Towers littered the world, their spires reaching toward the heavens as if in silent accusation. The gods had grown strangely quiet a few decades ago. No divination could tell anything and all prayers were met with indifference, as if the bloodshed which occurred was nothing to these gods who once spoke freely to their followers.
The skies above remained deaf to pleas, and the earth below continued to drink the blood of fallen soldiers. Even the goddess of war, had grown silent, no matter the bloodshed.
The Parthevia Empire had begun to lose the war and so had thought of something desperate—to enter one of these towers, to speak to the gods once more, to gain their help, their trust, but most importantly their power. The kind of power that could reshape entire realms, the power to vanquish their enemies. To extinguish them like flames beneath cupped palms.
Because of this mad gamble, over ten thousand men were sent into one of these towers led by a saint, their banners fluttering proudly in the wind. They marched with their heads held high, convinced they would return as heroes.
Yet none came back. Not a single soldier. Not a single banner.
That is, until one boy took on the challenge, the trial, many would call a nightmare. A trial that had claimed thousands of lives, a trial that even the most hardened warriors had failed, however that was a story for the future.
This boy, fourteen in age with peculiar purple hair tied back in a ponytail, was right now standing at the edge of a ship in the middle of a storm, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon as if he could see beyond the, raging waves.
The wooden ship creaked and groaned beneath his feet, struggling against the monstrous waves that threatened to swallow it whole. Rain pelted down in a never ending stream, stinging the skin of all who dared to remain on deck, but the boy didn't flinch. His clothes were soaked through, clinging to his lean frame, but he stood as steady, no matter how much the ship rocked.
"We can't do it," the boy heard from behind him, the voice barely audible over the storm's fury. A sailor, his face lined with decades at sea, clutched at a rope, his knuckles white with fear.
"We won't survive this storm," another added, his eyes wide with terror as he watched a wave the size of a small mountain approach the port side.
"We're all going to die," a third moaned, falling to his knees in prayer, though whether his prayers would reach the silent gods was another matter entirely.
The ship tilted dangerously as it crested a massive wave, and several men slid across the deck, scrambling for purchase on the wet wood. Barrels broke free from their bindings, rolling and smashing against the gunwales. The sail, though tied down, strained against its ropes, threatening to tear apart at any moment.
But the boy remained unfazed.
"Don't be afraid of the waves," the boy yelled to the rest, his voice somehow heard over the storm, as if the winds themselves carried his words. He raised his hand slowly and pointed in a direction that seemed no different from any other to the untrained eye.
His wet hair whipped around his face as he turned to look at the terrified crew. "Read the flow of the waves, accept them, and overcome them!"
Sinbad POV
"Hah, seriously that was a tough storm to maneuver," I said, stretching my arms above my head as I stood atop one of the buildings of the city we had arrived in. The warm sun felt good on my skin after days of cold rain and sea spray. Finally, I was close to getting back home, after sailing for almost two months. Gods, was I tired.
I looked over the edge of the roof to see a caravan making its way through the bustling streets below. It was small, being dragged by a lone horse led by an old man. I had never seen it before in this port city. They all looked like outsiders, and so I pushed essence into my ears to listen more closely, a trick I had learned in my travels.
I had been able to awaken on my own during my journey, which wasn't too shabby for someone with no teacher. But I hadn't been able to learn anything about my aspect or flaw, so ascendence was still far off. Still, awakened strength was more than enough to live in this world.
Two faces looked out of the caravan, a woman with long brown hair and gentle eyes, and a kid with a curious gaze that reminded me of myself when I was younger.
"It's Constantia," the older girl said, her voice tinged with wonder as she took in the sights of the bustling port city.
"It's a big city," the kid added, her eyes wide as she watched people from all walks of life going about their business.
"It's very lively," the woman observed.
"It's a remote region," the old man who was leading the horse reminded. "The government doesn't have full control here, in both the good and bad ways. Let's sell our stuff quickly and go home."
I was about to move on, to continue my journey home, when something caught my eye.
At that moment, a group of six men stopped the caravan, their hands resting casually on the hilts of sharp blades. Their intent was clear for all to see. I guess it was time to get into action.
"If you don't want to die here, I suggest leaving all your cargo and skipping town," the leader said, his voice carrying easily to where I crouched on the rooftop. He was tall and fat, with a scar running down the side of his face, probably from the war he had skipped out on, not that i could blame him for the last part after all I was also skipping enlistment whenever I could.
"Somebody!" the old man yelled, his voice cracking with fear. He tried to shield the women and the child, but he was pushed roughly aside.
"Boss, there are only women and kids here."
"Good timing, let's get the women too," one of the thugs said, his eyes lingering too long on the young woman. She pulled the child closer to her, her face pale with fear.
I stood once I heard that, walking to the edge of the roof. The wind picked up, rustling my clothes and hair, as if nature itself was responding to my anger.
"We'll take good care of you," another thug said, reaching for the woman who shrank back in terror.
"What about this one?" one of the men asked, pointing at the old man who had led the caravan. The old man was on his knees now, his hands raised in supplication.
The person who seemed to be the leader of the gang moved his finger across his throat—a universal gesture that needed no translation. The man did as ordered, raising his blade high, ready to strike down the old man who closed his eyes, accepting his fate.
"Stop!" I yelled, my voice carrying across the square. My hair fluttered in the wind.
All heads turned to look at me—the thugs, the caravan people, even some passersby who had been trying to ignore the situation.
"It's only a kid," the leader of the gang muttered, squinting up at me. "Go home and take a leak or something!" he yelled, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.
I didn't listen to him but rather replied with something of my own, something my father had taught me long ago.
"Humans and oceans, both are like waves," I said, my voice calm as I jumped down from the top of the building. I felt the essence flooding my body, making me lighter, stronger, faster. "And there's no wave I can't overcome!"
"Darn it," the leader said, unsheathing his blade, but he was already too late.
I stepped on his face, pushing off it and somersaulting over the rest of the bandits, landing on the face of another. I jumped from the face of that one to shoot myself at another, flooding my fist with essence, drawing it back, and punching out with all my might.
BAM!
My punch hit him square in the face, the impact echoing across the square. I then changed my body a bit, positioning my legs on the man's torso and pushing off it to do a triple backflip over another one. I hit him with my leg on his neck, sending him unconscious, and used it to push off him and onto the top of the caravan.
From there, I jumped headfirst onto another man, my arms grabbing his head and twisting it lightly, sending him unconscious. I fell to the ground along with him, rolling to absorb the impact.
The last man slashed at me wildly, his blade whistling through the air. But I moved my body to the right before jumping at him with my knee raised, hitting him squarely in the chest. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
I clapped my hands together, dusting them off as if I had just completed a simple chore. All in a good day's work, after all. The essence slowly ebbed from my system, my soul core was still filled to the brim which was good.
The bandits were all unconscious, sprawled across the cobblestone like discarded dolls. The group from the caravan had quickly joined back together, now standing in front of me with expressions ranging from shock to gratitude.
A closer look revealed more details about them. The man who looked to be around sixty had weathered hands and a kind face, despite the fear that still lingered in his eyes. The two women in their twenties were sisters, judging by their similar features—one with long brown hair, the other with it tied back in a practical bun. And the little girl, who didn't look more than 8, had curious eyes that reminded me of myself at that age.
"Thank you so much," one of the women said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. She clutched the child to her side, her hands still trembling slightly.
"Yeah, that was awesome, mister!" the little girl exclaimed, her fear forgotten as she looked at me with admiration.
I laughed at the little kid's words, ruffling her hair gently. "I simply read their waves," I said with a wink.
"How can we thank you?" the old man asked, his voice steady now that the danger had passed.
"It's not necessary, really," I said, waving away his thanks. "Though transporting goods without guards isn't wise in these parts," I added, looking pointedly at the unconscious bandits.
"Yes, we know," one of the women said, her eyes downcast. "But our father and brothers went to war."
"It's the same in the neighboring town," the old man added with a sigh. "All the able-bodied men are gone."
I gnashed my teeth, feeling the familiar anger rise within me.
Dammit, the war.
"Why don't you hire me?" I asked the caravan impulsively, pushing aside my dark thoughts.
"Huh?" they all muttered at the same time, exchanging surprised glances.
"Fishing is limited now, and I don't have any job right now. I just came back from one actually," I explained with a carefree smile that hid my deeper motivations. "Besides," I said, grabbing onto one of the women's hands and bringing it to my lips in a gallant gesture, "beautiful girls like you shouldn't be exposed to danger."
The woman began to blush at my words, her sister giggling beside her. Sometimes I was just too handsome for my own good—or so my mother always said with an exasperated smile.
The little girl, however, grabbed onto my waist, her eyes shining with wonder and admiration. I patted her on her head, which made her smile even wider as one of the women finally said, "We're going home by sea route, so we don't need a guide."
"Okay, that's too bad then," I said, hiding my disappointment. I had thought to travel with them for a while, to ensure they reached their destination safely, though thinking of my mother I really needed to get back to her too.
"Oh, I know," the other woman said suddenly, breaking into my thoughts. "Why don't you take some of our goods? They're all fresh fruits," she offered, rushing to her carriage. We all followed closely behind, curious to see what she would offer.
She got on the carriage, her hands traveling to a barrel as she said, "The ones in this barrel are the best of the crop," her voice filled with pride.
She tore the lid open, expecting to reveal the juicy fruits they had brought to sell.
But what we saw wasn't just a barrel of fruits. Rather, nestled among the pears was a skinny man, with blonde hair and a green hat pulled low over his eyes. He blinked up at us, surprised first, then terrified at having his hiding place discovered.
"Don't open without permission!" the man yelled, grabbing the lid from the woman and shutting himself in the barrel once more, pulling it closed with a definitive thud. The women screamed in unison, jumping back from the barrel as if it might explode.
"AAAHHHHH!!!"