Bursting into the sky above the White Beaches resort, the angel of Valor scanned across luxurious docks and sleeping yachts for the source of the drums of war.

The drums always summoned her to battle. Or, more precisely, the drums thundered in advance of any fight. Never truly silent for conflict never truly slept. Yet her crown resonated with the war where an angel of Valor was needed, and so she arrived to prevent tragedy again and again.

Though White Beaches was yet quiet. The resort an hour east of Waves dominated a sheltered cove with its trademark ivory sands. A few guards patrolled between the palatial huts of the elite guests sleeping two bells before dawn, and…

There.

Out at the farthest dock, between two yachts, an octopus the size of a schooner dragged itself out of the water.

Someone noticed; screams of alarm rang out. Guards armed with pitch lanterns and spears raced onto the dock to face off with the oversized cephalopod.

“Am I truly required for this?” she wondered, tapping a finger on the pommel of the Hand of God.

Someone else glanced skyward, and the joyous cry rose. “Holy Tempest!”

The name a curse but when there is work to be done, she reflected.

Still, she contemplated the beast. The drums and valor led her to the battle, but they offered little guidance on the wisdom of the wielded Blade.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

It is large, certainly, but many such creatures grow to enormous size in Mother’s depths. Indeed, the Stormmother had kept mankind to this continent in part by raising leviathans in the deep waters!

Alisandra wondered if she could command the creature. Tempest, the mortals named her, and she felt the weight of that mantle. If she bore it, could she not wield it? Was she not the daughter of the Storm, born and Bloomed to slay the Wyrm?

She hesitated. One thing to bear the name in Mother’s absence, accepting the convenient confusion of mortal Grace to preserve the continuity of their stories…

To minimize the disruption of her very existence as a Power and Principality by tying it to a concept not loved but at least understood.

Another to drink deep of its echo.

For the thousandth time, she wished Father was here. His journal was a pale substitute.

A nervous guard called, “Oh holy and most gracious Tempest, the beast – um – the beast approaches!”

Alisandra released her grip on gravity and fell to the dock between the creature and her guards. Hands on her hips, she issued her edict.

“Shoo.”

The octopus sucked its tentacles inwards, shrinking away from the angel, but refused to re-enter the waters.

“What do you fear more than I?”

Its strange eye met hers, and one tendril pointed to the shallow water beneath the dock.

Mildly surprised, Alisandra glanced down. What mystery was low tide?

Then she remembered the sailor’s time charts. Low tide is not due for six bells.

And all that missing water curled in a dome around something slimy, black, and many-teethed.

Realizing its cover blown, the little echo of Gamchicoth shot forward a black stalk topped with ravenous teeth.

Too slow by half!

She stepped to the side, letting it bite into a yacht instead, and nodded to the octopus.

“Thank you for the warning.”

Alisandra drew her Blade and set about her work.