Chapter 3: The First Throne

Ashvar Fell—But Not Like a Man

The Tidefort Courtyard, once a sacred gathering place for kings and warriors, now lay in ruins. Ashvar's blood spread across the stone, a deep crimson that darkened the once-pristine seastone. The remnants of his power, the cursed aura of the Tide Tyrant, still lingered in the air, a thick, almost palpable force. The Cursed Cutlass lay at Veyan's feet, vibrating faintly with the echoes of its master's death.

As the storm clouds dissipated overhead, the sun finally peeked through, casting its pale light over the wreckage. There were no shouts of triumph, no roars of victory. The silence was unnerving, heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.

Veyan stood motionless, gazing down at the lifeless form of Ashvar, the once-feared ruler who had terrorized the island. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, the pain of battle coursing through his body. His hand instinctively rested on the Moon-Severing Blade, the weapon now warm with the energy of its first true kill.

"Is this… truly the beginning?" Veyan thought. "Have I defeated the tyrant, or have I merely become the next?"

The flicker of doubt was immediate, as he looked over the fallen form of Ashvar. The sea breeze carried whispers from the survivors around him, but it was as though they spoke from a distance, muffled by the weight of the moment. In truth, this victory was bittersweet. Ashvar had been the enemy, yes. But the power he held wasn't easy to take. It left a void in the air, one that could be filled with more blood — if Veyan wasn't careful.

The Throne Waits

The Throne of Tides loomed before Veyan, a massive structure made of seastone and ancient coral. Its design was elegant, yet jagged — a testament to both the beauty and brutality of the island's past. The throne was not merely a seat of power. It was a living relic, a monument that once connected the kings of this land to the very essence of the sea. The currents and tides themselves whispered to those who dared sit upon it.

Veyan approached the throne slowly, his footsteps echoing across the cold stone floor. Every step felt like an intrusion, like a trespasser in a sacred space. His fingers brushed against the surface of the seastone, its smooth texture somehow unnervingly familiar.

For a brief moment, Veyan wondered what it would be like to rule from here. The island had bled, the people had fought, and now it was his turn to wield the weight of the crown.

But as his hand hovered over the seat, a sudden chill ran through him. The throne seemed to hum with an energy he had not anticipated. It wasn't just the power of the ruler's seat — it was something older, more dangerous. The seastone vibrated beneath his touch as though it were alive. It was waiting for someone to claim it.

Not just anyone.

It was waiting for him.

Kai's Warning

A voice broke through Veyan's reverie, pulling him back from the strange pull of the throne.

"You look like a man standing at the edge of a cliff," Kai's voice was as sharp as ever, cutting through the tension that hung in the air.

Veyan glanced back to see his vice-captain, the Black Gale, standing in the shadow of the fallen tide king. His black leather armor was covered in grime and blood, but his expression remained unreadable — almost detached.

"I'm standing at the bottom," Veyan replied quietly. His words were heavy, soaked with the realization of what he had just done. The first kill. The first throne. But what came next?

Kai's eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his boots crunching over the gravel. "The people are restless, Veyan. They want a leader, but you should know something. A leader walks on blades, not sand. It's the weight of their decisions that makes the difference. If you wear the crown, you're not just ruling a people. You're drawing lines in the sand, and the tides of fate will turn quickly."

Veyan's gaze turned back to the throne, his thoughts clouding over. "They need direction. They need a savior."

Kai chuckled darkly. "Saviors die, Veyan. Kings last longer — but they break. Choose carefully what you become."

Proclamation of the First Creed

Veyan finally took the throne. Not in a grandiose gesture, but with a quiet dignity. His fingers brushed the seastone once more, feeling its cold surface, as if testing it. He then rose to his feet and turned to face the gathered survivors — warriors, rebels, the oppressed masses who had risen up against Ashvar's tyranny.

The islanders looked on with mixed emotions. They had expected a victory, yes, but they had also feared this moment. Ashvar had been a brutal ruler, but at least he had been a known quantity. What would Veyan bring? A savior? A tyrant? Or someone entirely new?

Veyan took a deep breath, grounding himself. This was it. The first test.

"I am Veyan Arcana," his voice echoed through the courtyard, amplified by the stillness. "Once exiled, now here to reclaim what was lost. Ashvar is dead, yes. But this island will not be ruled by fear, or by the blade. We shall rise together."

There was a pause before the crowd responded — not with cheers, but with murmurs of agreement. It was not a roar of victory, but the tentative hope of people who had seen too many kings rise and fall.

His words hung in the air.

"I claim no title but that of protector. The first island is free. And I will lead with the Sea Creed — not as a tyrant, but as a man of honor."

The Curse of the Cutlass

Later that evening, as the celebrations dimmed and the revelers returned to their homes, Veyan stood alone in the throne room. The Cursed Cutlass still lay at his feet, its blade glinting ominously in the moonlight.

It pulsed with a malevolent energy, as though it were alive.

"Take it," Saanvi's voice rang out from the shadows. She stepped into the dim light, her eyes wary as she looked at the sword. "Ashvar's weapon."

Veyan turned to her, his expression unreadable. He could feel the power emanating from the blade — dark, ancient, and tempting. He knelt before it, examining its cursed form, his fingers itching to take hold.

"It wants me," Veyan muttered, his voice grim. "But I won't let it."

Saanvi stepped closer, her brow furrowed. "You must decide, Veyan. The Cutlass doesn't choose a ruler — it chooses a conqueror. But it can also break them."

He met her gaze, the weight of the decision settling heavily on his chest. "Not today," he whispered. "The time will come. But for now… this throne is enough."

The Island Speaks

As Veyan sat alone in his new throne, a sense of foreboding settled over him. His mind churned with the words Kai had said. The people had risen against Ashvar, but would they follow Veyan? Or was he simply the next in a long line of failed rulers?

Before he could ponder further, a figure appeared before him. A woman. Tall, regal, her long hair a flame-like cascade that seemed to burn with an inner light.

Her eyes were as red as embers.

"I am Visha, Daughter of the Deep Flame," she introduced herself coldly. Her voice was like the crackle of burning wood. "I have come to offer a warning, Veyan Arcana."

He raised an eyebrow. "A warning?"

"The Sovereigns have noticed you," she said, her tone laced with both respect and challenge. "You've taken the first island. But this is only the beginning. The tides of war will soon rise again. Do you have what it takes to stand against the storms that will come?"

Veyan stood, his pulse quickening. He didn't trust her — but there was something in her eyes that told him she wasn't here to kill him. Not yet.

"Then I suppose I'll have to be ready."

And in that moment, something deep within Veyan stirred — an ancient fire, something tied to his bloodline. It was the beginning of a path he had not yet fully seen, one that would take him far from the shores of this first island

The Shadow of the Deep Flame

As the moonlight bathed the throne room, Veyan remained seated, staring at the figure of Visha, the Daughter of the Deep Flame. The way her presence filled the space was palpable, like a storm gathering on the horizon, just waiting for the right moment to break. Her fiery-red hair swayed like a living flame, the light catching every strand and making her seem like something otherworldly.

Her eyes, sharp and calculating, glinted in the darkness. She had not come to make small talk. She had come for something — something important.

"I know what you're thinking, Veyan," she said, her voice calm but tinged with an edge of warning. "You believe you are the one to bring salvation to this island. But salvation is an illusion for those who are not ready for the consequences."

Veyan stood from the throne, his muscles sore from the earlier battle but his resolve firming with every passing second. He was already regretting giving into the temptation of sitting on the throne. It felt too final, too binding. But as he stood, the weight of his new title began to anchor itself within him, as if the very air had shifted around him. He felt the islands watching, the currents waiting, the sea itself speaking to him in hushed tones.

"Then what do you suggest?" Veyan asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and defiance. "That I abandon this place? Leave the people to fall into ruin as Ashvar did?"

Visha's lips curled into a knowing smile, her red eyes glinting with something almost predatory. "No, you will not abandon them. But neither will you rule from this throne with the same arrogance Ashvar did."

Veyan clenched his fists. "And what do you know of that?"

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly. "I know far more than you think. I have seen rulers rise and fall, kings who sought the same power you do. And I have seen the fate they meet when they do not control the tides of destiny."

Veyan stared at her for a moment, trying to gauge whether she was a potential ally or another enemy. The intensity of her gaze made it hard to focus. Her aura felt...dangerous, as though the very flame that flowed through her veins could scorch him to ash if she so desired.

"The Sovereigns are not to be trifled with," Visha added, her voice lower now, her tone carrying the weight of experience. "They see you as a potential pawn in their games. They may offer you power, but you must understand, power comes with a price."

Veyan's eyes flickered. "The Sovereigns... Who are they?"

Visha's smile faded, replaced with a somber expression. "You don't know them yet, but you will. They are the hidden hands that move the world, manipulating events from the shadows. And the tides they control are far deeper than your island conquests."

Veyan absorbed her words, the reality of his situation becoming clearer. He wasn't just dealing with local tyrants. There were powers beyond this island that would test him, push him to the brink of breaking. The Sovereigns — whoever they were — seemed to loom over him, waiting for him to make a misstep.

He straightened his back, his resolve firming like the stone beneath his feet. "If they want to see what I can do, they'll have to face me."

Visha's expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of approval in her eyes. "I like that," she murmured. "But beware, Veyan Arcana. Not all battles are won by strength alone."

She turned, her cloak swaying behind her as she began to leave the throne room, leaving Veyan with more questions than answers. But before she disappeared into the shadows, her voice floated back to him one last time.

"You will need more than power, Veyan. You will need wisdom. And in time, you will find that wisdom comes at a price too."

The First Lesson of the Sea Creed

In the days that followed the conquest of the island, Veyan found himself alone in his thoughts more often than he would have liked. His victory over Ashvar had been swift, but the island was still recovering from the fallout of the rebellion. The people were grateful for the end of the tyrant's reign, but they were wary of the new ruler. How could they trust someone who had once been an exile? How could he convince them that he would be different from Ashvar?

The first lesson came sooner than expected.

Veyan was walking through the village when he came upon a group of workers rebuilding the docks. They stopped their work as he passed, staring at him with expressions of uncertainty and fear. He could sense their hesitation, their internal struggle — the same one that had gnawed at him since taking the throne.

One of the workers, a tall man with a scar over his left eye, stepped forward. "Are you the one who killed Ashvar?" he asked, his voice gruff but edged with a hint of respect.

Veyan stopped, meeting the man's gaze. "I did."

The man nodded slowly, as though weighing the truth of Veyan's words. "And what now, King? Are we to call you our ruler? Or will we be next on your list of enemies?"

Veyan felt the question like a slap across his face. This wasn't just about power anymore. This was about trust.

"I'm not here to rule with fear," he replied, his voice steady. "I'm here to rebuild what was broken. If you'll have me."

The worker's gaze softened, but the doubt was still there. "A ruler who doesn't use fear is rare. It's what we need, but we'll see if you can walk that path."

Veyan nodded. "Time will tell."

Kai's Challenge

Later that evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting long shadows across the island, Kai found Veyan standing at the edge of the cliffs overlooking the vast expanse of the sea. The wind howled around them, whipping through their hair and carrying the salt of the sea.

Kai stood beside him, silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice low but firm. "I see the weight of the crown is already pressing down on you. It doesn't get easier, Veyan. Not when you're caught between your ideals and the reality of leadership."

Veyan didn't turn to face him, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I didn't ask for this. But now that I'm here, I have to see it through."

Kai's eyes flickered to the distant shore. "It's not enough to just be a leader. You'll need to be more than that. You'll need to be ruthless, sometimes. Do you have it in you?"

Veyan's jaw clenched, the words stinging more than he wanted to admit. "I have no choice but to find out."

Kai's gaze softened for a moment, but then he turned away. "Don't forget, Veyan. You have allies here. Not everyone sees the path forward as you do. Some will push you toward the throne, others will pull you away. You'll have to make choices that will change everything."

The First Night of Many

That night, as Veyan lay in his chamber, the weight of everything settled in. He wasn't just a man anymore. He was King of Tides, the ruler of a shattered people with a history of betrayal and bloodshed. The first island was his, but he knew, deep down, that the hardest part had just begun.

The Moon-Severing Blade rested against the wall beside his bed, its dark gleam calling to him, whispering of the battles to come. But Veyan didn't reach for it. Instead, he closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of peace, knowing that when the storm came, he would need more than just a sword to survive it.