Chapter 2: Whispers Under the Cloak
A faint light could be seen in the distance within a pitch-black world. It moved slowly through the darkness, occasionally swaying left and right as it moved.
The light grew stronger, revealing itself as a large wooden vessel sailing through dark, ominous waters. The boat was a double-decker, its sturdy frame lined with windows on both the first and second decks. A guiding lantern atop the deck cast a steady glow, cutting through the surrounding gloom.
Two hooded figures stood at the bow of the boat, facing outward as their cloaks swayed in the wind. Their features were hidden beneath the hoods. The only difference between them was the color of their boots. The figure sitting at the bow wore brown leather boots, while the one beside him wore black boots.
The standing figure spoke in a raspy voice, “This ravine will never not be spooky, huh?”
There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, but he wasn’t expecting a response. He knew his partner's temperament all too well. The non-gifted—those who lacked the natural affinity for magic—had endured many tribulations, and it had left most of them scarred in ways that ran deep. Silence was the norm, and he had come to expect it.
This was his second time traveling through this dark ravine, though this time he did so with a completely different status. The ravine still looked and felt the same: a place where the wind carried the scent of earth, minerals, and decaying vegetation. It was a scent that added to the ominous atmosphere, making the area feel both ancient and foreboding.
The standing figure spoke again, his voice breaking the silence, “Do you remember the first time we sailed through here? I was terrified, I couldn't sleep until we reached the shore...”
Once again, his words were met with silence. A few minutes passed before the seated hooded figure finally spoke in a soft, feminine voice, “You never seem to stop talking.”
The hooded man, undeterred, quickly responded, “Look, Apostle Essence, we've been doing this task for almost a month now, and we are finally on the way back to the tower. Let loose for once… I, for one, can't wait to get back to my lab. I've made some discoveries during this trip.”
Hearing this, the seated figure, called Essence, didn’t respond. Instead, she gazed out at the horizon, her thoughts calm as she watched the darkness. She turned her gaze disdainfully toward her companion, knowing that as a Gifted, he couldn’t possibly comprehend the struggles she had endured. His path had been laid out for him from the moment he was born, while she had to fight to simply build hers. Their views of the world were fundamentally different.
“We are below the quota of recruits,” Essence spoke softly, her voice carrying a hint of concern. “The Tower Master might be displeased.”
The standing figure shrugged, his tone dismissive. “Can he blame us? The mundane has become even more ignorant and distrusting. Besides, they’re constantly at war over insignificant things. Do they even deserve the opportunity we’re giving them? Maybe they were never meant to understand magic, to begin with. Humph!”
As he spoke, his irritation became more evident. He continued, “Besides, our Stone Tower is the nineteenth tower in the kingdom—the newest one, built just forty years ago. It's normal for our recruitment to be slow for the first fifty years!”
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Although he tried to sound confident, there was a feeling in his heart that they might indeed displease the Tower Master. They were supposed to bring back at least fifty recruits for assessment, but at the moment, the boat barely had thirty.
As they reflected on the missed quota, Essence suddenly pointed ahead, her voice sharp with alertness. “What is that? These waters are typically calm.”
Both figures turned their attention to the water ahead, where debris was scattered across the surface. Pieces of wood and broken wheels floated apart slowly, barely visible in the inky black water.
The male figure was surprised by how far ahead Essence had spotted the debris, especially in such darkness. He had truly underestimated his task partner.
Essence stood up, her posture tense as she looked more alert than usual. Slowly, her robe parted, revealing a tentacle that resembled that of a purple squid. It slithered out of the darkness of her robe near her torso like a performer entering the stage, its length seemingly endless as it reached toward the water, searching for something.
“Apostle Essence,” the man spoke, his voice filled with curiosity, “is this the tentacle you acquired from killing that Sand Assassin? Those creatures are hard to come by, and it seems like it’s given you quite the boost in strength from the transplant, huh? Now I see why you became an Apostle so quickly—at their peak, those creatures can give even a seasoned Apostle a run for their money.”
The man, Apostle Flint, observed the thick tentacle as it continued to stretch out, now lifting a body out of the water. He wasn’t particularly shocked by the tentacle—he knew that the non-gifted tampered with different technologies and methods to achieve power and become Apostles. What caught him off guard was the deadly aura that the tentacle emitted.
“Apostle Flint, grab the Parched Seed. There’s still a faint heartbeat in this young boy, and we can add him to the quota. If only more bodies fell from the sky,” Essence remarked, her tone laced with dark humor. She glanced upwards, toward the top of the ravine, which seemed impossibly far away.
Flint, who had been watching as the tentacle fished out the young man, placed his hand inside his robe and pulled out a small seed, no larger than his fingertips. The seed resembled a mango pit but with a strange tiny face etched into it. The face looked as though it were asleep, its eyes closed, showing no reaction to Flint's movements.
Essence gently placed the body of Abel down on the wooden floor of the boat, her eyes analyzing him. “Seems like he fell into the ravine a few minutes ago. Shouldn’t the mundane be avoiding this area?”
Flint shook his head and crouched down beside Abel, who lay unconscious. He positioned the Parched Seed above Abel's mouth and, with his other hand, opened the boy’s mouth. With a firm squeeze, the tiny black eyes on the seed opened in alarm, its small mouth widening with a strange squeaking sound. Slowly, water began to escape from Abel's mouth and nostrils, as if being vacuumed from deep within his body.
As the water thinned and finally ceased, the tiny face on the seed curved into a wide grin. Gradually, the seed began to metamorphose, blossoming into a small flower that glistened with a faint white aura.
“When I sell this, I’ll split the profits between the two of us. We never expected to find this seed on this task, let alone find the perfect criteria to use it,” Flint spoke, his voice filled with elation. The criteria to birth a Parched Seed were specific and rare, requiring, among other things, a body that had genuinely drowned.
Essence nodded, turning to walk away. “I’ll take him to the medical room on the first deck.
“Good,” Flint responded, watching as she moved away. “Whether he likes it or not, he’ll be coming with us. I just hope he doesn’t die of shock when he finds out there’s a world of magic hidden in plain sight.” Flint chuckled, still in a good mood after birthing the seed.
Essence didn’t respond, but in her mind, she thought, “A cruel world of magic…” Her tentacle extended once more, gently wrapping around the now-breathing Abel, lifting him off the deck as she carried him farther into the ship, leaving Flint to contemplate the events of the day.