Kale sat beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, its gnarled branches offering a reprieve from the afternoon sun. His gaze drifted across the sect's inner grounds, observing the daily rhythm of life unfolding before him. Hammers struck anvils with rhythmic precision as disciples trained their insights gleaned from the Ocean of Knowledge. The sharp scent of herbs mingled with the acrid tang of fire, carried on the breeze that wound through the compound. Nearby, one particular seeker had set up a small stall, selling vials of carefully brewed potions for coins.
Kale sighed deeply, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He felt adrift—uncertain of what to do next. Everyone around him seemed to have found their purpose, whether it was mastering combat techniques, crafting tools, or refining elixirs. Yet here he was, still searching for something tangible to call his own.
Then came the familiar pull—the Ocean of Knowledge whispering at the edges of his awareness. Without closing his eyes, Kale tugged lightly on that connection. Golden threads and motes of light slowly shimmered into existence, weaving through the air like delicate strands of silk. His vision shifted, the world becoming sharper, more alive with hidden details.
He glanced toward the artisan hammering away at the anvil and reached out to a nearby thread. Basic information flooded his mind: Name: Jorren. Age: twenty-four. Occupation: blacksmith
But one detail stood out among the fragments—his anchor. Insights about metalwork, heat manipulation, and forging techniques had solidified within Jorren's connection to the Ocean. To Kale, it was only a name, not a skill he could use himself, but it gave him clarity. Anchors weren't just abilities; they were personal marks left in the Shallows—proof of mastery.
Kale frowned thoughtfully and released the thread. The golden light faded from his vision, leaving the world as it was again. He leaned back against the tree trunk, staring up at the sky as the wind rustled through the leaves above him. A faint whistle escaped his lips as he let the breeze wash over him, carrying scents and sounds from all directions.
Then, a bold idea began to form in his mind.
His body was weak—he couldn't fight like Alden had, nor did he possess the raw strength needed to wield weapons effectively yet. But there were other ways to gain an advantage. His senses… his perception… his cunning. Those qualities set him apart. They could become his edge in a world where brute force often reigned supreme.
Kale stood abruptly, brushing dirt and dried leaves from his robe.
If others built anchors around physical skills or specialized crafts, then why couldn't his be different? Why couldn't it reflect who he truly was?
He didn't need brute strength to survive—not if he could anticipate danger before it arrived, read his opponents' movements in battle, or detect subtle changes in his surroundings. Perception could be his weapon—a quiet, unassuming power no one would see coming.
With newfound determination, Kale resolved to make his first anchor something uniquely his.
It wouldn't be tied to swords, fire, or alchemy.
It would be rooted in his senses.
And with that decision firmly in place, Kale straightened his posture, his expression resolute.
He had made up his mind.
His first anchor would be his senses.