The first rays of sunlight filtered through the bamboo-shingled roofs of the small village Sham on the Island of Mann, illuminating the gentle waves of the sea. Aris stood at the edge of the dock, letting the morning breeze ruffle his dark hair. His thoughts drifted like the currents below.
Today was no ordinary day. It was the Festival of Paths, a celebration held once every two years for youths aged 15 to 17. This was the day they declared their chosen paths in life, a tradition deeply rooted in the island's history. For Aris, it also marked his 15th birthday, a day that symbolized the end of childhood and the weight of adult decisions.
He gazed into the water, where his reflection stared back—a boy with sharp amber eyes and a slender frame honed by years of fishing alongside his father. The sea had been his life, as it had been for generations of his family. Yet, a small part of him yearned for something more, though he couldn't quite name it.
"Lost in thought again, Aris?"
The familiar voice pulled him from his reverie. Turning, he saw Joran, his best friend, leaning casually against a wooden post. Stocky and strong, with unruly brown hair and a constant smirk, Joran was the complete opposite of Aris in both looks and personality.
"You're late, as usual," Aris teased, a small smile forming on his lips.
"And miss your big day? Never," Joran shot back. "You nervous?"
Aris shrugged. "A little. It's not just the festival. It's everything."
Joran's smirk softened. "You'll be fine. You've got your father, and he's a good man. You've got more than most of us."
Aris looked away, his thoughts drifting to the mother he had never known. His father, Kael, rarely spoke of her. All Aris knew was that she had left the day he was born, and any attempt to ask about her was met with a pained silence.
Before Aris could respond, a booming voice called out from the shore.
"Aris! Joran! Get over here!"
It was Kael. The man's towering figure was unmistakable, even from a distance. His weathered face was set in a rare smile as he waved them over.
Aris and Joran hurried to meet Kael, who was standing by their modest fishing boat. He was a man of strength and resilience, his hands calloused from years of hauling nets and steering through rough waters. Though his life had been hard, there was a kindness in his amber eyes—the same eyes Aris had inherited.
"Joran, get lost. I need a moment with my son," Kael said, though his tone was light.
"Fine, fine. I'll go bother someone else," Joran grumbled, retreating toward the village square.
Kael turned to Aris, his expression turning serious. "Aris, before the festival starts, I have something for you."
He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small necklace. The pendant was a stone carved in intricate patterns, glowing faintly in the morning light.
"This has been in our family for generations," Kael said, his voice low. "Your grandfather gave it to me when I came of age, and now, it's your turn. It's said to bring courage and luck to those who wear it."
Aris hesitated. "Father, why now?"
Kael's gaze grew distant. "Because today, you decide your path. And whatever you choose, I want you to have something to remind you of who you are and where you come from."
Aris nodded and slipped the necklace around his neck. The stone felt warm against his skin, almost alive.
"Thank you, Father," he said, his voice steady.
Kael smiled, but there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Go on now. The village is waiting for you."
As Aris walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that his father's words carried more weight than they seemed.
The village square had been transformed into a bustling hub of activity. Brightly colored banners fluttered in the breeze, and stalls lined the edges, offering everything from roasted fish to woven charms. Children darted between the legs of the adults, their laughter mingling with the music of flutes and drums.
The Festival of Paths was one of the most cherished traditions on the Island of Mann. Held every two years, it celebrated the youths who were coming of age, giving them a chance to declare their chosen paths in life—whether as fishers, farmers, artisans, or even explorers.
Aris walked through the crowd, his necklace tucked beneath his shirt. Joran caught up with him, a roasted fish skewer in hand.
"You think Elder Marik will give another one of his hour-long speeches?" Joran asked between bites.
"Probably," Aris replied, though his mind was elsewhere.
"Cheer up, will you?" Joran said, nudging him. "This is our day!"
They reached the center of the square, where Elder Marik stood atop a raised platform. The elder's long white beard swayed as he gestured for silence.
"Today," Marik began, his voice carrying over the crowd, "we honor the youth of our village. These young men and women will shape our future, as their ancestors shaped our past."
The crowd erupted in cheers. Aris scanned the faces, spotting familiar figures—Lila, his quick-witted cousin, arranging flowers with the other girls; Joran's younger sister, Kara, bouncing on her toes with excitement.
Marik continued, "Each of you will declare your path today, but remember: the journey is yours to walk, and the choices are yours to make."
Aris felt the weight of the words. His father had always assumed he would follow in his footsteps as a fisherman, but was that what Aris truly wanted?
As the speeches dragged on, Aris's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp gasp from the crowd. He turned toward the shore and froze.
Massive ships with black sails were appearing on the horizon, their size dwarfing anything Aris had ever seen.
"What… are those?" Joran whispered, his voice trembling.
Aris's heart pounded as the ships drew closer. The air grew heavy with dread, and a strange silence fell over the village.
Then, something completely unexpected happened.