Kallen's awakening was anything but gentle. The chill of the rough stone pressed against his back, the air, heavy with an earthy stale odor. His head throbbed as if the ascetic’s hand was still weighing on his skull. For a moment, he thought he might still be dreaming, lost in the haze of the sedative that had stolen his consciousness. The only thing he could remember was Ani’s cloudy face as he collapsed on the tall grass.
But this was no dream. His eyes fluttered open to a world of stone—a small, claustrophobic room carved from the depths of some ancient place. A faint amber glow emanated from an old oil lamp perched on a crude stone shelf dug in the rocks, casting long shadows that seemed to move in the flickering light. The only furniture was a rough, rectangular stone slab that served as both a bed and his current perch.
He tried to sit up, but his body struggled to follow. His limbs were stiff, his muscles aching as if he had just entered a borrowed corpse. It took him a moment to register the only few other objects in the room: a simple book, thin, bound in aged and used leather, placed next to the lamp. A plain wooden bowl and cup sat right on the floor beside the bed, both empty.
As he pulled himself upright, the reality of his new surroundings began to take hold. He was alone. There were no voices, no footsteps—utter silence. The muted hum of stillness, interrupted by the occasional distant drip of water echoing through unseen places beyond.
…My new life. Happy Birthday, Kallen.
After a moment lost in his thoughts, Kal’s mind finally snapped out of the torpor his body left mere minutes ago.
He approached the book, lifting it cautiously. The cover was smooth but worn, the pages were clearly victims of the passage of time but felt strong nonetheless. It bore no title, but as he flipped it open, his eyes scanned the first lines with growing curiosity.
“To see, you must feel. To command, you must understand.”
His eyes grew even larger as he started to grasp what this book was meant for: Essence, the life force of the Tree granted by the Mark. As he quickly flipped more pages, diagrams illustrating circulatory green patterns were drawn all over the pages, accompanied by quotes or instructions. This was more than a simple book; it was a Manual—his first lesson on Essence and his first step to becoming a Vessel.
As he finally reached the end, he saw it— a perfect circle of spiraling green energy, a dark, ominous sigil contained within. He didn’t need to read what was written below, It was a Seal. The realization drew a nervous grin on Kallen’s face. The moment he opened his eyes, unbeknown to him, the Sealing Ceremony already started. And he was by himself.
Kallen nervously scratched his mark as if acknowledging the content of the book. He grimaced. He was now supposed to use the same thing that nearly consumed him and turned him into something monstrous. The fire, the snake, his mother, the Crow Eater, he could only acknowledge that he somewhat grew fearful of it all.
As he finally left his mark alone, he finally realized he was wearing a completely different set of clothes than what he borrowed from Safia’s wood cabin. He wore a simple set of light brown garments. They were strangely well suited to his body: short arm sleeves, pants loose enough to move freely, he even had underwear. Probably the only comfort he could cling to in his cell of stone. He could already tell—from the look of it, survival was the only thing that would matter from now on, and he had his week in the woods to prepare his mind for it.
He read on.
“From the Mark comes the gift. It is neither blessing nor curse. It is the burden of choice. Domination or submission.”
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
Choice?
What choice did he have? Yet here he was, alive in this cold stone room, his family held hostage far from his grasp. If he wanted to see them again, to one day taste a sliver of freedom, he would have to master this “burden.”
***After some time***
Time passed in a blur of frustration. The room’s isolation was oppressive. Every moment punctuated by his repeated failures to "feel the Flow" felt like the space shrank around him. The book described Essence as a current moving around him but also seeping within through the mark, something to be felt, understood, and guided. But each time he tried, plunged into deep meditation, focused his attention on his mark, he encountered nothing but silence. His body felt heavy and unresponsive. He slammed his fist against the stone slab in frustration. The dull ache in his knuckles reverberating through his arms was the only answer to his efforts.
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Suddenly, as if to distract him from the pain, his isolation was finally interrupted. The door—a seamless panel of stone he had not even realized existed—slid open slowly without warning. A man stepped in without a sound, his slender features hidden within a dark cloak. His face was obscured by a featureless black mask he recognized too well. He carried a tray with a large bowl of gruel and a water pitcher, setting it down without a word.
“106,” the man said, his voice flat and emotionless. “Your name now.”
Kallen stiffened at the sound. He wanted to question him, protest, and escape through the door wide open behind, but the fear anchored in his mind by Anya and her teachings prevented him from doing any of it. The man continued without pause.
“I see that you can read.” Kallen promptly nodded, attentive to every word coming from the slender shadow's mouth. ”Then I won’t need to come here often. Turn around.”
Kallen slowly turned around, facing his bed, opposing the exit. The tension made him as rigid as the stone that made these walls.
“You will survive here only by understanding and wielding the Flow. Fail, your body and mind will succumb in time. We will take care of you before the mark does. Succeed, and you may see the sun again. I will assist you once each day. That is all.”
The man reached out, placing a hand just above Kallen’s mark. A wave of warmth surged into him, startling in its intensity. It was not painful but disorienting, a wave of energy radiating from his back to his every limb. He gasped, clutching the edge of the slab for support.
“Feel it,” the man instructed. “Tomorrow, show me your progress. Once you manage to get your mark contained, you may follow me.”
With that, the man retreated silently, the door sealing shut behind him. As soon as the boy turned around, he was by himself again. This time, however, his wooden bowl and cup of water were full. Kallen was left with the faint, lingering sensation of the energy coursing through his veins. Holding onto it was his key to freedom. Conditional freedom.
***Many hours later***
“When the tides come ashore, allow it, or let it return to the sea.”
As the day dragged on, Kallen focused on the book, reading and re-reading the passages on the first pages with frustration, his food and water depleted. He practiced the breathing exercises described, attempting to center his mind and body. The memory of the pulse from earlier remained vivid, a thread of warmth he tried to follow. But hours ago, he had already lost the feel of this energy cascading through his body. Distress started to seep through the gaps of his psyche.
“The world is an ocean you drift within. It’s your driving force.”
The instructions were clear, the quotes, however, remained a mystery to him. It all felt too pompous, something only someone who understood would say to play with the ignorants.
“An ocean, huh..? Sucks I’m in the driest place on earth … I don’t want to know what’s in it anyway…” thought Kallen, reminding himself of the few people he saw getting thrown away to the depth of the Bay.
As he laid flat on the stone slab that would be his bed from now on, he turned his head towards the wall harboring the well-hidden door. After prolonging his silence for a moment, he finally decided to use his voice.
“Am I supposed to focus on those droplets I hear from time to time?”
He knew only silence would follow, but to him, it was worth a try. He was utterly lost. And it was making him anxious. This was the infamous sealing ceremony he was looking forward to the day he knew the mark had a hold of him. He always thought he would emerge triumphant, easily overcoming this millennium-old curse that took the lives of the overwhelming majority of its bearers.
He thought he was special. Actually, he still did, but he didn’t expect the determination he built up for days would start to erode so quickly. He was but a child, after all. Trying to remain level-headed, he tightened his fists to fight the creeping doubt invading his mind. And it was when he felt it again. But this time, it was different. Much weaker but more chaotic than what the masked man infused into him. Much hotter, too.
Rushing upright, he sat on his knees, not even taking the time to take his usual cross-legged position. He couldn’t afford to lose this feeling. He closed his eyes, concentrating. Slowly, he began to feel it—a faint, flickering sensation, like a spark struggling to catch fire. It was elusive, slipping away the moment he grasped for it.
The frustration returned, but he forced himself to remain calm and follow the book’s guidance—the breathing, the instructions, and the quotes. He calmly assembled the few pieces of information he could.
“Allow it,” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing softly in the empty chamber. He adjusted his posture, his breathing steady. Hours passed as he sat on his knees on the stone slab, hands on his lap, ignoring the pain, the flickering lamp casting his shadow against the walls.
Finally, as exhaustion threatened to overtake him, he felt it—a faint warmth pooling around his mark. It was gentle, and the heat spread within in small waves, no longer than his nails, steady and rhythmic. It was fragile, like a candle flame, but it was there—his Essence.
“Ha, Is it water or fire?” Snickered Kallen as an uncontrollable grin took over his face.
As those words escaped his mouth, the warmth disappeared like wind blowing on autumn leaves—gone. Stunned and embarrassed, Kallen punched his stone bed. Once more, the dull ache in his knuckles reverberating through his arm was the only answer, and no help came in through the door.
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By the time the lamp’s light began to wane, Kallen was too tired to continue. He laid back on the cold stone, staring at the ceiling. The warmth, he found it again. This time, it persisted, a small triumph against the crushing weight of the day. This time, he could allow himself a smile.
Does it mean it's nighttime..? Might as well close my eyes for a moment…
He thought of Kara and Alm, their lives before his 13th birthday. Of their tears the night he was taken. He thought of the promise he had made to himself.
As his eyes closed, he jokingly whispered to the darkness, “Goodnight. 106.”
End of Chapter