The tide pool shimmered in the morning light, its surface as smooth as polished stone. The wind was gentle, a soft current of air that moved the ancient trees in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. The waves lapped quietly against the shore, a low, consistent beat, a contrast to the tumultuous chaos they had escaped. Asa stood barefoot at the edge of the water, his posture relaxed, his presence a quiet, commanding anchor in the stillness.
Tala and Kofi stood nearby, watching him. They had expected to be given a task, an exercise, or a technique to master. They had expected to be taught how to do something. Instead, there was only silence.
"You are not here to command," Asa said, his voice a low, gravelly hum that carried easily over the gentle lap of the waves. "You are here to listen."
He stepped into the pool, letting the cool, clear water swirl around his ankles. "Water is not a weapon. It is a memory. It remembers every stone it's touched, every sky it's mirrored, and every wound it's healed. It holds the history of the world in its rhythm." He gestured with a hand, and a single drop of water rose from the pool, hovering, trembling, before returning to the surface without a splash.
He turned to Tala. "You are storm-born. You want to move. To strike. But that is the way of the sword. The core is the way of the tide. You want to force the water to your will, but first, you must learn to feel it."
Tala stepped forward, his feet sinking into the wet, cool sand at the bottom of the pool. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, a silent prayer to his body to sync its pulse with the steady rhythm of the tide. The wind brushed his skin, a soft touch he now felt as an invisible current. The water lapped at his ankles, and he felt its cold, a physical memory of the ocean's vastness. He tried to think of nothing, to clear his mind as Asa had taught, but it was hard. His mind was still filled with the roar of the Leviathan, the taste of salt, and the sharp sting of his wound.
He stood there for a long time, so long that the sun warmed his back and the air around him grew heavy. He began to grow frustrated. This was not like fighting. There was no enemy, no blade to hone, and no movement to perfect. There was only stillness and a silence that demanded something he couldn't give. He felt a small throb of anger, and the water around his ankles seemed to stir, a small, impatient ripple.
He took a deep breath and let the anger go. He remembered Asa's words. Listen. He stopped trying to make something happen. He stopped trying to do anything. He just... listened.
Then he felt it. Not with his hands, but with his soul. A flicker. A pull. A tiny, almost imperceptible whisper from the water. It was not a call to action. It was a soft, insistent song, and it was singing to him. The song was ancient and beautiful, and it spoke of the endless cycles of rain, of rivers, and of the great, silent depths of the sea. It spoke of a language he had forgotten and a home he had lost.
He opened his eyes. A single drop of water hovered above his palm, trembling, then fell back into the pool. It was a small, insignificant thing, but to Tala, it was a victory. He had not forced it to move. He had simply listened, and it had answered.
Asa nodded. "Good. You felt it."
Tala smiled faintly, the first genuine smile he had worn in a long time. "It's like... it wants to move."
Asa stepped closer, his gaze steady, and his voice dropped to a low, serious tone. "You felt more than water, didn't you?"
Tala hesitated, a sudden confusion clouding the simple joy of his small victory. "I think so. There was a flicker... a heat. A rush of wind. Even the ground beneath me felt like it was shifting."
Asa nodded, a look of quiet confirmation on his face. "I thought so. You are the last of the pure Primal Ones. That means you carry the rhythm of all elements—water, fire, earth, and air. It's more than just a pool of magic. It's a tapestry of all things that are and were. It is the breath of the world inside you."
He knelt beside Tala, placing a hand on the boy's chest. "The Primal Core is not just power. It is a memory. It is a rhythm. It is a song that your ancestors sang to the land. You were born to be a keeper of that song. You are not just a wielder. You are a bridge between the world of men and the soul of the earth."
Tala looked down at his hands, his head swimming with the revelation. He had felt the power, raw and untamed. The power he had used to wound the Leviathan. But Asa was not speaking of power. He was speaking of a deeper connection. He was speaking of a purpose.
"So I can control all of them?" he asked, a hint of awe and a spark of fear in his voice.
"In time," Asa said. "But control is not the goal. Harmony is. The Primal Core also allows you to tap into chi—the energy of life that flows through all living things. It allows you to feel the beast's heart, the rhythm of creatures, and of the wild itself. You are not just a wielder of magic. You are a bridge. You can speak to the very fabric of the world, to the animals, to the land."
Tala's eyes widened. The lessons from Bjorn and Elikem had been about fighting and survival. Asa's lessons were about living. They were about a responsibility Tala didn't know he had. He looked at the Leviathan's remains, now just a source of food and shelter. He had killed it. Now he was learning to feel its memory, its song. The thought was heavy. "Why me?"
Asa's voice was quiet, a low, solemn whisper. "Because the world needed one more verse before the silence. And you, little storm, were born to sing it."
Asa turned to Kofi. "Your turn."
Kofi hesitated, his hand reaching for the box, for the comfort of its familiar pulse. "I'm not like him. My core is not pure. It is just water."
"No," Asa said. "You're not. You are a shield, a bulwark. But you listen better than he does."
Kofi stepped into the pool. He didn't close his eyes. He didn't reach for the water. He simply stood there, his mind a quiet, waiting presence. He listened to the sea. He felt the weight of the Leviathan's memory, the pain in his own hand from the dagger. He felt Tala's silent plea for him to succeed. He breathed. He listened.
And then it happened.
The water didn't rise. The fire didn't flicker. But the energy in the air changed. The light seemed to bend around him, a silent, swirling vortex. The sand beneath his feet hardened. The wind, which had been gentle, suddenly swirled, a quiet whirlwind that tugged at the leaves on the trees. The fire from the morning's embers flared, then dimmed. All around him, the elements moved. Not with his will, but with his presence. They were drawn to him.
Kofi staggered back, his breath caught in his throat. He looked at his hands, his eyes wide with a deep, silent terror. "I felt... everything."
Asa's calm facade broke for a moment. He stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Kofi. He placed a hand on the boy's chest, not to test, but to listen. The rhythm was there. It was faint. It was chaotic. It was alive. But it was not a single melody. It was a screaming cacophony of a thousand different songs. It was the rhythm of a pure core, and it was tearing the boy apart.
"That's not supposed to be possible," Asa said, his voice a low, strangled whisper. His eyes were no longer calm. They were filled with a terrible, familiar sadness.
Tala frowned. "But he doesn't have a Primal Core. He's of water."
Asa nodded slowly, his hand still on Kofi's chest. "Exactly. He is a conduit for a power he was never meant to hold. There was one other. A child born without a Primal Core who awakened all elements. He was a beacon of power, a promise of a future that would never come. His body couldn't hold the rhythm. It tore him apart. He lived for eight years. His life was a slow, painful burning."
Kofi's voice was quiet, so quiet it was almost a thought. "So I'll die?"
Asa's gaze was steady. "Not if we learn your rhythm. Not if we teach your body to breathe with the elements, not fight them. Not if we find a way to contain the energy before it consumes you."
Tala stepped forward, his hand on Kofi's shoulder. He didn't care about the risk, about the power, about the prophecy. All he saw was his brother in danger. "Then we'll make sure he lives longer."
Asa looked at them both, the two small boys with the weight of the world on their shoulders. "You are rewriting the story of the Primal Ones. But remember, rhythm is fragile. You must learn to bend before it breaks you."
The boys sat by the pool as the sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow over the quiet sanctuary. Tala practiced lifting droplets of water, now with a new understanding, a deeper purpose. Kofi sat in silence, his eyes closed, feeling the elements hum beneath his skin. He was not just a boy. He was a living paradox, a vessel for a power that could either heal him or destroy him.
Asa watched them both, his eyes sad but also filled with a new kind of resolve. They were not just his students. They were his final hope, a last chance to right the wrongs of the past. The stakes were no longer just their lives. They were the fate of the world.
"You are not here to master the world," he said, his voice a quiet, solemn promise. "You are here to remember it."
And the tide rolled in, soft and steady, as the first lesson ended, and the true battle began.