Ashvar Fell—But Not Like a Man
The Tidefort Courtyard, once a sacred gathering place for kings and warriors, now lay in ruins. Ashvar's blood spread across the stone, a deep crimson that darkened the once-pristine seastone. The remnants of his power, the cursed aura of the Tide Tyrant, still lingered in the air, a thick, almost palpable force. The Cursed Cutlass lay at Veyan's feet, vibrating faintly with the echoes of its master's death.
As the storm clouds dissipated overhead, the sun finally peeked through, casting its pale light over the wreckage. There were no shouts of triumph, no roars of victory. The silence was unnerving, heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.
Veyan stood motionless, gazing down at the lifeless form of Ashvar, the once-feared ruler who had terrorized the island. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the pain of battle coursing through his body. His hand instinctively rested on the Moon-Severing Blade, the weapon now warm with the energy of its first true kill.
"Is this… truly the beginning?" Veyan thought. "Have I defeated the tyrant, or have I merely become the next?"
The flicker of doubt was immediate, as he looked over the fallen form of Ashvar. The sea breeze carried whispers from the survivors around him, but it was as though they spoke from a distance, muffled by the weight of the moment. In truth, this victory was bittersweet. Ashvar had been the enemy, yes. But the power he held wasn't easy to take. It left a void in the air, one that could be filled with more blood — if Veyan wasn't careful.
The Throne Waits
The Throne of Tides loomed before Veyan, a massive structure made of seastone and ancient coral. Its design was elegant, yet jagged — a testament to both the beauty and brutality of the island's past. The throne was not merely a seat of power. It was a living relic, a monument that once connected the kings of this land to the very essence of the sea. The currents and tides themselves whispered to those who dared sit upon it.
Veyan approached the throne slowly, his footsteps echoing across the cold stone floor. Every step felt like an intrusion, like a trespasser in a sacred space. His fingers brushed against the surface of the seastone, its smooth texture somehow unnervingly familiar.
For a brief moment, Veyan wondered what it would be like to rule from here. The island had bled, the people had fought, and now it was his turn to wield the weight of the crown.
But as his hand hovered over the seat, a sudden chill ran through him. The throne seemed to hum with an energy he had not anticipated. It wasn't just the power of the ruler's seat — it was something older, more dangerous. The seastone vibrated beneath his touch as though it were alive. It was waiting for someone to claim it.
Not just anyone.
It was waiting for him.
Kai's Warning
A voice broke through Veyan's reverie, pulling him back from the strange pull of the throne.
"You look like a man standing at the edge of a cliff," Kai's voice was as sharp as ever, cutting through the tension that hung in the air.
Veyan glanced back to see his vice-captain, the Black Gale, standing in the shadow of the fallen tide king. His black leather armor was covered in grime and blood, but his expression remained unreadable — almost detached.
"I'm standing at the bottom," Veyan replied quietly. His words were heavy, soaked with the realization of what he had just done. The first kill. The first throne. But what came next?
Kai's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his boots crunching over the gravel. "The people are restless, Veyan. They want a leader, but you should know something. A leader walks on blades, not sand. It's the weight of their decisions that makes the difference. If you wear the crown, you're not just ruling a people. You're drawing lines in the sand, and the tides of fate will turn quickly."
Veyan's gaze turned back to the throne, his thoughts clouding over. "They need direction. They need a savior."
Kai chuckled darkly. "Saviors die, Veyan. Kings last longer — but they break. Choose carefully what you become."
Proclamation of the First Creed
Veyan finally took the throne. Not in a grandiose gesture, but with a quiet dignity. His fingers brushed the seastone once more, feeling its cold surface, as if testing it. He then rose to his feet and turned to face the gathered survivors — warriors, rebels, the oppressed masses who had risen up against Ashvar's tyranny.
The islanders looked on with mixed emotions. They had expected a victory, yes, but they had also feared this moment. Ashvar had been a brutal ruler, but at least he had been a known quantity. What would Veyan bring? A savior? A tyrant? Or someone entirely new?
Veyan took a deep breath, grounding himself. This was it. The first test.
"I am Veyan Arcana," his voice echoed through the courtyard, amplified by the stillness. "Once exiled, now here to reclaim what was lost. Ashvar is dead, yes. But this island will not be ruled by fear, or by the blade. We shall rise together."
There was a pause before the crowd responded — not with cheers, but with murmurs of agreement. It was not a roar of victory, but the tentative hope of people who had seen too many kings rise and fall.
His words hung in the air.
"I claim no title but that of protector. The first island is free. And I will lead with the Sea Creed — not as a tyrant, but as a man of honor."
The Curse of the Cutlass
Later that evening, as the celebrations dimmed and the revelers returned to their homes, Veyan stood alone in the throne room. The Cursed Cutlass still lay at his feet, its blade glinting ominously in the moonlight.
It pulsed with a malevolent energy, as though it were alive.
"Take it," Saanvi's voice rang out from the shadows. She stepped into the dim light, her eyes wary as she looked at the sword. "Ashvar's weapon."
Veyan turned to her, his expression unreadable. He could feel the power emanating from the blade — dark, ancient, and tempting. He knelt before it, examining its cursed form, his fingers itching to take hold.
"It wants me," Veyan muttered, his voice grim. "But I won't let it."
Saanvi stepped closer, her brow furrowed. "You must decide, Veyan. The Cutlass doesn't choose a ruler — it chooses a conqueror. But it can also break them."
He met her gaze, the weight of the decision settling heavily on his chest. "Not today," he whispered. "The time will come. But for now… this throne is enough."
The Island Speaks
As Veyan sat alone in his new throne, a sense of foreboding settled over him. His mind churned with the words Kai had said. The people had risen against Ashvar, but would they follow Veyan? Or was he simply the next in a long line of failed rulers?
Before he could ponder further, a figure appeared before him. A woman. Tall, regal, her long hair a flame-like cascade that seemed to burn with an inner light.
Her eyes were as red as embers.
"I am Visha, Daughter of the Deep Flame," she introduced herself coldly. Her voice was like the crackle of burning wood. "I have come to offer a warning, Veyan Arcana."
He raised an eyebrow. "A warning?"
"The Sovereigns have noticed you," she said, her tone laced with both respect and challenge. "You've taken the first island. But this is only the beginning. The tides of war will soon rise again. Do you have what it takes to stand against the storms that will come?"
Veyan stood, his pulse quickening. He didn't trust her — but there was something in her eyes that told him she wasn't here to kill him. Not yet.
"Then I suppose I'll have to be ready."
And in that moment, something deep within Veyan stirred — an ancient fire, something tied to his bloodline. It was the beginning of a path he had not yet fully seen, one that would take him far from the shores of this first island.
The Shadow of the Deep Flame
As the moonlight bathed the throne room, Veyan remained seated, staring at the figure of Visha, the Daughter of the Deep Flame. The way her presence filled the space was palpable, like a storm gathering on the horizon, just waiting for the right moment to break. Her fiery-red hair swayed like a living flame, the light catching every strand and making her seem like something otherworldly.
Her eyes, sharp and calculating, glinted in the darkness. She had not come to make small talk. She had come for something — something important.
"I know what you're thinking, Veyan," she said, her voice calm but tinged with an edge of warning. "You believe you are the one to bring salvation to this island. But salvation is an illusion for those who are not ready for the consequences."
Veyan stood from the throne, his muscles sore from the earlier battle but his resolve firming with every passing second. He was already regretting giving into the temptation of sitting on the throne. It felt too final, too binding. But as he stood, the weight of his new title began to anchor itself within him, as if the very air had shifted around him. He felt the islands watching, the currents waiting, the sea itself speaking to him in hushed tones.
"Then what do you suggest?" Veyan asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and defiance. "That I abandon this place? Leave the people to fall into ruin as Ashvar did?"
Visha's lips curled into a knowing smile, her red eyes glinting with something almost predatory. "No, you will not abandon them. But neither will you rule from this throne with the same arrogance Ashvar did."
Veyan clenched his fists. "And what do you know of that?"
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "I know far more than you think. I have seen rulers rise and fall, kings who sought the same power you do. And I have seen the fate they meet when they do not control the tides of destiny."
Veyan stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge whether she was a potential ally or another enemy. The intensity of her gaze made it hard to focus. Her aura felt...dangerous, as though the very flame that flowed through her veins could scorch him to ash if she so desired.
"The Sovereigns are not to be trifled with," Visha added, her voice lower now, her tone carrying the weight of experience. "They see you as a potential pawn in their games. They may offer you power, but you must understand, power comes with a price."
Veyan's eyes flickered. "The Sovereigns... Who are they?"
Visha's smile faded, replaced with a somber expression. "You don't know them yet, but you will. They are the hidden hands that move the world, manipulating events from the shadows. And the tides they control are far deeper than your island conquests."
Veyan absorbed her words, the reality of his situation becoming clearer. He wasn't just dealing with local tyrants. There were powers beyond this island that would test him, push him to the brink of breaking. The Sovereigns — whoever they were — seemed to loom over him, waiting for him to make a misstep.
He straightened his back, his resolve firming like the stone beneath his feet. "If they want to see what I can do, they'll have to face me."
Visha's expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of approval in her eyes. "I like that," she murmured. "But beware, Veyan Arcana. Not all battles are won by strength alone."
She turned, her cloak swaying behind her as she began to leave the throne room, leaving Veyan with more questions than answers. But before she disappeared into the shadows, her voice floated back to him one last time.
"You will need more than power, Veyan. You will need wisdom. And in time, you will find that wisdom comes at a price too."
The First Lesson of the Sea Creed
In the days that followed the conquest of the island, Veyan found himself alone in his thoughts more often than he would have liked. His victory over Ashvar had been swift, but the island was still recovering from the fallout of the rebellion. The people were grateful for the end of the tyrant's reign, but they were wary of the new ruler. How could they trust someone who had once been an exile? How could he convince them that he would be different from Ashvar?
The first lesson came sooner than expected.
Veyan was walking through the village when he came upon a group of workers rebuilding the docks. They stopped their work as he passed, staring at him with expressions of uncertainty and fear. He could sense their hesitation, their internal struggle — the same one that had gnawed at him since taking the throne.
One of the workers, a tall man with a scar over his left eye, stepped forward. "Are you the one who killed Ashvar?" he asked, his voice gruff but edged with a hint of respect.
Veyan stopped, meeting the man's gaze. "I did."
The man nodded slowly, as though weighing the truth of Veyan's words. "And what now, King? Are we to call you our ruler? Or will we be next on your list of enemies?"
Veyan felt the question like a slap across his face. This wasn't just about power anymore. This was about trust.
"I'm not here to rule with fear," he replied, his voice steady. "I'm here to rebuild what was broken. If you'll have me."
The worker's gaze softened, but the doubt was still there. "A ruler who doesn't use fear is rare. It's what we need, but we'll see if you can walk that path."
Veyan nodded. "Time will tell."
Kai's Challenge
Later that evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the island, Kai found Veyan standing at the edge of the cliffs overlooking the vast expanse of the sea. The wind howled around them, whipping through their hair and carrying the salt of the sea.
Kai stood beside him, silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice low but firm. "I see the weight of the crown is already pressing down on you. It doesn't get easier, Veyan. Not when you're caught between your ideals and the reality of leadership."
Veyan didn't turn to face him, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I didn't ask for this. But now that I'm here, I have to see it through."
Kai's eyes flickered to the distant shore. "It's not enough to just be a leader. You'll need to be more than that. You'll need to be ruthless, sometimes. Do you have it in you?"
Veyan's jaw clenched, the words stinging more than he wanted to admit. "I have no choice but to find out."
Kai's gaze softened for a moment, but then he turned away. "Don't forget, Veyan. You have allies here. Not everyone sees the path forward as you do. Some will push you toward the throne, others will pull you away. You'll have to make choices that will change everything."
The First Night of Many
That night, as Veyan lay in his chamber, the weight of everything settled in. He wasn't just a man anymore. He was King of Tides, the ruler of a shattered people with a history of betrayal and bloodshed. The first island was his, but he knew, deep down, that the hardest part had just begun.
The Moon-Severing Blade rested against the wall beside his bed, its dark gleam calling to him, whispering of the battles to come. But Veyan didn't reach for it. Instead, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of peace, knowing that when the storm came, he would need more than just a sword to survive it.
The days after Veyan's conquest were an uncertain, heady mix of triumph and sorrow. While Ashvar's stronghold had crumbled and the oppressive rule had ended, the scars of the island were far from healed. The villagers walked through the streets as if they were unsure whether to smile or remain hidden in the shadows. Veyan could feel their skepticism, a subtle weight pressing against him. They had been ruled by fear for so long — how could they trust a king who had once been an exile, just like them?
But Veyan refused to let this doubt consume him. His resolve was unshakeable. He had faced worse than distrust. Now, he would face something even greater: leadership.
The Fractured Land
The island, once a vibrant and bustling place, now felt like a land in mourning. The markets were sparse, the people slow to reclaim what had been taken from them. In the aftermath of Ashvar's reign, even the land itself seemed to carry an air of disarray — as if the earth had grown tired of the corruption that had settled into its bones.
Veyan walked among the people every day, never in a palace, but alongside them, in the very streets that had seen bloodshed and cruelty. He listened intently, absorbing every story, every grievance. He sought to understand them not just as subjects, but as individuals. He spoke with the elderly, who had seen the island in its prime, and with the children, who had known nothing but war and oppression.
Through these conversations, Veyan learned the true depth of Ashvar's cruelty. It wasn't just the oppression that had crushed their spirits, but the lies he had fed them. Ashvar had twisted their beliefs, reshaped their understanding of their own history, and buried the island's rich culture under layers of fear and manipulation.
"I see," Veyan muttered one night, alone in his chambers, staring out over the horizon as the sun dipped below the sea. "This... this is not just about defeating a tyrant. It's about restoring something long lost."
The Visit from the Emissary
It was late in the evening when Veyan felt the shift in the air. The breeze, once soft and soothing, now carried a different tone, something heavier, as though the very atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Before Veyan could react, a cloaked figure stepped into his path, blocking his way as he made his way through the palace gardens.
The figure was tall and lean, a shadow against the twilight. A shimmer of faint light reflected off the strange markings on their cloak. The figure's presence sent a cold shiver down Veyan's spine, but his instincts — honed over years of survival — kept him from drawing his blade immediately.
"Who goes there?" Veyan demanded, his voice steady but commanding.
The figure raised their hood slightly, revealing sharp, almost inhumanly bright eyes — pale and icy blue. "I am Kairan, emissary of the Sovereigns. I come not as an enemy, but as a harbinger of what is to come."
The mention of the Sovereigns sent a ripple through Veyan's thoughts. He had heard whispers of these enigmatic beings, rulers whose power extended far beyond the islands, who controlled the fates of even the most powerful empires. They were like gods to most, existing in the periphery of reality, manipulating the tides of the world without a single soul truly understanding their full extent.
"And what do the Sovereigns want with me?" Veyan asked, though deep down, he knew it was a question he might not want the answer to.
Kairan's smile was sharp, calculating. "You have drawn their attention, Veyan Arcana. By claiming Ashvar's throne, you have awakened something ancient — something they do not take lightly."
Veyan's hand twitched toward his blade, but he remained still, waiting for Kairan to continue. The air felt heavy, as if the very landscape was holding its breath.
"They have no love for Ashvar," Kairan continued, his voice cold and unwavering. "But they have even less for those who disrupt the balance they so carefully maintain. You must prove yourself, not just in battle, but in heart, in mind, and in soul. You are a tool in their eyes, nothing more. But if you prove yourself worthy, the tides may turn in your favor."
Veyan's heart pounded as the implications of the words sank in. He had taken the throne thinking his struggles were over, but this revelation — this new challenge — made it clear that the path he had chosen was far from finished.
The Tideborn's Challenge
The next morning, Veyan was summoned to the ancient temple at the heart of the island, where the Tideborn, ancient keepers of the island's power, resided. As Veyan approached the massive stone pillars, he noticed how the temple seemed to hum with energy, the air thick with something more than just the scent of saltwater.
The Tideborn were not merely warriors; they were guardians of an ancient force, one that flowed through the earth, the seas, and the skies. Their power was not drawn from brute strength or magic alone, but from an understanding of the natural world — a connection to the very currents that ran beneath the world's surface.
Inside the temple, Veyan found a solitary figure awaiting him — a man draped in dark, flowing robes, symbols etched into his skin like living tattoos. His eyes were cold, unyielding, as though he had seen countless men come and go, all seeking the same power.
"You are Veyan Arcana, King of Tides," the figure said, his voice deep and resonant, like the ocean's roar. "And now you will face the first trial."
Veyan stood tall, though his heart raced. He could feel the weight of his destiny pressing down on him, but he knew that there was no turning back. "I am ready," he said, though his voice betrayed a flicker of uncertainty.
The figure nodded once, then raised a hand, sending a pulse of energy into the air. In that instant, the temple seemed to come alive. The ground beneath Veyan's feet trembled, and the air around him became thick with the scent of salt and power. The trial had begun.
A violent wind whipped around him, and Veyan's feet lifted from the ground, his body lifted into the heart of a raging storm. The winds howled, tearing at him with vicious intensity. Waves crashed against him, as if the ocean itself was trying to swallow him whole. But Veyan did not panic. He had faced death before — but this was different. The storm was not his enemy; it was a test of his mind, his spirit, and his understanding of the forces around him.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time since his arrival, he let the storm take him, feeling the chaotic winds, the pounding waves, the crackling energy of the storm surge through him. But rather than fight it, Veyan embraced it.
He breathed deeply, allowing himself to become one with the storm, feeling the currents of energy shift within him. Slowly, the winds calmed, and the waves fell into a tranquil rhythm. The storm subsided, leaving nothing but an eerie calm.
When Veyan opened his eyes, he found himself back on solid ground, surrounded by the Tideborn. The figure who had spoken to him earlier stepped forward, his eyes sharp with approval.
"You have passed the first trial," he said. "But the Sovereigns will not be so easily swayed. You will face many more challenges — and some will be beyond your control."
The Hidden Price of Power
The trial had been grueling, but Veyan felt a surge of pride within him. The power of the sea now flowed through his veins, and with it, a new understanding of the forces he had yet to fully comprehend. Yet, despite the triumph, a nagging feeling lingered in his chest.
Power was not the solution. It never had been.
As Veyan left the temple, his thoughts returned to the words Kairan had spoken. "The Sovereigns are watching," they had said. It was not just power that they sought; it was his submission. The tide had turned, but whether he would be its master or its slave remained to be seen.
As the trial came to an end, Veyan stood at the heart of the Tideborn temple, feeling the weight of the ocean's power still thrumming through his body. It wasn't just the storm that had passed—something had shifted inside him. He was different now. The force of the sea wasn't just something he could command; it had become part of him, interwoven into his very being. He could feel it pulsing beneath his skin, like the heartbeat of the world itself.
The Tideborn stood around him, their faces inscrutable. For a moment, there was no sound, no movement, as though time itself had frozen. Then, one by one, they nodded, their expressions revealing nothing of their thoughts. They had seen countless warriors come and go, but something about Veyan intrigued them. There was no arrogance in his victory, only a quiet acknowledgment of the storm he had overcome and the trials yet to come.
The figure who had been guiding him stepped forward. His dark robes billowed with an unseen wind, and his presence was commanding, yet tempered with an eerie calm. The man's eyes locked onto Veyan's, searching, evaluating.
"You have passed the first trial," the figure said, his voice deep and unwavering. "But the journey ahead is not one of ease. The Sovereigns will not look kindly upon your rise, and their trials will be unlike any you have faced."
Veyan's breath caught in his chest. The Sovereigns—the beings who were said to control the fate of the world—had now entered his consciousness in a way he hadn't fully grasped before. Their power, their gaze, it was no longer something distant or abstract. It was real, and it was coming for him.
"I am not afraid of them," Veyan replied, though the words were more for himself than the Tideborn.
The figure studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the horizon. The sky was darkening, casting a purple hue over the temple and the island beyond. The winds had died down, but the ocean still churned restlessly, as though awaiting the next command.
"You misunderstand," the figure said, his voice softening slightly. "It is not fear you should worry about. It is the price of power."
Veyan's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
The Tideborn's gaze shifted to the ocean, where the waves seemed to pulse with a quiet, deadly rhythm. "Power, true power, is never without its cost. You have felt the storm within you, Veyan. But that storm comes with consequences. To wield the forces of the sea, you must first understand them. The tides do not simply obey; they change, they shift, and they are merciless. You will have to fight not only your enemies but the very essence of the power you seek to control."
Veyan clenched his fists, but he nodded. He knew this was true. He had always known it. Power was never given freely. It was earned, fought for, and at times, it was a heavy burden. He had witnessed the suffering of others, the relentless toll of his own struggle for survival. He had no illusions about the price he would pay to claim his place in the world.
But he would not back down.
As if sensing his resolve, the Tideborn figure gave a small nod. "You are not the first to seek the power of the sea, Veyan. Many have come before you, some stronger, some wiser. Yet, none have succeeded without sacrifice. The Sovereigns will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine. Their trials will shape you, break you, and remold you into something more... or something less. That is the price."
Veyan met his gaze. "Then I will pay it."
The Inner Struggle
Later that night, Veyan found himself alone on the cliffside, staring out at the moonlit ocean. The sky was clear, the stars reflected on the water's surface like shards of glass. The quiet was almost deafening, a stillness that contrasted sharply with the storm he had just conquered.
His thoughts raced, tangled with the weight of the Tideborn's words. The price of power... What was it that the Sovereigns wanted from him? Was it the throne he had taken? Or was it something deeper, something more insidious that he had yet to uncover?
Veyan closed his eyes, letting the wind wash over him. He could still feel the power of the sea within him, like a dormant force, waiting for the right moment to unleash itself. The raw energy was intoxicating. It made him feel alive, invincible. But it also made him feel something else—something dark. He could hear the voices of those who had fallen before him, the whispering echoes of the past, all the kings and warriors who had wielded power, only to be undone by it.
Would I be any different?
The question lingered in his mind, unresolved.
He had come to this island to reclaim his strength, to rise above his exile. But now, with power coursing through his veins, he realized that this was not the end of his journey. It was only the beginning. The trials ahead would test him in ways he could not yet comprehend. The Sovereigns were not just gods to be feared; they were arbiters of fate, and his fate was now tied to theirs.
As Veyan stood on the cliff, the sound of footsteps behind him broke his reverie. He turned to see Kai, his vice-captain, approaching with a serious look on his face. Kai had been Veyan's ally from the very beginning, and his loyalty had been unwavering, even when the odds seemed insurmountable.
"You've been quiet," Kai said, his tone casual, but Veyan could see the concern in his eyes. "Too quiet. Something's bothering you."
Veyan turned back to the ocean, his gaze distant. "The trials," he said, his voice low. "They're not what I thought they would be."
Kai said nothing for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. Finally, he stepped closer. "You're not just fighting for a throne, are you?"
Veyan's eyes flicked to Kai, and for the first time, he saw the understanding in his vice-captain's gaze. Kai had always been a man of few words, but there was a depth to him that Veyan had come to appreciate.
"No," Veyan replied, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty. "This is bigger than any throne."
Kai nodded, then placed a hand on Veyan's shoulder. "Then don't let it consume you. Whatever happens, we're in this together."
The Storm Within
As Veyan turned back to the sea, he realized that the storm he had faced earlier was not just a physical force. It was a reflection of the battle within himself—the battle between the man he had been and the man he was becoming. The Sovereigns had been right about one thing: power was a storm, and it could drown him if he let it.
But Veyan was no stranger to storms. He had weathered the worst of them before. And now, with the winds of destiny at his back, he would sail through whatever challenges lay ahead. His resolve had been forged in the fires of exile, and it would not be so easily broken.
The trials of the sea had only just begun, and Veyan Arcana was ready to face them all.