Seekers were unique—there was no denying that. They weren't just scholars or mystics; they were conduits to something far greater. From the dawn of time, Seekers had returned from the Ocean of Knowledge bearing gifts that changed the world: blueprints for magical artifacts, spells capable of bending nature itself, and insights into technologies so advanced they bordered on divine.
With the right knowledge, a single Seeker could build cities from nothing, craft tools that defied logic, or conjure wonders that made kings tremble. Some became advisors to emperors, others warlords feared across continents. A few even grew rich beyond imagination, selling fragments of their wisdom to the highest bidder. From floating mansions that repelled intruders with invisible force fields to enchanted lanterns that never dimmed, the power of the Ocean gave Seekers the means to reshape reality itself.
And yet, despite all that, most people didn't dare approach one without caution. Because for every miracle a Seeker could bring, they could just as easily bring ruin. Wars had been won and lost by their hands. Kingdoms rose not just by swords and armies—but by the secrets drawn from the depths of the Ocean. That's why Seekers were both revered and feared. To possess such knowledge meant power. And power always came with a price.
•---•
Kale crouched low beneath the canopy of the forest, his breath shallow and steady. He wasn't building empires or forging magical relics—he was trying to catch dinner.
The Ocean whispered to him as he worked, guiding his hands with subtle nudges of golden light. Threads flickered at the edge of his vision, barely visible unless he focused. One thread curled gently around his mind, showing him how to twist vines around sharpened sticks to make a crude but effective spear. Another shimmered faintly ahead, pointing toward an ideal spot to set a trap among the roots of an old tree where small game often passed through.
He moved with quiet precision, placing the snare just right before stepping back to admire his work. It wasn't elegant, but it would do. The Ocean hadn't given him the finesse of ancient artisans or the power of legendary warriors—it had given him survival. And that was more than enough for now.
As he sat back against a moss-covered rock to wait, Kale let his thoughts drift over what he'd heard about Seekers. He knew he was one. But he also knew he wasn't like the ones in stories. No glowing runes carved into gloves. No fire summoned with a snap of fingers. Just him. And the Ocean.
Still, the Ocean treated him like one of its own. Golden threads sometimes appeared in his surroundings, pulsing faintly like veins of light beneath the bark of trees or the surface of the earth. If he followed them, they'd lead him to fresh water hidden behind thick undergrowth, untouched fruit hanging from branches like forgotten treasures, or the perfect clearing to sleep without fear of beasts.
It was almost like having a voice beside him, murmuring directions when he needed them most. This way, it seemed to say. Watch your step. There's food here. And in the dead of night, when the cold threatened to steal the warmth from his bones, the Ocean showed him how to strike stone against dry wood to spark flame from nothingness. It gave him fire—not just to cook, but to survive.
Kale smiled faintly to himself as he stared into the distance, waiting for movement in the underbrush. The Ocean had become more than a tool. More than a gift. It was his only companion through years of loneliness and abandonment. It didn't demand anything in return. Didn't judge him for his tattered clothes or empty stomach. It simply was—guiding him, teaching him, keeping him alive.