The ocean roiled with fury, wind raging against their storm sails, threatening to rip them off of their masts. Waves rose and crashed against the side of the ship, as lightning flashed within dark storm clouds above.

Calian looked up as another bolt of lightning screamed across the sky, turning night into day for a brief moment. And in that second of false daylight, he saw two glowing blue eyes staring down at him, a titan within the clouds that observed him with chilling intensity.

Calian was slammed into the side rails of the ship as another wave crashed against it, figures stepping out of the salt spray to land on the top deck. He drew his sabre, knowing it would be useless, but the need to feel its comforting weight in his hand threw aside any reason or logic.

Another flash of lightning, and a figure dressed in silver dashed out to meet the invaders from the sea. He ran forwards, but no matter how his legs churned, he couldn't reach the figures battling on his ship. Not until one of them drew a pistol and fired.

The echo of the gunshot rang in time with the deafening crack of thunder above, and it wasn't until he was falling overboard that he realized he had been the one shot. The last thing he heard before tumbling into the sea was a hawk's piercing screech ripping its way through the air. And the last thing he saw were those blue, blue eyes, staring at him as he sank beneath the waves.

Calian woke with a start, the remnants of his dream already fading from his mind. He scrabbled upwards, clawing at his chest. He had been shot, that much he remembered from the dream. But as he fumbled around, he could feel-

His own body impacting the floor as his hammock flipped upside down, dumping him unceremoniously to the ground. He groaned, cursing as he rose to his feet and rubbed his knees. He let out a low hiss of pain before straightening, glancing around to make sure no one else had heard or seen his dump.

Relieved to see that everyone in the sleeping quarters were doing just that, he grabbed a new set of clothes from his foot locker and changed. He gave himself a sniff, before shrugging. The crew wouldn't bathe for a few more days, but he still only smelled of salt and sea foam, so he didn't mind.

Tugging on his boots and tying them tight, he paused as he realized that he could now only remember fragments of his dream. A storm, maybe? Blue eyes staring down at him. Everything else slipped from his mind, and the more he tried to remember the further they slipped away.

Putting the thoughts to rest, he heard more shuffling around him, and noticed that the day crew had woken. A few yawned as they opened their foot lockers, sitting and staring at the floor for a few moments before seeming to remember they needed to get dressed. He grinned as he saw Tikan looking around, bleary eyed, his change of clothes in a pile in front of him as he tugged on his boots. Then realized that he hadn't yet put on his pants, and cursed before undoing the laces.

Calian waited for a few moments before grabbing his sabre and cinched his belt around his waist. A few of the crew members seemed to realize he had woken before they did, and offered him nods and a few half hearted 'morning's. He stood and made his way to Tikan, grabbing two practice sabres as he did. Tikan paused, midway through lacing his boots as he looked up at him, a groan rising from his throat.

"First thing in the morning?" He complained, and Calian nodded with a laugh, tossing the wooden sabre into his lap. Tikan fumbled with it for a few moments before settling it down beside him.

"First thing in the morning." Calian confirmed. When Tikan glared at him, he shrugged. "You're the one who said you wanted to learn. If you don't want to…"

"Don't get cheeky now." Tikan grumbled, heaving himself up with a sigh. Together they walked up the stairs to the top deck. A light breeze welcomed Calian's arrival to the waist of the ship, the steady groan and creaks of the mast and planks a welcome sound. He looked up at the sky and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no storm clouds brewing on the horizon, in their absence an endless stretch of azure. The night crew made their way past him to head below, and he looked towards the helm to see his father already at the wheel.

His father's gaze rested on him for a few moments, and when he saw the wooden sabres in his and Tikan's hands, he gave a permissing nod.

This had become a sort of ritual over the past week, after Tikan had expressed interest in learning swordsmanship. If he was being honest with himself, this voyage didn't feel any different than the others he had been taking part in since he was old enough to sail. They rarely saw their guests, sometimes the only sign of their presence being the empty wooden plates they'd cleaned themselves and stacked back in the cupboards.

Most of the day crew had already started their duties, deckhands setting to work while his father's first mate and brother, Kalot, kept a watchful eye over the ship. Calian's gaze trained back onto Tikan, who had already settled into a preliminary stance. He felt his eye twitch as he looked at his friend's feet.

"You're already wrong." He said, gesturing downwards with his sabre. It was held loosely in his grasp, and Takin looked down at his feet in confusion.

"What?" He asked, confused. "But this is how you told me to stand."

Calian shook his head, sighing. "That is certainly not how I told you to stand. Now answer me honestly, are you standing like a person, or like a scarecrow?"

He heard a faint snicker come from one of the deckhands, and he looked around to see that they'd already earned a small crowd. Even if they had no intention of joining, most still liked to watch at least the first few minutes of their training.

Tikan grumbled to himself, clearly not understanding. Calian placed one foot in front of him, turning his body to the side as he placed more weight on his leading foot, his body side on to Tikan as he left his trailing foot behind him. "Like this." He said patiently, and Tikan mirrored his stance.

"Like this?" He asked, and Calian nodded. It was still amateurish, but at least better than the head on stance he'd had previously.

"Yes. Now, remind me, what style are we using?" He asked, and Tikan scrunched his brow.

"Style of the Water God?" It came out as more of a question, but Calian nodded in encouragement.

"Yes, but what stance specifically?"

Tikan thought for a few moments. "The Waiting Water stance?" He asked, again more of a question than an answer, but Calian nodded once more.

"Correct. Now, the Water God Style is favored for weapons like a cutlass, sabre, or rapier." He began, loosely raising his wooden sabre in demonstration. He took a few swipes at the air, neither fast nor slow. "It's typically used on ships, because no one is wearing steel armor on ships. It takes advantage of this by using lighter weapons for quicker strikes, because you don't need a longsword to poke someone who isn't wearing armor in the neck."

Tikan nodded, though his impatience was clear on his features. He took a step forward, and Calian flashed toward him like lightning, knocking aside his weapon with the flat side of his blade before placing the tip of the sword against his throat in one swift movement.

Tikan swallowed, and Calian took three paces back, lightly skipping on the balls of his feet. He used the natural bob of the ship to aid in the movement, seeming to glide along the planks before floating downwards. His friend looked at him enviously, but settled back into the stance, his patience restored.

"Now, the Water God Style has three stances." Calian continued, slightly adjusting his feet so that he stood at more of a diagonal to his opponent. "The first, what you are in, is called Waiting Waters. This stance is used to measure distance with your opponent, to gauge their skill, and to punish any hasty encroaches in your sphere of action." As he talked, Calian began circling Tikan, whose footwork suffered for having to constantly shift.

"What's that last bit?" He asked. "The sphere of whatsit?"

"Your sphere of action," Calian said, drawing his sword tip through the air in front of him and lightly skipping forwards and backwards a pace each, "is this. Whatever you can reach in less than a second. The Waiting Waters has the greatest sphere out of the three stances, because when you're in it your reach is the longest. Now this…"

He stopped circling and skipped inwards to Tikan's guard. He yelped and immediately swung his saber in a wide, chopping arc. Calian almost sighed, effortlessly slipping underneath the cut and batting the sabre further along its arc, sending Tikan off balance. When he regained his footing, Calian's sabre was already pointed at his inner thigh. "This is known as the Rushing Wave stance." He gave Tikan's thigh a painful poke, who winced and swatted his sabre away with a hand.

Calian skipped backwards once more, retaking the stance he'd just shown. "Look how my body is more in line with yours, how my sword rests at a lower point. I don't have as much reach as I did in the Waiting Waters stance, but I'm faster. And my feet can pivot easier, allowing me to slip under or around your guard, with deflecting strikes." To emphasize, he pivoted on the balls of his feet, his shoulders and waist swaying side to side with the motion.

Tikan nodded, mimicking the stance. A poor but still somewhat passable imitation of it, at least. "And the third?"

"The third is the Drowning Current." A voice answered from the side, causing Calian and the rest of the crew who had been watching the lesson to stiffen slightly. He looked for its source and saw two figures dressed in silver robes standing at the edge of the crowd. The deckhands immediately gave them a wide berth, and Calian could see that the taller of the two figures had his hood down.

Long black hair tied into a single braid trailed over his shoulder, while piercing amber eyes studied him calmly. The unnamed guest was handsome, and by no small amount. He had a smile on his face, warm and jovial as he looked between Tikan and himself. "Apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt. You're a fantastic instructor. I just got a little absorbed in the lesson."

Tikan glanced at Calian with uncertainty, who in turn relaxed out of his stance, sabre held loose in his grasp.

"Not at all, Sir…" He trailed off, leaving the invitation for a name in the air between them.

"Gallow." The man supplied, nodding his head in greeting. "And please, I am no Sir. I'm led to believe that you are a member of our sister church. Brother Gallow is more than fine."

Calian nodded. "A pleasure to officially meet you, Brother Gallow." He greeted with a respectful bow, his father's words practically reverberating in his mind.

This man is a Chaplain. He thought. Someone who is treated with respect even by Earls.

As he rose from the bow, he gave the man an assessing glance. Although his body was hard to make out beneath the silver robe, he knew that Gallow was a large man. He didn't exactly tower over the other crew members, but his thick frame filled out his robe in the way only a finely honed body could. "If I may ask, Brother Gallow, what brings you to the top deck today?"

Although Calian couldn't see the woman's face underneath the hood of her own robe, he got the distinct feeling that she was staring directly at him. If he was perfectly honest, it made his skin crawl, inflicting him with a prickling sense of unease that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.

"I know we haven't exactly been the friendliest of guests." Gallow said with a smile, almost warm enough to melt the chill he felt from the woman's gaze. Almost. "But even the most recluse can only coop themselves up in their cabins for so long before they crave fresh air."

Calian nodded, his eyes subtly scanning for his father. Gallow seemed like a friendly enough man, but the warning he'd received still rang true in his mind. He spotted his father still at the helm, although the large frame of his uncle Kalot was close by in the crowd. Clearly ready to intervene should anything untoward happen.

"Again, I didn't mean to interrupt the lesson." Gallow said, gesturing. "But would you allow me to watch?"

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Calian nodded, raising his sabre. "You are guests aboard our ship, Brother Gallow. You may do as you please." He said, ensuring his tone remained respectful.

With his last words, he turned back to Tikan, who was licking his lips nervously. "We're still going?" He hissed, glancing towards the robed figures, and Calian shrugged.

"We already had a crowd before. What's two more to their number?" He reasoned, though despite his words he couldn't shake the feeling of the woman's gaze from his back. It eerily reminded him of the remnants of the dream he'd had. Those blue eyes that judged him from above, and seemed to find him… wanting.

"Well… alright." Tikan said, taking a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing as he slipped into the Waiting Waters. Calian himself slipped into the same stance, his body loose and his weight resting on the balls of his feet. The rocking of the ship underneath him brought him focus, the slight sea breeze slipping over him soothing his mind into clarity. The sun, now firmly climbing its way upwards in the sky, was bright and welcoming, a warm invitation for all life to bask in its glow.

"Now, you're still a long way from learning the Drowning Current." He resumed his lesson, shaking off the feeling of being watched. "First, you must learn how and when to switch between the Waiting Waters and the Rushing Wave. And to do that, you must learn the advantages and limitations of those stances. So we shall begin with the Waiting Waters."

As he spoke, he lightly stepped forwards, sending probing strikes against his friend. Tikan slapped them away, or at least attempted to, putting too much force behind the attempted ripostes and slightly over extending, which Calian took advantage of by lunging forward to stab towards his abdomen. He stopped just before the blow would connect, pulling back as Tikan clenched his jaw.

"As I said previously, this stance is for gauging. You're putting far too much strength behind your warding moves." Calian chided gently. "Here, probe my defense, just as I was doing before."

Tikan nodded, one hand behind him to help with balance as he tested Calian's defenses. Each probe was lightly swatted away, with only a flick of his wrist, or sometimes even evaded entirely to position for a lunging stab.

His friend seemed to gain an understanding as he pulled back, and Calian obliged, this time taking his turn to send a few probing swipes his way. They were deflected with minimal effort, although Calian noticed a critical flaw in the way his friend was defending.

"Very good." He complimented freely, and meant it. "You're not wasting energy. But your eyes are practically stuck to the tip of my sword."

Tikan paused, his eyes wavering slightly as he blinked in confusion. "What do you-"

Calian again skipped inwards, his wooden sword flashing out in a stab towards Tikan's chest. He panicked once more, though managed to deflect it in time. But while his eyes were on Calian's sword, he missed his lead foot kicking up and behind his knee, very briefly switching to the Sun God's Style, collapsing it and sending him to the floor. He floundered for a few moments before Calian pressed the tip of his wooden sabre against the hollow of his throat.

"If you're only looking at my sword, how can you see what the rest of my body is doing?" Calian asked, lowering the sabre and extending a hand. Tikan took it with a bewildered laugh, popping up to his feet and rubbing the back of his head.

"Swordplay is hard, huh?" He said, to which Calian chuckled.

"It is, but you have a lot of time to learn. I've been wielding a sword since I was five." He said consolingly, patting him on the shoulder. "I think that's enough for today. I'd say practice on your own for at least half an hour a day. Not striking, just skipping inwards and out, working on keeping your footing when someone is circling you or, better yet, doing the circling yourself. I'll show you the proper exercises tomorrow." He said, and Tikan nodded with a smile.

"Thanks for teaching me."

The crowd around them chattered amongst themselves, just about to disperse as the lesson came to a close, before Gallow's voice once again drifted over them like a sea breeze.

"I don't mean to intrude," he began, causing everyone to pause and turn towards him, "and if I'm overextending my welcome, please feel free to refuse. But you are a fantastic swordsman. Would you be kind enough to grace me with a spar?"

The ship went silent, the only sound left being the waves rolling underneath the ship and the sails billowing in the wind. Calian smiled lightly, bowing his head.

"I don't want to refuse you sir, and please don't take this as a disparagement of your skill. But those who aren't used to sparring on a ship are more prone to acciden-" He began to politely decline, but Gallow's rebuttal came fast.

"I've sparred on a ship more than enough to know my way around it." He said, his voice filled with nothing but confidence. "Please, do not worry for my safety. I only ask for a light spar, as it has been quite a while since I've met someone of your skill."

Calian cleared his throat, his eyes darting towards his father, still at the helm. Although he wasn't sure if he'd heard, he was confident that he could piece together what was happening based on body language alone. His father looked between him and Kalot, before giving a single nod.

Sighing deeply, Calian took the practice sword from Tikan's hands, who passed it over hurriedly. The woman reached upwards to whisper something in Gallow's ear, and he nodded. The crowd made way for him as he approached, and Calian handed over the wooden sabre. Gallow took it in his gloved hands, testing its weight before nodding. He looked up, the practice weapon held with an ease that immediately told Calian of his experience.

Well, he is a Chaplain. He thought to himself.

One of the crewmates, Niel, approached their guest hesitantly. Gallow turned to him with an inquisitive glance, twirling the weapon in his grasp idly.

"Uh… sir- er, sorry, Brother Gallow, I'm not sure if you know this but… the young lord is…" Niel trailed off as Calian raised a hand, and he stepped back into the crowd.

"If you don't mind my asking, what styles are you familiar with?" He asked calmly, taking a few easy paces back. Gallow's smile never waned.

"As you might have guessed, I'm most comfortable with the Moon God's Style." He said, his tone almost sheepish. Calian nodded, resting the hilt of his sabre in two hands and assuming the Waning Light stance, specialized in defense. Gallow blinked in surprise. "You know it?"

Calian nodded, the tracest amount of pride entering his tone. "I have attained the rank of Master in the Sun God, Moon God, and Water God styles." He said, and for the first time Gallow seemed taken aback.

"Truly?" He asked, shocked. He looked him up and down, his smile finally dropping as his eyes narrowed the slightest amount. "You can't be older than twenty."

"Eighteen." Calian corrected, taking a deep breath. He turned his body slightly away from Gallow's, his joints loose as he turned the saber to the side, resting his elbows just above his hip. "I'm told that my gift for swordsmanship is rarely seen. Though in terms of Mastery, I am still perhaps one of the lowest."

Although the Sabre wasn't an optimal weapon for the Moon God Style, its favored weapons being the broadsword and longsword, with wooden weapons there wasn't too disparate of a weight difference to hinder him.

"Extraordinary." Gallow praised, his smile back and as bright as before. "In that case, thank you for agreeing to this spar. Light contact, with medium permissed when striking the weapon. Are these terms agreeable?"

Calian nodded, bowing respectfully as Gallow did the same. Despite knowing that his opponent was a Chaplain, and having seen his comfort in holding a weapon, Calian wasn't too optimistic about the value this spar would have for him. After all, there were less than five hundred people alive in the world who could claim the title of "Master". Even fewer had achieved this illustrious rank with multiple styles, and Calian had never heard of Gallow before.

When they rose, Calian rested his weight on his trailing leg, ready to switch stances at a moment's notice. The thing Calian immediately noticed was that though he was a practitioner of the Moon God style, which relied heavily on aggressive feints and punishing counters, Gallow did not adopt an attackers stance. He had also slipped to the Waning Light stance, mirroring his own posture. Like two prowling beasts they stalked each other in a circle, waiting for the first flinch of weakness.

This came as Calian switched to the Waxing Crescent stance, his sword hand raising to bring the line of the blade horizontal to his head, the edge pointed towards the hollow of Gallow's throat. Gallow took this brief moment in time to lunge forwards, his sword swinging upwards in a dangerous arc. Unlike the Water God's Style, which relied on swift movement and piercing strikes, the Moon God's style was developed with heavily armored foes in mind. A cut like this was meant to strike the chin of the enemy's helm, to either knock it off completely or daze its wearer.

Calian leaned into the strike, slapping down his partner's sword with the flat of his blade and taking full advantage of the fact that the wooden swords had no handguard to slide the naked edge of his practice sabre across its surface, intending to strike the hands. Gallow realized this and immediately pulled back, his stance switching as his lead foot was planted firmly behind him. He pushed Calian's blade upwards, then stabbed swiftly for his head.

Calian immediately substituted his Moon God's style for the Sun God's. Using the sword as more of an addition to the body than the main weapon, the Sun God style utilized small twinswords and supplemented their lack of reach with the full use of their body. Twisting backwards, Calian kicked his opponent's hand up, using the momentum of the kick to spring into a backwards somersault, launching himself back to his feet.

When he landed he immediately re-adopted the Moon God Style's Waning Light stance, his sword again held below his hip, but paused when he noticed his opponent hadn't pressed forward with an attack. Gallow looked at his hand, then looked back at him. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking his head with disbelief.

"Apologies." He said, adopting the Waxing Crescent stance once more. "But I simply must know. Who was your instructor?"

Calian paused for a few moments, before answering him honestly. "Masters Trygia Urthud and Namore Vital." He said, and Gallow nodded to himself.

"I see. Thank you, I was burning with curiosity. We can resume."

Calian nodded, and they both edged towards each other once more. He had known that Gallow would be good, as a Chaplain. But he had nearly lost the spar in that single exchange. If he was being truthful to himself, and it might have been pure arrogance, he had wanted to win the spar by only using the Moon God's Style. But before him was a man who had no doubt seen battle countless times, and just as many countless times had lived while his enemies had been slain.

No, it wasn't a 'might be'. It was arrogance, plain and simple.

Taking a deep breath, he recentered to himself. Calmly switching from the Moon God's style, he placed his lead foot forward, turning side on as he adopted the Water God's style.

Gallow too seemed to sense the change, as he switched from Waxing Crescent to Waning Light, becoming more defensive. But in a battle of masters, that brief moment of time in between a change of stance was critical.

Having still not fully found his footing after the stance change, Gallow was unprepared for the onslaught that came. Calian dashed forwards, skipping to the side as the same strike from below came. His sabre skittered along the edge of Gallow's sword, but as he attempted to pull back, Calian changed styles once more, to the Sun God's. His foot lashed out, catching the back of Gallow's leading knee and causing it to buckle. Gallow hurriedly raised his sword in an attempt to block the next strike, but was unprepared for the change again into the Moon God's Eclipse stance, a powerful over head strike coming from above him. It knocked his weapon back downwards, and Calian pierced towards Gallow's throat, just about to win the matc-

Calian blinked, Gallow's sword pressed against his throat.

Calian was on his back, his sword kicked away into the onlooking crowd. He looked up, dumbfounded, between the wooden sabre pressing downwards into the hollow of his throat and Gallow's expression of both surprise and… shame? For a moment he could have sworn that Gallow's eyes were glowing silver, but with a blink he found them to be their regular amber color. A trick of the light, perhaps?

Calian frowned as he tried to remember what had just happened. He had been poised to strike Gallow's throat, yet he was the one on his back, in the losing position. The sense of incongruity left him dazed, his head thick with fog for a few moments before he rationalized that he must not have broken his guard down enough before going for the finishing strike.

"You win." Calian said reluctantly, and Gallow nodded, reversing his grip on the sparring weapon and extending a hand down to him. Calian took it, rolling to his feet with Gallow's help as he pressed the sparring weapon into Calian's hands. The crew around them remained eerily quiet, as they too seemed to have questioned what they witnessed. Calian himself was still confused as to how he'd lost, but accepted his defeat cleanly.

He bowed to Gallow, and finally the onlookers approached him. They knew how much pride he had in his swordsmanship, and more than a few of them were offering him consoling words. Tikan, though, had a bright smile on his face as he clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"You've gotta teach me how you did that hand spring thing! It was brilliant!" He practically begged, and Calian wordlessly nodded. His wounded pride wouldn't allow him to say anything, for fear that his voice would crack. He looked past the crowd, towards Gallow who had begun walking down to the lower deck with his robed companion. But not before she turned to give Calian another look, that same feeling as before causing his hair to stand on end.

"ALRIGHT EVERYONE! THAT WAS A GOOD SHOW, WHICH I'M SURE HAS MOTIVATED MORE THAN A FEW OF YOU TO START SCRUBBING THE DECK!" Kalot's bassy voice boomed out over the clamoring crew, who immediately stiffened and went silent. Calian turned to look at him hesitantly, taking in his hulking form.

"Uncle Kal-"

"YOU TOO! GRAB A BRUSH AND GET TO SCRUBBING!"

Calian groaned, but set off to do as the first mate had ordered.

Below deck, Gallow and a small woman sat in a cabin to themselves. His smile was gone, and he was rubbing his throat, directly where Calian's sword point would have struck.

"I told you that you would lose." Said the woman, her hood still up even in the privacy of their quarters.

Gallow didn't protest. Against a mortal man, especially one who had yet to turn twenty, any use of power greater than that of a mortal's could only be considered a loss. He tugged off one of his gloves, looking at the glowing rings of silver light on the back of his hand. They formed crescent arcs, growing in length with each ring, the outermost arc being the largest. There were five in total, the center ring having been depleted by nearly a third. Its light was diminished, though it was quickly regaining its luster the longer he observed it.

"He is a skilled fighter." He murmured, and the woman seemed to pause before nodding in agreement. "You're certain he's the one from your dreams?"

This time there was no pause, as the woman looked up into his amber eyes. For the briefest moment, he caught a glimpse of her own eyes. They glowed a bright silver in the darkness of the cabin, untold power within their depths.

"Yes." She confirmed, her tone filled with conviction. "There's no mistaking it. He is destined to become Lady Ha'Kor's next Herald."