The chamber was cold and damp, the air thick with the scent of mildew and time-worn stone. A single lantern flickered weakly above, its light casting dancing shadows along the walls. Vorrick Alsevar stood in the room's center, his back straight and hands clasped behind him, as if the darkness itself were his domain.
Before him knelt Malcum Draymar, the once-proud heir of the Draymar Clan, now reduced to a trembling figure. His shoulders heaved slightly, as if weighed down by more than just failure.
"You failed me," Vorrick began, his tone measured and deliberate. He stepped forward, each bootfall echoing in the chamber. "Explain."
Malcum's head dipped lower, his voice taut with unease. "The boy… he was stronger than anticipated. He had help."
"Help?" Vorrick's voice sharpened, his steps halting abruptly. "Do not tell me a mere child outmatched you because of help. Details, Malcum."
Malcum hesitated, his knuckles whitening as his fists pressed into the floor. "The God of Nothing," he said at last, his words almost a whisper. "Floki intervened."
At that, Vorrick stilled. His expression, calm and inscrutable moments ago, darkened with a flicker of disdain. "Floki," he repeated, the name laced with venom. "That meddlesome clown."
"He… twisted the battle," Malcum continued, his voice growing firmer as he pressed on. "Turned it into a farce. My shadow skills were outmatched—not by the boy, but by Floki's interference."
Vorrick resumed his pacing, his fingers tapping lightly against his clasped hands. "Floki is no fool, despite his antics," he mused aloud. "If he's involved, then the boy is more important than I realized."
Malcum lifted his head slightly, daring to meet Vorrick's gaze. "Why does the boy matter so much? His spiritual sea was shattered. He should be nothing more than a shadow of his former self."
"Should be," Vorrick echoed, his voice low. He stopped and turned sharply, his piercing gaze locking onto Malcum. "And yet, he's not. That, Malcum, is precisely why he matters."
The silence between them was palpable, broken only by the faint drip of water from somewhere in the chamber. Vorrick's lips curled into a faint, humorless smile.
"Tell me," Vorrick began, his voice almost conversational, "what do you know of the Tideborn?"
Malcum blinked, taken aback. "The Tideborn? A lost clan, aren't they? Wiped out centuries ago."
"Not lost," Vorrick corrected, his tone carrying an edge of irritation. "Hidden. And their secrets are not as buried as you might think."
He stepped to the far wall, where a large, intricate map of the region hung. His fingers traced its edges, pausing at a series of unmarked islands near the coast.
"The Tideborn held a power unlike any other," Vorrick continued, his gaze fixed on the map. "They claimed to protect balance, to safeguard the elements. But what they really did was hoard strength they had no right to wield."
Malcum tilted his head, his curiosity overcoming his apprehension. "And the boy? How does he fit into this?"
Vorrick's smile widened, cold and calculating. "His survival isn't an accident. His connection to Sonia Tidecaller is no coincidence, either. The Tidecallers are more than they appear—descendants of the Tideborn, perhaps. If we follow the boy, he'll lead us to what they've hidden."
Malcum frowned, doubt creeping into his voice. "You're placing a lot of faith in a child who barely survived."
"Faith?" Vorrick scoffed, his voice dripping with derision. "This isn't faith. It's strategy. The boy's strength is growing—faster than anyone anticipated. That makes him valuable, whether he knows it or not."
The chamber's shadows seemed to darken as Vorrick spoke. His voice carried a quiet intensity that filled the space, each word landing with calculated precision.
From the shadows, a third figure stepped forward, their presence silent but commanding. Cloaked in black, their face obscured, the figure exuded an aura of danger.
"Speak," Vorrick commanded without turning.
"The boy's movements have been erratic," the figure said, their voice low and even. "But he's heading toward the Tidecaller Clan's territory. It's unclear if he knows their significance."
"Of course he doesn't," Vorrick replied, his tone dismissive. "But Floki might. That fool loves chaos, and nothing stirs it better than uncovering old secrets."
The figure inclined their head. "Shall we intercept him?"
"Not yet," Vorrick said, waving a hand. "Let him grow. Let him think he's finding his footing. The stronger he becomes, the more useful he'll be when the time comes."
Malcum shifted uneasily, his frustration evident. "And what if he becomes too strong? What if he becomes a threat?"
Vorrick turned to him, his expression cold and unyielding. "Then we'll remind him that strength without control is meaningless. But for now, he's an asset. One we can't afford to waste."
The figure in black retreated into the shadows, their presence vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Vorrick stepped closer to Malcum, his gaze sharp.
"You've been given a second chance," Vorrick said, his tone final. "Don't squander it. Find the boy. Watch him. And when the time is right… strike."
Malcum nodded, his jaw tight with determination. "I won't fail again."
Vorrick watched him leave, his expression unreadable. Alone in the chamber, he moved back to the map, his fingers tracing the paths of the tides.
"The Tideborn's secrets will be mine," he murmured, his voice a whisper in the still air. "And the boy… he'll lead me to them, whether he knows it or not."
The lantern flickered, its light casting long, twisting shadows across the walls. Vorrick's laughter echoed softly, a chilling sound that lingered long after the chamber fell silent.