A coronation rises from the sea, its silhouette emerging as though pulled from the depths of the ocean itself. Its build is slender but imposingly tall, a towering structure that seems to blur the line between man-made creation and natural wonder. The surface of the coronation glistens in hues of cerulean and turquoise—the same colors the waters take on when the afternoon sun bathes the sea in light. The entire exterior radiates with the calm of oceanic beauty, yet beneath this calm, there is power.

  Murals stretch across the building's surface, an intricate tapestry of serpents coiling through waves and sea creatures emerging from beneath. Each painted figure seems alive, as if poised to leap from the walls and rejoin the waters below. The attention to detail is stunning—glistening scales on the serpents, the sharp, piercing eyes of leviathans, the flow of seaweed tangled in the currents—all designed to capture the primal energy of the ocean and the mythos of the Whytid family who reign over it.

  Carved into the bodice of this grand structure are open enclaves. These serve as both workspace and observation decks for engineers, whose specter-like figures flit in and out, their heads bowed over their entangled drives. Their spectacled eyes glow with a faint blue tint as they analyze data and conduct simulations. The game—the festival—is coming soon, and their work is to ensure everything moves like the invisible tides, flawlessly and without interruption.

  Far above, at the summit of the structure, is a wide-open platform. Here, a man sits, a lone figure against the backdrop of the endless horizon. Above him, a massive floating disc-like fixture hovers, casting a thin, ethereal light that stretches from its center and pierces the sky like a needle of divine judgment. The floating disc pulses faintly, in tune with the sea below, as though it too is alive, waiting.

  The man rises from his chair with deliberate grace. His hair is long and gray, slicked back and pressed thin at the top, with the ends tucked into three braided tails that fall down his back. His face is young—boyish even—yet there is a weight about him, the subtle air of someone who has seen many years and carries the wisdom of his lineage. The light catches the edges of his features, highlighting the stark contrast between his youthful appearance and the stretch of age that clings to his demeanor.

  He wears a silk shirt, the fabric smooth and luxurious, its bottom folded into his well-fitted trousers, cinched by three belts of differing colors—each one signifying a different rank or achievement within the Whytid family. His spectacles rest carefully on his nose, the lenses tinted a deep blue, matching the shade of the water surrounding the coronation.

  This is Heltrin Galvas Whydit, son of the great Koleson Whydit. He is a man of many titles and responsibilities, but today, he stands as one of the three heads of the three-headed serpent

  Laid out before him was an expanse of open sea, glistening under the midday sun. On that open sea, a vast congregation had gathered. Many of them sat or stood on their surfboards, maintaining a delicate balance as the gentle swells rose and fell beneath them. Some were nestled comfortably in Helsuks of various sizes—sleek, amphibious vessels that glided effortlessly over the water. Others straddled the backs of sea beasts, their large, serpentine forms slicing through the waves with ease. Still more reclined in small groups atop miniature floating structures, scaled-down replicas of the grand coronation that had just risen from the ocean’s depths. All eyes were fixed on the man above, waiting.

  A hush fell over the sea as Heltrin Galvas Whydit spoke, his voice carrying through the air, steady and authoritative.

  "Good afternoon and welcome, fellow Waybreakers, to the Lighthouse. Today, we commence the Southern Fisher Games, hosted by the Whydit family, as has been our tradition for thousands of years."

  A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. The Southern Fisher Games were no mere contest—they were a test of will, strength, and cunning, an ancient rite that honored both tradition and survival. Every soul present knew the weight of the event, even those pretending indifference.

  "In partaking in these games," Galvas continued, his gaze sweeping across the sea, "you partake in a legacy that stretches back to the Re-making of the World after the Great Corruption Wars. When the survivors of humanity were tasked with competing among themselves, displaying great feats of heroism and chivalry, so they might amass a fellowship capable of traversing the barren wastelands. Their mission? To push back the darkness and settle the Emperor's Needles across the wilds, extending the domain of mankind."

  The image of that ancient struggle lingered in the air—warriors, scarred by battle, venturing into the unknown, driven by the hope of pushing back the tides of corruption that still threatened to overwhelm the world. It was a dark reminder of the stakes ahead, and the stillness of the ocean seemed to reflect that weight.

  "As you recreate this long march," Galvas continued, his voice rising with solemnity, "you now tread the same dangerous path. Some of you will be discarded before the games even progress to the Second Realm. Some of you will falter when you’re just within reach of your goal. Some of you will die, and some will lose those dearest to them. And yet, some among you," he paused, allowing his words to sink in, "will rise. You will climb high enough to reach the Divine Realm and secure knighthood from Lord Hayazaki himself."

  A hushed silence fell over the crowd as the weight of his words hit. The promise of Hayazaki’s blessing was not given lightly. To receive it was to transcend the ordinary and become something far greater—a chosen champion in the Emperor's eternal struggle against the forces of darkness.

  "However your fates may turn, I’m certain you all knew the risks when you applied for these games and were chosen by the Administrator." His voice softened slightly, yet the authority remained. "And so, with good faith, I wish you all luck. May the Three Needles guide your favor."

  The speech concluded, and a round of applause rippled through the crowd. Galvas glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. The applause, he noted, came primarily from those seated on surfboards and sea beasts—the lesser candidates. Their enthusiasm was palpable, their hopes pinned on the thrill of participation. They clapped as though the games had already begun and they had a chance to prove their worth. These were the candidates who had little to lose but everything to gain.

  In contrast, those who sat in the floating lighthouses and the more elaborate Helsuks appeared less impressed. Some looked bored, their eyes glazed over as if the speech had merely been a formality, something to endure before the real games began. Others had stopped paying attention altogether, engaging in quiet conversations or adjusting the equipment on their vessels.

  "It’s always like this," Galvas thought to himself, a trace of cynicism coloring his inner voice. "The ones who lack talent are often the most enthusiastic. They’re the first to cheer, the first to hope—and the first to fall."

  He had seen it time and again. Those with little skill or experience would eagerly throw themselves into the games, only to be cast aside when their limitations became apparent. Most of them would fail early, their dreams of glory dashed against the brutal reality of the competition. They would become spectators, forming alliances with others, clinging to the faint hope that one of their group might possess the talent they themselves lacked.

  "They will form deals and swear oaths, pinning their hopes on those with even a glimmer of talent," he mused, "and they will congregate around them like moths to a flame. And thus, the wheel turns."

  But his mind turned to a deeper question, one that gnawed at him from within. Who might break the wheel?

  The Southern region is vast, its waters stretching endlessly, often without a soul in sight. Here, in these far, isolated waters, fishers pursue their craft—an age-old tradition, passed down through generations. And today, in a small, secluded pocket of ocean, a young fisher was doing just that.

  She had recently abandoned her rickety sailboat, a fragile wooden thing, too small and unstable for what she needed. Now, she was cooped up inside her Helsuk, the clinging metal of her fishing vessel offering her protection from the relentless sun above and the occasional biting wind. The Helsuk was not much larger than her old boat, but it was faster, sturdier, and far more suited to her ambitions.

  Because this was not just any fishing trip.

  She had a grudge to settle.

  The girl’s name was Helletta, and she lived with her master in a ramshackle shack that sat precariously at the edge of a pier—a place that seemed to exist nowhere, on no map, known only to those who happened upon it by accident or design. It was a place tucked away at the farthest reaches of civilization, where the world felt smaller and more confined, as though the vastness of the ocean itself compressed time and space into the narrow confines of her daily life.

  In that forgotten corner of the Southern region, the days blended together in an unbroken routine. The only sign that there was a world beyond their isolated home came when the Fishers from the Water Guild visited their port. Those rare visits were like sudden bursts of light in a darkened room, offering glimpses of a broader, more complex world—a world she longed to understand, to explore, to conquer.

  Her master knew a few of those Fishers well, and sometimes—on those rare and precious occasions—she even went fishing with them. It was through those Fishers that the boundaries of her existence began to expand, little by little, beyond the dinky pier and the cluttered shack she had known all her life. They spoke of grand cities, distant lands, and untold adventures. They told stories of the Fisher Games and of the legendary Whydit family, whose name was spoken in reverence by the people of the archipelago.

  They had told her stories—stories that stirred her heart and filled her with longing for a world beyond the waves. Tales of Emperor Hayazaki, the man who had saved the world from destruction during the Corruption Wars, his legacy stretching through the ages like an unbroken thread. They spoke of Lord Wen Quin Fullbright, the brilliant genius who had single-handedly built the foundations of the Third Age, shaping civilization itself. Their voices sang of the Purple Kings, rulers of a forgotten era whose downfall was etched into the ruins of the region of water named after them. They spoke of the Spotless Temple at the Western Cape, the ancient stones a testament to a time before the fall.

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  They whispered of the City of Zeal, a metropolis of wonders and contradictions, where the highborn mingled with the low in a chaotic dance of ambition, and of the Bird Cage Games, a deadly spectacle where the bravest and most reckless competed for power and glory.

  Each story, each whispered secret, painted a picture of a world that existed far beyond her reach—a world of legends, of danger, and of endless possibility. The more they spoke, the more she realized that to be a fisher was not merely to fish. It was to be free. It was to explore. It was to carve out a place in that vast, untamed world, one cast of the net at a time.

  And so, one day, she had asked her master—the old man who had raised her, who had taught her everything she knew—what she must do to go far away, to see all the things she had only heard about in the tales of the Fishers.

  His answer, though not unexpected, was a bitter pill to swallow.

  He had told her that her destiny, like the destiny of so many in the Southern Isles, was to be baptized—to have her soul delegated to the Great Needle of Kerrasuk, the great relic that bound the people of the Isles to their lord. And now that Lord Koleson was dead, there would soon be a new one to whom her soul would be pledged.

  In that moment, it felt as though the vastness of the world had suddenly shrunk around her, pulling tight like a net closing over its catch. Her fate, like that of so many on Aquilora, was sealed from the moment of her birth. Her future was predetermined, bound to the decisions of a distant lord whose face she had never seen and whose name she barely knew.

  It was a cruel realization.

  But her master had not left her without hope. There was, he had told her, one way to change her fate, one way to break free from the invisible chains that bound her to a life of obedience. There was one path that would allow her to see and take all that the world had to offer.

  And that path was to climb.

  The Climb—a grueling journey that those with ambition undertook in order to become a Lord themselves. It was a climb that most never completed, and many who began the journey found themselves as vassals to a more powerful lord, climbing only far enough to secure a higher position. But for those who dared, for those who had the strength, the cunning, and the will to endure, the climb offered something else entirely.

  It offered freedom.

  It was her only choice. Helletta knew this now. The climb was dangerous. It was a test that would challenge everything she had ever learned, ever believed, ever dreamed. But it was also the only way for her to escape the narrow life laid out before her and reach for something greater.

  And so, as the Helsuk cut through the water and the distant horizon beckoned, Helletta resolved herself.

  She would climb.

  But for her to climb, she would need his approval. Her master had always been a man of strict discipline, never one to offer praise lightly, and earning his consent for such a journey was no small feat. She would need to prove herself a capable fisher—more than capable. She would need to show him that she could survive in the unforgiving waters far from the safety of the coast.

  To that end, he had tasked her with a nearly impossible challenge.

  “Go to the farthest part of the water,” he had said, his voice steady and unyielding. “Where the sea turns a dark gray-brown, and the sky seems to blend into the horizon. Hunt five hundred fish there, and only then will you earn the approval you seek.”

  He didn’t stop there. “If you manage this feat,” he continued, “I will give you my Helsuk, the very one I’ve used for years.” His Helsuk was a treasure among fishers, a vessel of great speed and strength, built to withstand the harshest of seas.

  Brightened by his words and the promise of such a reward, Helletta had thanked her master, her heart full of hope and determination. She had set off with the fire of ambition burning brightly in her chest.

  That was how she found herself out here now, in the deepest, most treacherous waters of the Southern region. And yet, despite her best efforts, things were not going as planned.

  As of the moment, Helletta was furious.

  No matter how many times she pulled her net from the water, her catch was gone—snatched away by something lurking beneath the waves. Each time she thought she had a haul, it was taken from her, vanishing just before she could claim it.

  The thief was a sea beast, of that much she was certain. It seemed to stalk her every move, waiting patiently just below the surface, hovering like a shadow. Every time she pulled her net up, the beast would dart in and steal her hard-earned catch, leaving her with nothing but frustration.

  She could feel its presence—a dark, looming figure in the depths. A predator that had decided to claim her rewards as its own.

  Determined to put an end to this, Helletta clambered into her Helsuk, which bobbed patiently beside her rickety sailboat, like a manta ray gliding on the water’s surface.

  The Helsuk was an impressive vessel, shaped much like the great sea creature it mimicked. Massive in size, it was large enough to accommodate seven people comfortably, though today it was just her. The craft was divided into distinct sections: a spacious storage compartment where she would normally stow her catch, a middle area fitted with two makeshift beds stacked atop one another, and a control center at the front, equipped with a powerful reel and harpoon system.

  For fishers like Helletta, the Helsuk was more than just a boat. It was their lifeline. Capable of navigating the ocean's depths and swimming at incredible speeds, the Helsuk allowed fishers to reach places where the sea turned dark and the waters teemed with creatures too dangerous for ordinary vessels.

  Helletta climbed inside and revved up the engine. The familiar hum of the machine beneath her feet sent a surge of confidence through her. This was her territory. This was where she belonged. She settled into the tight leather chair—uncomfortable, but necessary. The straps and tightness of the seat kept her secure during rough waters, and in the far seas, comfort was a luxury fishers couldn’t afford.

  She scanned the surface of the water through the Helsuk's visor, which provided her with a crystal-clear view of the ocean depths. Her gaze narrowed as she searched for the elusive creature that had been robbing her.

  The beast, whatever it was, remained elusive. Barely a shadow in the inky depths, it was nearly invisible against the dark water, save for the occasional ripple of movement.

  Her hands tightened on the controls. With a surge of determination, she launched the Helsuk forward. The craft sliced through the water like a knife, cutting a swift path through the waves.

  Her quarry, though barely visible, was a monstrous thing. It moved with an unnatural grace, its long, serpentine body undulating through the water in a way that made it seem almost like an extension of the sea itself. Its oily black skin absorbed the light, making it blend seamlessly with the ocean’s gloom, and its thick, sinewy scales shifted with the water, adding to its ability to hide in plain sight.

  Large, jagged fins jutted out from its sides, torn and ragged like the sails of a ghost ship lost to time. Its head was a twisted predator’s visage, with rows of serrated teeth glinting like daggers whenever it opened its maw.

  Most unsettling of all were its eyes—large, glowing orbs of sickly yellow. They pierced through the shadows, intelligent and malevolent. The gaze of a predator, a hunter that had claimed these waters as its own, and now viewed Helletta as both rival and prey.

  But Helletta wasn’t afraid. No, fear wasn’t something she allowed herself to feel. Not now. Not with so much at stake.

  She set her jaw, gripping the controls of the Helsuk tighter, and prepared to make her move. This creature had stolen from her for the last time. If she was to prove herself a worthy fisher, if she was to earn the right to climb, she would need to face this beast head-on.

  Helletta maneuvered the Helsuk with precision, her fingers dancing over the controls as she matched the beast’s unpredictable movements. The creature darted to the side, a swift, shadowy blur in the deep waters. She immediately adjusted the craft, keeping pace with its frantic surges, her focus razor-sharp.

  The hum of the Helsuk’s harpoon system filled the cabin, a sharp, metallic sound that echoed her determination. This wasn’t just another hunt; it was a test of everything she’d learned. The beast was unlike anything she’d faced before—fast, cunning, and relentless.

  She needed to be faster.

  The monster surged ahead, a dark streak beneath the surface. Helletta pushed the Helsuk’s engines to their limit, the craft roaring in response. With a flick of a switch, she deployed the reel, the harpoon attached to a thick, coiled cable ready for action. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes narrowing as she tracked the flickering shadow in front of her.

  Suddenly, the creature veered downward, disappearing into the depths. Helletta didn’t hesitate. She dove after it, the Helsuk cutting smoothly into the abyss, the pressure mounting with each second. Her visor switched to thermal mode, the beast’s outline glowing faintly against the cold, dark water.

  This was her chance.

  With a sharp flick of her wrist, she released the harpoon. It shot forward, slicing through the water with deadly speed, but at the last moment, the beast twisted its body, the harpoon grazing its side but not hitting its mark.

  Frustration clawed at her, but she pushed it aside. The creature was toying with her, weaving in and out of the Helsuk’s path, always just out of reach. It was playing a dangerous game, and Helletta was determined to win.

  She gritted her teeth and revved the engine harder, the Helsuk surging forward, closing the gap. Her hands moved quickly over the controls, adjusting the harpoon’s angle, waiting for the perfect moment. Her eyes never left the dark shape ahead, her heart pounding in time with the rhythmic hum of the reels.

  The beast seemed to slow, as if sensing danger, and in that split second, Helletta struck.

  She fired again, the harpoon launching with a metallic hiss. This time, it found its target. The harpoon pierced the beast’s thick, scaled hide with a shuddering thud. The creature let out a bone-rattling shriek, its massive body thrashing violently, sending shockwaves through the water.

  Helletta gripped the controls tightly as the Helsuk bucked against the force of the creature’s struggle. The reel whirred as the cable tightened, and she felt the full weight of the monster pulling against her craft. But she didn’t falter. She steered the Helsuk in a tight circle, spiraling around the beast, tightening the harpoon’s line, drawing the creature into a deadly grip.

  The beast fought back, thrashing harder, its jagged fins slicing through the water with lethal precision. But Helletta held firm. She was in control now, guiding the Helsuk in an orbit around the creature, binding it tighter with each passing moment.

  Suddenly, the creature surged upward, breaking the surface with a deafening roar. Water exploded into the air, drenching the Helsuk as it shuddered from the force of the beast’s desperate leap. But Helletta remained undeterred, her hands steady on the controls.

  She angled the Helsuk alongside the thrashing monster, and with a quick motion, she fired a second harpoon. It struck deep into the beast’s side, and the creature let out a guttural scream, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the very ocean itself.

  Helletta’s heart raced, adrenaline flooding her system. She tightened the lines, pulling the creature closer to the hull. She could see its eyes now, glowing with a furious intelligence, but there was no escape. The Helsuk was relentless, and so was she.

  With one final heave, the reels pulled the beast tight against the side of the Helsuk. The fight was over.

  Helletta leaned back in her seat, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The beast was caught, its immense body bound by the Helsuk’s harpoons. It would steal from her no more.

  For a moment, she allowed herself a brief smile, savoring the victory. But then her eyes flicked to the console, and the smile faded.

  She was late. The testing—the most important event of her life—was supposed to begin soon.

  Her heart sank as she realized how much time had passed during the chase. She was already late, and if she didn’t hurry, she’d miss her chance entirely.

  Without wasting another second, she engaged the Helsuk’s engines again, the craft pulling away from the now-subdued sea beast. She had no time to waste.