Perspective: An elderly monk narrates to an apprentice in a temple of silver runes, under the light of crackling torches.
Objective: Introduce the Stormtide Ocean, jewels/relics, forges, crystals, and the Faceless King, with a hook for Chapter 1.
The temple shuddered under the weight of the Stormtide Ocean, its silver runes pulsing like veins of stars trapped in stone.
The elderly monk, his face etched like the bark of an ancient tree, held a torch that cast restless shadows.
Before him, the apprentice, wide-eyed, listened in silence.
— The ocean is not merely water, young one — the monk began, his hoarse voice echoing in the dimness.
— It is a tomb of kingdoms, a cradle of secrets. Its islands, split into two regions, hold echoes of a forgotten time, and its waves seem to judge those who dare sail them.
The Sea of Fractures, he explained, was a labyrinth of living mists, where ships vanished and runes betrayed the careless.
— Islands like Kaelvora hide dangers that devour the weak — he said, his gaze distant.
The Foam Shallows, with its shallow waters, shimmered with vibrant markets and shamanic temples.
— Merchants barter under glowing runes, but the ocean always claims its price, and its mysteries cut like blades.
— Before the waves swallowed thrones — he continued —, a nameless shadow scorched the world. The Faceless King, they called him… or his curse. With stolen symbols, he bent kingdoms, and his keys, scattered, still pulse in the depths.
The apprentice shivered.
— Keys?
The monk nodded, his eyes reflecting the runes' glow.
— Oceanic jewels and relics, forged in lost eras by the heart of the sea.
The oceanic jewels were born of the ocean itself.
— They channel the soul — the monk explained. — A ruby blazes with courage, turning a thief into lightning, but fear snuffs it out, like a ship without wind.
The relics were different.
— Forged with echoes of dead kings, they whisper power… and curses. A pendant may guide, but also burn; a star map points the way, but demands blood.
He raised a hand, solemn.
— Jewels require emotion; relics, sacrifice. Many have fallen, consumed by their radiance.
The apprentice frowned.
— Where were they forged?
The monk pointed to the runes on the walls, pulsing like a living heart.
— In the forges, stone altars scattered across the ocean. Lesser forges, sealed by white crystals that activate runes, guard relics, locking their secrets. Greater forges, watched by divine entities with storm-filled eyes, protect the jewels, judging those who dare touch them.
He lowered his voice.
— Fanatics of the Order of the Current covet the crystals, chanting 'the king will return.' They seek the keys, but no one knows why.
The temple's runes glowed brighter, and the monk closed his eyes.
A vision enveloped him: a thief, sharp-eyed, rowing against furious waves.
A blood-red ruby pulsed in his hand, guided by a Star Map that shone like living constellations.
— He defies the ocean — the monk murmured —, but the runes whisper… the Faceless King watches.
The apprentice swallowed hard.
— Will he prevail?
The monk smiled, enigmatic.
— The ocean decides.
The torch crackled, and the runes flickered, like the eyes of a silent judge.
— Prepare, young one — the monk said. — The keys are awakening.