Nestled along the rugged coastline, the small village of Azure Cove is a hidden gem where the land meets the sea. The village is built on a gentle slope, leading down to a pristine beach with golden sands that glisten under the sun. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore provides a constant, soothing backdrop to daily life. With its white stone houses and small port, it is a rather quiet and peaceful place.
In one of those many houses, a boy with a small figure, tanned skin, and blondish hair sneaks through the back door. He takes one silent step after another, trying to go straight to his room. The boy in question is drenched from head to toe, holding a long surfboard; it doesn't take a detective to know where he came from.
"Your mother named you Gabriel, in honor of your grandfather, who was the most driven and focused man I have ever met..."
The sudden voice startles Gabriel, almost making him trip, and he hastily looks towards the dining table.
"...Fuck!" thinks Gabriel, knowing what's coming his way.
A man, who is basically an older copy of the boy but bearing a magnificent mustache, sits while holding a mug. A slight frown can be seen on his face.
"She gave you that name in hopes that you would inherit his focus, but the gods be damned, you look more like me every day," the man says, scoffing.
The boy, uncertain if he should go to his room or sit down with the man, stands there in the same sneaky pose.
"Gabriel, you're almost fourteen; you need to start taking things seriously. That mentorship I got you in the library is a great opportunity. You can't run away to go surfing anymore; I won't be here forever to take care of you," Alastor, Gabriel's father, says while looking at him with a stern look.
Getting up, he moves closer to Gabriel, leaving the mug on the table.
"But Dad, I still have until tomorrow. I know no one has ever done it on their birthday, but I know I will awaken by then. I can feel it!" Gabriel says, looking deep into his father's eyes, which only meet his gaze with pity and struggle—a look that stings the boy's heart.
The father puts his hand on Gabriel's shoulder, trying to comfort the boy.
"Gabes, just because you're the son of two Weavers doesn't mean you're guaranteed to become one. I deeply regret putting so much expectation on you, but you need to understand that sometimes things don't turn out the way we hope. Besides, the library job is as dignified as any other."
Gabriel looks down, knowing that his father speaks the truth, but deep down he still feels as if he is entitled to it. After all, his father is one of the only three Weavers in the entire village.
Becoming a Weaver has been Gabriel's dream since he can remember. After all, who wouldn't want to gain magic powers? Being able to cover entire armies in raging flames, destroy forts with a single punch, or even save people from the brink of death—such stories have surrounded him since he was little, coming from his friends and especially his father, who is the local guards' captain, one of the three mandatory Weavers assigned to every village, the other two being the mayor and the healer.
But one cannot simply become a Weaver. Besides the arduous training, you must first awaken a magical aspect, which defines the paths to power you could follow.
Sighing, his father lets go of Gabriel's shoulder and returns to the table.
"Larry passed by looking for you. He was trying to invite you to his goodbye party."
A wince of pain flashes across Gabriel's face before turning into a frown.
"Wait, it was him who sold me out?"
"Yep, he tried to look for you at the library and couldn't find you."
"Son of a..."
"Gabriel, language!" his father cuts him off.
"Bitch," finishes Gabriel in his mind before turning and starting to go to his room.
"Gabes, don't let something like this ruin your friendship. True friends are rare to find anywhere. Listen to your old man on this one," says Alastor thoughtfully from the table. "His party is tonight after sunset at the old restaurant by the dock."
Half-nodding, Gabriel leaves his surfboard in his room and goes to take a quick shower. When he comes out, his father is nowhere to be found. Putting on a simple white shirt, dark blue pants, and white sandals, he sits on his bed and looks around his room, which is not very large. He has only a small bed, a closet, and a desk where he keeps a lot of his trinkets. The most notable thing is a big support on his wall for his prized surfboard. It is a beautiful longboard-style board, with its main body being white—which is an absolute hell to keep clean—the fins also pristine white, and near its nose, dark blue arrow-shaped drawings. And yes, Gabriel styles himself just like his surfboard. "Whatever floats someone's boat. Or in this case, surfboard," his dad used to say.
The surfboard itself is his most prized possession, not in a monetary way, but because of the sheer amount of history it has witnessed. His first kiss, his first fight from kissing someone's girlfriend—who he claimed he didn't know was dating, by the way—the time he tried to surf and swim to the neighboring town with Larry and almost drowned, and especially the memory of his mother turning her back on him at the town entrance gate and leaving him and his father behind—a memory that plagues Gabriel to this day.
The surfboard itself is an inheritance from a lonely old man whom he and his father used to visit. "I pity old man Gilbert, so many years of service to this village and yet he stands on that beach all alone," a visit which Gabriel didn't mind at all, since the old man had already made a surf lunatic out of the impressive mind of the boy. Visits that his father now truly regrets, looking at the brat who seems to live and breathe surfing. Another notable inheritance from the old man was a freaking two-story house, which his father promptly denied when Gabriel asked if he could live there by himself.
Approaching the surfboard, he takes it off the wall and starts the usual maintenance of the board, which has already become a daily ritual for him where his thoughts wander far. Thinking of his father's words, his thoughts go back to two months ago, a day which still brings pain to his heart. The day his best friend Larry acquired the dreaded and respected "Poison Aspect", a feat which he would usually celebrate, a day they both had waited for many years, but instead, it had become his own reverse scale—the day which Larry had awakened and he had not.