They say those born of forbidden blood are cursed.
Maybe they're right.
My name is Kael of the Shoreless, born under a split sky — half sun, half storm. My mother belonged to the Skyguard, fierce and cold as the clouds she ruled. My father was of the Earthbound, warriors carved from soil and stone. Their union broke the oldest rule.
Their punishment was death.
Mine was exile.
I'm not welcome in the floating cities above the stormline, where windsteel blades cut the air and laws are enforced with thunder. Nor do I belong among the deep burrows of the Earthbound, where stone speaks and oaths are carved into your bones.
I'm something else. Something in-between. Something no one asked for.
So I look to the only place left unclaimed:
The sea.
The sea has no laws. No caste, no council, no sacred bloodlines. Only hunger, storms, and the creatures that survive them.
It's perfect.
Out here, on the far fringe of the known world, monsters walk during the day. Old things. Forgotten things. Creatures the Skyguard and Earthbound pretend don't exist. Like the Skulgulls — three-headed sky scavengers with claws like hooked spears. I nearly lost my face to one last week.
Food? Scarce. Shelter? A myth.
Hope? Let's not get sentimental.
But I made a promise to myself:
I will tame the sea. I will carve out a place of my own, not given by blood or birth, but taken with grit and rage.
If I had status — or Rank, as the systems call it — things would be easier. Power flows with recognition in this world. Rankers are rare, their strength shaped and sharpened by the old Orders that control the cities. Each Order grants titles to its chosen — from Warden to Champion, even to Highguard — and each title comes with real, terrifying power.
The stories say a true Champion can split mountains. But even they answer to the head of their Order. And none of the Orders want someone like me.
The Orders may hate each other, but they all agree on one thing:
I don't belong.
So I stay on the move. The land behind me hates me. The sky above me wants nothing to do with me. And the sea?
The sea doesn't care.
But something out there watches. Beneath the tides and foam — something ancient. Something far worse than Orders, Rankers, or even exile.
They call it Chaos, but that's a lie.
Chaos is the symptom.
The sea is the source.
And I was born to sink into it.