The sea stretched endless before him, a living canvas of blue and silver. Waves crashed against jagged cliffs, gulls wheeled above, and the salty tang of brine clung to the air with every breath. Limsa Lominsa was nothing like Rabanastre.
Reks stood at the harbor's edge, clutching the strap of his shield, his eyes wide. Ships rocked in the port, their sails snapping in the wind, while sailors shouted orders across the docks. The city was carved into white stone, bridges arching across chasms, stairways twisting up and down like veins. It bustled with adventurers and mercenaries, the clang of steel and laughter of taverns echoing across the waves.
Reks swallowed hard. He was out of place. Too young, too unsure. His armor looked plain compared to the decorated plates of seasoned warriors passing him by. His shield—polished but modest—felt small against the massive axes strapped across broad backs.
Still, he took a breath and pressed forward. Sirius said this is where I belong. Then I have to trust him… and myself.
The Marauder's Guild was impossible to miss. Built into a towering stone hall that opened directly onto the sea, its walls trembled with the weight of sparring matches inside. As Reks entered, the air shifted—thick with salt, sweat, and the heavy thud of axes striking wood.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Dozens of marauders swung colossal axes, their muscles rippling, their shouts shaking the rafters. Each swing split practice dummies into splinters. The floor quaked beneath their training.
Reks tightened his grip on his shield. They're monsters…
A booming laugh pulled his gaze upward. A massive man stood at the far end of the hall, arms folded, a grin beneath his bushy beard. His chest was bare save for a few leather straps, his arms like tree trunks.
"Ho! Another green pup at me gates?" the man roared. His voice filled the hall. "Come forward, boy! Don't be shy!"
Reks forced himself to move, his steps unsteady.
The man clapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet. "Name's Wyrnzoen. Guildmaster. And who are you?"
"R-Reks," he stammered, bowing slightly. "From… Dalmasca."
Wyrnzoen's grin widened. "Dalmasca, eh? Long way from home. You come here to swing steel, or just to gawk at men bigger than mountains?"
Reks flushed. "To fight," he said quickly, his voice firming. "To protect."
The guild erupted in laughter, but not cruelly—more like they were amused by his earnestness.
Wyrnzoen chuckled. "Protect, is it? Well then, lad, let's see what you've got."
---
The Trial
Wyrnzoen tossed something toward him. Reks barely caught it. His arms dipped under the weight.
It was an axe. Longer than his arm, heavier than his shield, the blade gleaming like a slab of moonlight. His knees nearly buckled just holding it.
Reks gritted his teeth. This is ridiculous. It's too big…
"Step into the ring!" Wyrnzoen bellowed.
A circle cleared. Reks staggered forward, axe dragging slightly against the floor. His opponent stepped in—a marauder with shoulders like boulders, grinning as he hefted his own weapon with ease.
The duel began with a roar. The marauder swung down, his axe cleaving the air. Reks raised his shield just in time. The impact rattled his bones, knocking him backward. Gasps rippled through the guild.
Reks' arms screamed under the weight, his shield nearly cracking. He staggered, sweat dripping, vision blurring. The marauder swung again.
Move! his instincts shouted. He dodged sideways, barely avoiding the blade. His axe felt clumsy, dragging at his arm. He swung wildly, his strike bouncing off his opponent's shield.
Laughter erupted. "Too weak!" someone jeered.
Reks' chest burned. His breath came ragged. They're right… I don't belong here. I'm too small. Too weak.
The marauder lifted his axe again. This time, Reks braced. He raised his shield, planting his feet. The strike came like thunder, but he held. His knees bent, his shoulders screamed, but the shield stayed.
For a moment, silence fell.
Then, with a desperate cry, Reks pushed upward, shoving the marauder's weapon aside. His axe swung clumsily—but it struck, glancing off the man's shoulder. The crowd gasped.
The marauder staggered back, then laughed, clapping Reks on the shoulder. "Not bad, pup!"
---
Recognition
Wyrnzoen's laughter boomed across the hall. "Hah! Look at this one! Barely able to lift the axe, but he's got the heart of a lion!"
The guild cheered, slamming fists against tables, their laughter shaking the walls.
Wyrnzoen stepped forward, his grin wide. "You'll grow into it, lad. You've got more spirit than half the men here. A marauder isn't made in a day—it's blood, sweat, and stubbornness. And you've got plenty of that last one."
Reks' arms still trembled, his body screaming with exhaustion. But his chest swelled at the words. "I'll… keep training. I'll get stronger."
Wyrnzoen slapped him on the back so hard he nearly toppled. "That's the spirit! Welcome to the Marauder's Guild, boy!"
The cheer that followed was loud enough to rival the sea.
---
Reflection
That night, Reks sat on the harbor cliffs, the salty wind whipping through his hair. The axe lay across his lap, far too big for him, but somehow… right.
He lifted his trinket, watching its glow flicker faintly in the moonlight. He thought of his brother, Vaan, back in Dalmasca. Thought of the day he'd died, the day his story had ended too soon.
"Vaan…" His voice cracked. "I'll live. I'll fight. For both of us. I'll grow into this axe, and I'll protect the people I couldn't back then."
The trinket pulsed gently, carrying his vow across the threads to the others.
---
Sirius' Watch
From above, Sirius traced the shimmering lines of fate around the boy. He saw the tremble in Reks' hands, the weakness in his body—but more than that, he saw the courage that burned despite it.
"Not flashy," Sirius murmured. "Not loud. But steady. That's what makes him dangerous. That's what makes him necessary."
He allowed himself a faint smile. Grow, Reks. Grow into the axe, into the man you were meant to be. For in the battles ahead, your resolve will hold the line.
---
Closing
As the waves crashed below, Reks tightened his grip on the axe. His body hurt, his arms shook, but his heart was steady.
For the first time since his death, he felt alive.
And in the Marauder's Guild of Limsa Lominsa, Reks of Dalmasca began his second life—not as a fallen soldier, but as a marauder of the sea.