break. The Tempestamic Ocean roared around
them, and for the first time in years, Kain felt those dark waters wouldn't let
him slip away so easily.