The first light of dawn filtered through the canopy, casting golden beams onto the thin mist drifting above the stream.
Aerax was the first to rise. His back was still damp with dew, and the dark fur on his body outlined each taut muscle. He stood, stretched, and silently walked to the water's edge, splashing cold water onto his face. The chill woke him fully, pulling his mind back from the haze of dreams.
Minoros followed soon after, carrying a wooden skewer leftover from the night before. He finished off a piece of cold meat, chewing thoughtfully as he scanned their surroundings. The jungle still loomed on all sides, but the daylight softened its menace.
"Where do we go now?" Aerax asked, eyes fixed on the eastern light.
Minoros nodded in a direction. "If I remember correctly, there's a trail that leads to the island's edge that way. From there, we should get a full view — maybe find a way off."
They packed quickly, taking only the remaining dried meat and a few simple tools. Aerax tucked a wild boar horn knife into his belt, while Minoros hoisted his familiar twin-bladed axe over his shoulder. Their footsteps were sure and steady as they moved through the jungle, where twisted roots gripped the ground like fingers, and the thick canopy above broke the sunlight into scattered golden dots.
After several hours of walking, they reached a high cliff overlooking the sea. The wind roared around them, carrying salt and the distant crash of waves. Below, the entire island stretched out in all directions — green forest, craggy mountains, and steep cliffs wrapping most of the shoreline.
Aerax scanned the view until his gaze settled on a low-lying area — a river winding its way to the sea, creating a natural escape route. He pointed. "There. If we want to leave this place."
Minoros was silent for a moment, then nodded. "If we follow that path, we'll reach the eastern shore. The closest city-state from there is Neosis. I've heard of it — a long-standing haven of scholars, art, and culture."
Aerax frowned. "You know the way?"
"I've lived for centuries, heard countless tales of the outside world, once even guarded ancient trade gates. I've never left this island, but I know the sea routes — and the directions."
Aerax was quiet for a moment, then gave a short nod. "Good. Because me... I know nothing. Before washing up here, I was just a slave. The ship carrying me sank in the night. The sea rose up, and the wind howled like mad laughter. I nearly died."
"That was Thalakor — god of the sea and the deep. He curses all who defy divine order. And you, Aerax... born from lowly roots, chosen to become a god. He will never forgive that."
Aerax clenched his teeth. "I don't plan to stay here forever. If I keep being afraid, I'll never break the chains they wrapped around me from birth."
They decided to build a large raft, strong enough to withstand the sea. They chose the best wood from the southern forest, using axe and horn-blade to shape it, binding the logs with jungle vines and sinew from the beasts they had slain.
In three days, they crafted a crude but sturdy vessel. Minoros carved an ancient spiral onto the bow — a protective sigil of Krasious, hoping the old god would shield them from Thalakor's wrath.
On the morning of the fourth day, they pushed the raft into the river that led to the sea. The wind blew against them, the sky overcast. Waves began to rise even before they left the coast, but neither of them turned back.
The sky darkened, and as they passed beyond the island's shadow, the ocean seemed to come alive — breathing, growling, watching.
The storm was no natural thing. It was the will of Thalakor — the deep god enraged.
Thunder cracked above. Dark clouds swirled into a vortex. Waves surged like divine hands reaching to crush the tiny raft. Aerax stood firm, eyes blazing, grip tight around his horn-blade. Each time a wave struck, he met it with his body, unflinching.
Minoros held the raft steady with all his strength, using his twin axe as a makeshift rudder. They had to shout to hear each other, but words no longer mattered — their wills had become one. Together, they braced against each surge, bodies soaked, lips stinging with salt.
The sea screamed, as if trying to tear them apart. Giant fish surfaced, creatures of the deep rising to peer at them. But none dared come closer. There was something in Aerax then — a mortal, yes, but with god-blood in his veins — that even the ancient beasts feared.
The night dragged on, endless. But then, at last, a faint light shimmered on the distant horizon. A line of land slowly took shape. Neosis — the eastern shore.
White sands shimmered through the mist, gleaming like silver under the morning sun. Low cliffs rolled gently inland, and palm forests spread deep green leaves toward the sky. Farther off, small dots became visible — tents, ships, watchtowers — lining the coast. They had made it.
As the raft scraped ashore, Aerax jumped off first. His feet touched the sand — strange and familiar all at once. Minoros followed, axe still across his shoulders. Together they stood there, at the edge of a new land, facing a future both uncertain and full of promise.
They had passed the trial. But the world beyond — that was the true battlefield. Where prophecy, divine hatred, and ancient powers awaited.
Above, the sun broke free from the sea, shining straight into Aerax's eyes — the eyes of a man who had risen from the depths, and was walking toward the throne meant to be his.