Chapter 2: The Tattooing of Alon

The village of Banuwan had gathered beneath the great moon to witness the sacred ritual, their voices murmuring ancient hymns carried by the salty sea breeze. The air carried the scent of burning herbs, meant to ward off vengeful spirits and invite the favor of the ocean's guardians. Alon knelt in the center of the gathering, stripped to the waist, his muscles tense with anticipation. Around him, elders sat in a wide circle, their expressions solemn as they watched the ceremony unfold. Villagers of all ages formed the outer ring, whispering prayers and blessings under their breath.

Among them stood Tala, Alon's childhood friend, her face marked with worry. She stepped forward hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Alon... do you understand what this means? What you've done?"

He glanced up at her, his expression unreadable. "I killed a beast. I did what I had to."

Tala shook her head, frustration lacing her words. "This isn't just about proving yourself. The sea does not forget, Alon. You didn't just take a life—you took something sacred."

Alon frowned, his jaw tightening. "You think I don't know that? The elders say the blood must be sealed. I have to bear this."

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "But at what cost? You've always wanted to be a warrior, but this—this is different. The ocean will call for balance. Are you ready for what comes next?"

For a moment, doubt flickered in his eyes, but he swallowed it down, straightening his back. "I have no choice. The mark is already mine."

A sudden silence fell over the gathering as an elder stepped forward, his voice commanding attention. "Alon," he called, his tone deep with authority. "The time has come. The ceremony awaits. Prepare yourself."

Tala exhaled, her gaze lingering on the Kraken's blood shimmering in the firelight. She placed a hand on Alon's arm, her grip firm. "Then I hope you're ready, Alon. Because the sea's wrath is unlike anything you've ever faced."

The blood of the young Kraken, collected in an obsidian bowl, shimmered darkly under the firelight, its essence pulsing as if still alive, waiting to bind itself to its slayer. Matuk, the village tattooist, stood before him, his hands steady despite his age. "Let all witness," he intoned, lifting the bowl high, "that the blood of the sea's great beast shall now become one with the warrior who felled it."

The crowd hummed in unison, a deep and resonant chant that ebbed and flowed like waves upon the shore. Alon exhaled slowly, his eyes meeting the faces of his kin—his father, Tuhon, impassive yet watchful; his brother, Datu, nodding with pride; his peers, a mixture of awe and unease in their gazes. Nearby, an elderly woman, one of the village's spirit keepers, whispered blessings over a bundle of dried seaweed and tossed it into the fire, sending a plume of blue smoke spiraling into the sky.

Matuk dipped his bone needle into the thick ink. "The mark of the Kraken is not merely a symbol," he warned as he pressed the needle against Alon's skin. "It is power, and power must be wielded wisely."

Matuk, the village tattooist, stood before him, his weathered hands steady as he dipped a bone needle into the thick ink. "You understand the weight of this, boy?" he asked, his voice solemn.

Alon nodded. "I do."

Matuk gave a curt nod in return. He turned to the gathered villagers. "Tonight, we mark Alon, son of Tuhon, with the blood of the beast he has slain. He has spilled the lifeblood of the young Kraken, and now it will be bound to him forever. Let the spirits bear witness."

The villagers hummed a deep, resonant chant, their voices rising and falling like waves upon the shore:

"Oh spirits of the boundless tide, Guide the hunter, stand beside. Through blood and ink, his fate is spun, Mark him now, the trial's begun."

Their voices wove together in hypnotic harmony, the melody carrying an ancient weight. Tuhon stood at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Alon swallowed hard as Matuk pressed the needle against his skin. The first strike sent a sharp, burning pain through his back, but he did not flinch. Again and again, the bone needle pierced him, driving the Kraken's essence into his flesh.

As the ink seeped into his skin, Matuk's voice rose in a rhythmic chant, the ancient words swirling in the air like the tides themselves:

"Blood of the deep, bound in tide, Mark the hunter, stand beside. Storm and shadow, flesh and sea, By this mark, so mote it be."

The villagers echoed the refrain, their voices blending with the crackling fire and the distant crash of waves. Each line of the chant wove a seal around the ink, binding Alon to the power of the Kraken. The tattooist moved with precision, each stroke of the needle following the sacred design passed down through generations. As the final verse was sung, the air around them seemed to hum, as though the sea itself acknowledged the bond now formed.

The design took form, beginning at the center of his spine where the Kraken's main body curled, its massive eyes seemingly alive beneath the ink. Its tentacles stretched outward, winding down his shoulders, wrapping around his arms, and coiling around his legs. The intricate lines, drawn with steady precision, mirrored the ancient symbols of their ancestors, binding him to the sea in a way few had ever known.

Alon gritted his teeth, his hands digging into the dirt beneath him. Each strike of the needle sent fire coursing through his veins, as if the Kraken itself was lashing out from within. Sweat dripped from his brow, and the night deepened around him. The flickering flames of the ceremonial torches cast long shadows, distorting the faces of the villagers who watched in solemn silence. The chants swelled and receded like the tide, marking the passage of time as the ink spread across his skin. The rhythmic pain blurred into something almost trance-like, and for a brief moment, he swore he could hear the ocean's whisper, a voice just beyond comprehension.

Matuk murmured an incantation with every line he carved into Alon's body. "Let the beast's might be yours, let the sea remember its name upon your flesh."

Tuhon stepped forward, his gaze heavy upon Alon's marked form. "Stand," he commanded.

Alon pushed himself up on shaky legs, his back burning with every movement. His father studied him for a long moment before nodding. "You bear the mark of the Kraken now. Honor it as you honor the gods, the elders, and your kin. But understand this—this power will not go unnoticed. The sea does not forget. The Kraken's kin will come."

A chill ran down Alon's spine, colder than the ink seared into his flesh.

Matuk placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "You have been marked by something greater than yourself, boy. Pray that you are strong enough to carry it."