Kallen was sure he was going to die soon. It wouldn't be during this fit. It wouldn't be during the next one. But it would happen, sooner or later, he was going to die.
Curling tighter into himself, he pressed his forehead against the cold stone. The pain was a living thing, a parasite gnawing at his mind, a vice cranked tighter with every heartbeat, a serrated knife carving his brain. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.
Somewhere above him, Naeve's voice cut through the fog.
"Again?"
A hand gripped his shoulder. "Do you see anything different this time?"
Kallen choked out a horse cough, blood speckling his lips from where he'd bitten his tongue. "Same as always. The temple—" he coughed again, clawing at his temples. "That damn shadow skewering me."
~~~
As time dragged on, the headaches had become more and more frequent. They had transitioned from only at night, to assaulting him during the day. He would feel the pressure, nearly keel over from the pain, and wake up on the floor hours later.
Sometimes, though, he was cognizant the whole time. Those were the worst
He had nearly given Naeve a heart attack when it had first happened. But with the frequency ramping up as time went by, they soon found that Kallen's training couldn't continue. Not when he was in the fetal position for nearly two-thirds of the day in pain.
It was only when Kallen had finally relented and told Naeve what he was seeing when he blacked out that his master truly understood what was happening.
It was most likely a manifestation of an aspect legacy. A strange one that forced its holder to seek it out, rather than letting the process come naturally.
Neither of them liked the sound of that—and it was only a theory—but that day, three months before the solstice, Naeve had made a call. It seemed that Kallen would be heading South West. In the direction that seemed to put the least amount of pressure on his head. He was going to antarctica.
~~~
According to the saint guarding the small combat ship that Kallen had boarded—The Nightwalker, Saint Bloodwave—the call of his aspect legacy would drown his mind if he didn't relent. The headaches weren't headaches at all, it was compulsion. He was drawn to a temple off the coast of antarctica, and there he would find… well the saint hadn't been sure.
But the fact was that the pressure relented with every league traveled, the evidence was damning.
Kallen was one of the few people on the small reinforced ship. It was a scouting boat meant to travel ahead of large cargo convoys. Test the waters, draw in nightmare creatures, and let them get obliterated by the saint and several masters that traveled alongside.
It would have been faster to simply swim there with the help of the Bloodwave, however, with Saints so low in number and the Great House of Night so necessary for sea travel, Kallen was forced to travel by sea just like everyone else. On a boat.
He sat near the helm of the ship. The vast and open Southern Ocean was the battleground for a terrible thunder storm. He had taken his shirt off, allowing the downpour of rain to relieve him from his flaw. When it stormed like this, he took the time to practice shaping the rain drops, especially because his aspect was weaker in the rain than fully submerged underwater. The shackles of restriction helped him fine-tune his finesse.
He flexed his fingers, and water shifted between them as if he was twirling a pencil. He pulled droplets from the air and formed them into twisting ribbons that danced between his hands.
When he focused, the ribbon swished into the form of a trident. Then a coiling serpent. Then a flickering flame—the shape collapsed as his concentration slipped.
Exhaling, Kallen leaned back against a metal railing, closing his eyes as the drops of liquid traced cool, revitalizing trails down his skin. The pain in his skull was easing, but he knew what awaited him at that temple was far worse. He couldn't help but shudder at the thought.
Occasionally, when the saint guiding him determined the waters clear enough, he would come and speak with Kallen.
The man who greeted him was unlike any he'd ever met—save for the memory of his own grandfather. Saint Bloodwave had smooth skin, his hair a stark white that contrasted sharply with his dark complexion. His eyes glinted with shades of indigo and deep blue, like the sea at twilight. But past the beauty, there was an undeniable, almost predatory authority that clung to the man wherever he went.
The aloof saint never revealed his aspect, never revealed his given name, and never engaged with Kallen in any meaningful manner.
But he did talk occasionally. And when he did, Kallen treated his words as gold. Surely there were better things for the man who stood at the pinnacle of awakened society to be doing other than giving cryptic pointers to some sleeper. But he didn't complain.
Kallen let the needle of rain he'd shaped dissolve onto the deck as he watched the Saint move across it
"You're wrestling the water," he said. It was strange how the saint's voice sliced right through the roar of the waves and wind. "That's your mistake."
Kallen glanced at him, brows raised. "At the risk of sounding arrogant, I think I'm quite well considering my flaw."
The Saint had guessed Kallen's flaw within a few days of starting their voyage. His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Control is an illusion when it comes to the sea, boy. It can't be commanded."
To a lesser man, maybe a 'lowly' awakened, Kallen might have scoffed at the advice. He might have rolled his eyes and made fun of the Saint for the directionless advice, but instead, he accepted this and thought on it.
"Do you know the best way to learn a new language?" The saint suddenly asked.
Kallen blinked, then cocked his head. "I do not. I'm more of a math guy. Languages were never my thing."
Bloodwave turned to watch the horizon, the open sea churning beneath a dark sky split with the occasional bolt of lightning. "Once the basics are understood, one of the most effective methods is immersion. Throw yourself into a place where that language is spoken. Let it surround you. Obvious is it not?"
"I… suppose so."
"Then why do you insist on learning the language of the ocean while keeping one foot on land? You struggle against the waves because you stand apart from them. You wish to control the depths, to force them into your will, but the sea does not yield to force. It yields to familiarity."
Kallen opened his mouth to respond, but the Saint raised a hand, silencing him. "The sea speaks constantly. But you cannot hear it while you're shouting commands."
A violent wave slammed against the hull, tilting the ship sharply. Bloodwave didn't so much as sway, his balance effortless, as if the deck moved around him instead. Kallen gripped the railing hair, his knuckles whitening as another spike of pain lanced through his skull.
The Saint's expression remained unchanging. "Your headaches are getting better."
It was a statement of observation, nothing more.
Kallen could only nod, swallowing against the nausea rising. Bloodwave studied him until the pain passed—there was no vision this time. When it finally relented and he was able to stand straight, the Saint walked toward the ship's prow.
Kallen stared at his wide back for a few moments, taking sharp inhales as the pain exited him. His muscles eased as the tension went with the pain. A calm feeling spread throughout him and he slowly joined the saint at the front of the ship, ruminating over what the man had said.
He had spent months honing his ability, fighting against its limitations. To hear the half-silent titan imply that his entire approach was flawed… it was frustrating. Maddening even.
Especially from someone who'd barely acknowledged his existence for most of the voyage. It was like he could see the depth of Kallen's mistakes at a glance.
"Do I have the basics down well enough to immerse myself?"
The saint glanced at him briefly. "No."
"Excuse me?"
A hint of a real smile tugged at the Saint's mouth. "But you will soon."
With that, he shoved Kallen overboard.
The cold nearly stole his breath from his lungs. Seawater flooded his nose and mouth as he plunged downward. He hadn't a moment to think before he was caught by the pull of the ship. Its hull loomed above, currents coiling and pulling him directly toward the propellers.
Kallen twisted trying to break free, but it happened so quickly that he had acted on instinct alone. Shoving a hand above him, he didn't push. He didn't shove. He pleaded, and the water accepted his cry, forcing him down and away from imminent danger.
Instead of immediately catching up to the ship that moved like a dark circle away from him, Kallen waited. He closed his eyes and floated. Thinking. Chewing on what the transcendent had told him.
Ocean's Wrath tells me that water bends to my will. Which suggests that I should control it. But my aspect [Sea King] says that I reign in the deep, ruling over all that lies beneath the waves. The seas recognize my authority, currents bending to me will, and creatures heeding my call. It says that I am one with the tides…
As he floated in the dark embrace of the Southern Ocean, the truth of his aspect began to unfold before his very eyes.
Some of the most respected leaders in history—the ones whose names echoed across the centuries, timeless, hadn't ruled through fear or brute force entirely. Alexander hadn't conquered the known world through tyranny alone, but by marching alongside his men. Sharing their hardships. Hannibal of Carthage did not command his troop's loyalty, he earned it. He inspired it through his military mind, but also through the togetherness of his army.
This was the essence of [Sea King]. Or at least, it was a beginning axiom of it.
Kallen let the rhythm of the oceans flow through him. The water was his people. His kingdom. He couldn't force obedience, but he could earn devotion through understanding. The sea would not bow to domination, but it would respond to harmony, to the natural order of things.
He recited the description of his aspect, but this time reading in-between the lines.
"You reign in the deep, ruling over all that lies beneath the waves."
Not through conquest, but through rightful sovereignty.
"The Seas recognize your authority… "
Not because I force them, but because I belong.
"... their currents bending to your will… "
Not by compulsion, but natural accord.
"... their creatures heeding your call."
Like subjects marching alongside their beloved monarch.
"You are one with the tides, a force of nature, a lord without equal in the treacherous depths."
Kallen gasped as a spark of fire ignited in his mind. The cursed temple in the distance wasn't a prize to be taken, but a throne to be claimed. To be claimed by the undeniable right of one who had become indistinguishable from his land.
His eyes shot open and the voice of the spell rang in his mind.
[You have received an Aspect Legacy, Titan Slayer]
So it was my Aspect Legacy.
An Aspect Legacy was something that every Aspect contained, but very few Awakened ever received. They had a unique set of requirements that needed to be met to unlock it. When they were met, a powerful relic was rewarded, usually a memory or ability that synergized perfectly with their aspect or its theme.
Legacy clans were built on them. Though not every clan had them, the important ones did. It was the acquisition of the Aspect Legacy that laid the foundation.
Kallen couldn't believe his luck. Or… perhaps it was bad luck to blame, since receiving the aspect legacy changed nothing about his current situation. He was still probably going to have to fight that shadow at the temple he'd been envisioning.
If he attained sainthood, would he surpass his grandfather as head of the Black Water Clan?
Of course Kallen didn't know this, but he was thinking entirely too small and large at the same time. A divine aspect saint with an aspect legacy would be far more than just the patriarch of a branch clan. But also, he'd have to actually attain sainthood first.
Regardless, he had runes to read.
It was dangerous to pull up his runes in the middle of open water—especially considering the beasts that lurked in the depths, but he was too excited to care.
And right there, right below the rune for Aspect Abilities, there it was.
Aspect Legacy: [Titan Slayer]
Titan Slayer Description: [To claim the abyss is not to merely conquer it—but to cleanse it. Seven tainted leviathans, titans of the deep, their territory nothing but sin. A true ruler is loved by their kingdom, but the glorious Blessed of the Sea must first prove his reign. He must subjugate any and all insubordination.]
Kallen read for a few moments. He tried his best to equate the description of his aspect with his own findings. It's telling me to subjugate insubordination. It seems something along the lines of not allowing other rulers into ones territory, no matter how peaceful or fair a ruler is.
The spell really is leaning into this whole king motif.
He continued reading
Defiled Leviathans Subjugated: [0/7]
First Relic: Unearned.
Second Relic Unearned.
Third Relic…
There were seven relics, each he assumed corresponding with a slain Defiled Leviathan.'
He was fairly sure that aspect legacies were only supposed to have a single Legacy Relic. However, it made sense considering…
It probably has to do with my divine aspect.
As he delved through his runes one last time, he caught something strange. There was another attribute.
Attribute: [Inheritance]
[Inheritance] Attribute Description: "A good leader applies what he learns from his enemies."
Kallen stared blankly for a moment. He had only unlocked his Aspect Legacy. He hadn't actually earned any relics. Was this part of the intrinsic nature of owning his legacy perhaps? He didn't know, it was all too confusing.
As Saint Bloodwave appeared in the murky depths, grabbed him, and hauled him back to the surface, effortlessly tossing him back to the deck, he pulled himself out of his own thoughts.
The man recognized that look in his eyes, shaking his head, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "The spell told you, didn't it?"
Kallen nodded. "My Aspect Legacy. It's there in my runes… "
He could have sworn he'd seen a hint of bewilderment in the Saint's eyes.