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. A vast, untamed sea, it swallowed ships with constant storms, its growl echoing as if something alive lurked in the depths. 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—stood out in the dim light, and his brown hair fell in rebellious strands.
Damp and tousled by the sea spray, he brushed the hair from his forehead 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 as he glanced at the stormy sky. "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 had taught him trust was for fools. Slipping through shadowy markets and wrecks, he spoke little and thought plenty, burying mistakes 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, deep 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 with determination.
The boat rocked, waves pounding like fists, and he leaned into it to steady it, muscles taut. Veins bulged on his forearms as the sky, a mantle of gray and black, was slashed by lightning. The Isle of Currents loomed on the horizon, a silhouette of black rocks and twisted trees 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 a muffled scream amid the waves' roar.
"Probably some dumb bird stuck somewhere," he grumbled, disdain dripping from his voice. But the scream came again, sharp and laced with desperation, making him frown. Kain tapped his fingers on the sword, the Ruby pulsing under his touch, and huffed: "Great, 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 on the wet sand. Three mercenaries dragged a young woman across the beach, her boots sinking as she thrashed.
The leader, a brute with sunburned skin, had a 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. Beside him, a wiry, nervous man carried a net and a short sword, his greasy black hair falling over sunken eyes.
The third, short and stocky, his face under a tattered hood, wielded a dagger with a killer's confidence. The young woman, Lirien, as Kain would later learn, was 20 and carried an energy that defied the storm. Her blonde hair danced like golden flames, framing a face of sharp features and blazing green eyes.
Slender but agile, she wore a faded blue tunic, torn at the sleeves, and worn boots. Kain stopped the boat, eyes fixed on the scene, muttering: "I could turn this damn thing around and pretend I didn't see a thing." But Lirien landed a kick on the wiry man's knee, drawing a yelp, and a crooked smile slipped onto Kain's lips.
"Well, she's got guts," he thought, leaping from the boat with his feet sinking into the sand. "That complicates things." He advanced with silent steps, hand on his sword, as the leader yanked the chain, snarling: "Quiet, you pest!"
His deep voice, rough with salt and smoke, echoed, 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, reaching the leader in three quick strides.
He spun the sword, striking the wrist with the hilt in a sharp blow, dropping the chain with a clink. A kick to the chest sent the man sprawling into the sand with a grunt, and the others turned on him. The wiry one drew his sword with trembling fingers, the stocky one lunged with the dagger.
"You picked the worst day to piss me off," Kain said, his voice cutting as he dodged the wiry man's clumsy swing. He spun behind him, twisting his arm until the sword fell, then shoved him into the rocks, where he crumpled, groaning. The stocky one came next, dagger aiming for his flank, but Kain rolled through the sand and rose.
With feline grace, he grabbed the fallen chain and whipped it, wrapping the mercenary's legs. A hard yank sent him face-first into the sand, the dagger flying and embedding in the beach. Lirien, freed, rolled to her feet, green eyes flashing with relief and defiance, clutching a rock.
"Who are you?" she asked, breathless but steady, as Kain brushed sand off his tunic. "Someone who's already regretting this," he shot back, curt. The leader staggered up, spitting sand and hate: "Yariv'll skin you for this, you filthy rat!"
He roared, drawing a serrated dagger, but Kain lunged with a precise strike that disarmed him. A punch to the jaw dropped him cold, and silence fell, broken only by the waves. Lirien dropped the rock, wiping her hands on her tunic with confidence, and said: "Thanks."
"But I could've handled it myself," she added, her voice clear and strong. Kain arched an eyebrow, the scar shifting: "Sure, you were in charge while getting dragged like a fish in a net." She laughed, a light sound that cut the tension, crossing her arms.
"I'm Lirien," she said, blonde hair fluttering, "and you are…?" "Kain," he replied, curt, sheathing the sword. "And no, I don't do this out of kindness—these idiots probably have something I can sell," he added, glancing at the fallen bodies.
"Your heart of gold's well hidden," she teased, eyes glinting with amusement. "Those mercenaries work for Yariv," she went on, her tone sobering. "He's hunting something in the waters… something that shouldn't be found," she said, resolute.
Kain frowned, the name "Yariv" prodding a distant memory of a ruthless relic hunter. He glanced at the Ruby, intrigued by its faint glow but without answers, and muttered: "Sounds like the kind of trouble I avoid." Lirien countered with a challenging smile: "You don't seem the type to run from trouble."
He snorted, turning to the boat: "You don't know me, girl." His rough voice masked a growing unease as he said: "Let's go before more of them show up." Kain tied the boat to a rock and helped Lirien aboard, his movements precise.
As he rowed back into the sea, the boat slicing the waves, his mind wandered. The Ruby's weight against his thigh felt heavier, and Lirien's green eyes followed him, steady and probing. The Tempestamic Ocean roared around them, and Kain felt those dark waters wouldn't let him slip away so easily.