The air was thick with humidity, clinging to the skin like a second layer. The sun hung high in the sky, casting sharp beams of light through the dense canopy of trees that surrounded the sect compound. Nestled deep within the Mist Veil Mountain Range, the sect stood as a secluded sanctuary, its structures carved into the rocky terrain and adorned with moss-covered stones. Wooden walkways wound between buildings, connecting pavilions, meditation halls, and training grounds. Streams trickled nearby, their gentle murmurs blending with the distant hum of activity.
Despite its serene appearance, the sect was far from peaceful today. Disciples hurried along the paths, their robes rustling softly as they carried supplies or whispered excitedly about their progress. Elders moved more deliberately, their long, flowing garments brushing against the ground as they oversaw lessons under shaded pavilions. Their voices carried authority, though not unkindness, as they instructed younger members on the intricacies of accessing the Ocean of Knowledge—the boundless expanse of golden streams, threads, motes, and swirls that lay beyond ordinary perception.
Kale sat at the back of the dojo, his posture slouched despite the strict rules about discipline. His disheveled blond hair fell messily over his forehead, matted slightly from days without proper care. Golden-yellow eyes—once bright but now dulled by years of neglect—stared blankly ahead. He wore the same plain gray robe as the other disciples, though his bore patches and frayed edges, evidence of countless repairs. No one had bothered to give him new clothes in years; after all, why waste resources on someone who contributed so little?
His mind wandered, drifting away from the elder's lecture. Why did he even bother participating in these "seeking" practices? As far as he could remember, he'd never been able to access the Ocean of Knowledge, no matter how hard he tried. The elders often spoke of it with reverence, describing it as a divine source of wisdom available to anyone with enough focus. "A boundless expanse of golden light," Elder Myrra had said during one such sermon, her voice echoing in Kale's memory. "Threads of insight drift lazily, motes of knowledge spark like fireflies, and swirls of potential pulse endlessly. It is not truly an ocean, for there are no waves or water—but it resembles one."
To Kale, those words sounded like poetry meant for someone else. While others around him eagerly sought glimpses of magic or practical skills, he remained locked out entirely. Even the Shallows—the most basic layer of the Ocean, filled with mundane knowledge like farming techniques, crafting methods, and simple healing remedies—eluded him completely.
The dojo grew quieter as the session began. This particular exercise involved young sect members attempting to connect with the Ocean. For many, this was a crucial step toward mastering greater abilities. Some had already succeeded in gleaning insights into elemental magic—conjuring small flames, summoning gusts of wind, or manipulating water droplets suspended midair. Others demonstrated remarkable utility, growing crops faster than nature intended or crafting tools imbued with subtle enchantments. A few prodigies even dabbled in telekinesis, levitating pebbles or moving objects with mere thought.
But Kale? He didn't even know what the Ocean felt like. Since childhood, he'd endured ridicule for his inability to access it. Sect members mocked him openly, calling him names like "Empty Vessel" or "Waste of Air." Even the younger initiates treated him with disdain, refusing to include him in group exercises or laughing when he stumbled during physical training. To them, he was a failure—a stain on the sect's reputation.
Instead of seeking knowledge, Kale spent his days performing menial tasks: sweeping leaves, washing clothes, scrubbing floors, and tending to the needs of others. It wasn't glamorous work, but it kept him fed and sheltered. Without it, he doubted the sect would have let him stay this long. Tomorrow marked his fifteenth birthday—or so he'd been told. No one else remembered or cared. Celebrating seemed pointless when you were invisible to everyone around you.
By sunset, Kale finished his chores. His hands were raw from hours of scrubbing, and his legs ached from hauling buckets of water up steep stairs. After a sparse meal of rice and boiled greens, he retreated quickly, avoiding the scornful glances of those who saw him as nothing more than trash—a burden to the sect.
His quarters were cramped, barely large enough to fit a narrow bed, a tiny patch of floor space, and a rickety drawer for his few belongings. Yet, there was a window, and through it, he could climb onto the roof. The rooftop became his sanctuary. On clear nights, he would lie there, gazing at the stars scattered across the endless black canvas above. Sometimes, he simply closed his eyes, letting the cool mountain breeze wash away the exhaustion of another grueling day.
Tonight, however, fatigue weighed heavily on him. Cleaning all day until the sun vanished left him drained. Still, he climbed onto the roof, settling into his usual spot. Midnight approached, marked only by the faint chiming of bells somewhere in the distance. "Happy birthday," he muttered bitterly, the words hollow in the silence. At least he had a place to stay, however meager it might be.
Just as he prepared to climb back inside and sleep, a sudden sensation washed over him. It started faintly, like a distant dream slipping through cracks in his consciousness. Then it settled deeper, resonating within him as if awakening a forgotten memory from another life. Motes of golden light appeared before his eyes, one by one, flickering like fireflies drawn to an unseen flame. His vision blurred, and soon, countless motes surrounded him, swirling and dancing in patterns too intricate to follow.
And then it opened—the boundless expanse stretched endlessly before him, glowing streams of golden light etched into his very being. Threads wove through the air, strings twisted and turned, and swirls pulsed with energy. This place… it was breathtaking. Every thread seemed alive, humming softly as if whispering secrets only he could hear. The beauty of it overwhelmed him, filling him with awe—and something else. Hope. For the first time in his life, Kale felt connected—to something vast, mysterious, and undeniably powerful.