SO! Here I am with the first chapter of this new fanfic. PLEASE let me know what all I could improve, as I need all the advise I could get.
(The pic of him in future)
Happy reading.
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The island was a small patch of green marooned in the vast, unnervingly flat sea. This stretch of ocean was the Calm Belt. The water here didn't move; there were no waves, no wind, not even a breath of breeze to stir the palm fronds. It was a perfect, polished mirror reflecting the sterile blue sky, but beneath that glassy surface, darkness moved. It was a dangerous mirror, a flawless trap that hid the monsters of the deep.
On the island, in a sandy cove bleached white by constant sun, a very serious child was at work.
He was barely a year old, having only recently gained the sturdy balance required to walk. His limbs still held the cute and clumsy roundness of infancy. His appearance was starkly memorable: his skin was a warm, deep tan, and his hair was pure, midnight black, except for one thick, disobedient streak of brilliant white that slashed across his right temple. His eyes, already set with intense, adult-like concentration on the task before him, were a sharp, clear gold.
The object of his attention was a two-handed battleaxe. It was made of salvaged, dense wood, with a heavy, rounded head designed for striking, not cutting. It was far too large. The handle was so thick he could barely get his small hands around it, and the entire weapon was easily taller than his whole body. It was a heavy, frustrating burden, yet he treated it as a challenge.
He tightened his grip, braced his wide little legs in the shifting sand, and let out a strained, high-pitched grunt of pure effort.
The wooden axe head lifted a few inches, wobbled randomly, and began to swing in a slow, clumsy arc. The weight was too much. The motion pulled his entire, small body off-balance. He stumbled forward and then toppled over backward. The heavy axe landed beside him with a dull thud.
He lay there for a long moment, chest heaving, his breath catching in his throat. His face was set in a deep, serious scowl. There was no sound of a cry or whimper. He simply stared up at the featureless blue sky, deeply annoyed by his weakness. After catching his breath, he rolled over, pushed himself onto his hands and knees, and crawled back to the weapon. He grabbed the thick handle and used the axe to pull his tired body back to his feet.
He was Aster. And he wanted to be strong. Why did he want to do that? He had no clue.
"Aster! Lunch!"
The call was clear, cutting easily through the silence of the Calm Belt. It came from the small, sturdy cottage built just at the tree line, framed by palm trees. His mother, Eris, stood on the porch, wiping her hands on a simple apron.
She was tall and had wavy, light-colored hair that fell past her shoulders. Her face was strong, kind, and marked by a lifetime of hidden conflicts. It looked exactly like the woman on the faded bounty poster Aster had once secretly found.
Aster's scowl softened into one of reluctant acknowledgment. He gave the heavy axe a final pat, promising himself a full swing next time. He turned and toddled toward the house. Training was the absolute priority, but his mother said that no strength was built without food.
Due to that, lunch became super important for him.
Life on the island was simple, yet peaceful.
Aster's days revolved entirely around the axe. He woke when the sun first touched the rough wooden floor of his small room, pushed off his blanket, and crawled out of his little bed. His first action was always to go to the corner where the battleaxe was kept. He dragged it, scraping the wood along the floor and out the front door onto the sand. The sound was the first noise of their day.
His mother would already be up. The smell of cooking fish, caught from the rocks on the far side of the island, or simmering soup filled the small house. She often paused in her work, shaking her head and smiling as she watched his small body, already excited for his "training" session.
"Breakfast first, little warrior," Eris called out. He paused, conflicted. The war was internal: the need for immediate power versus the strategic requirement of nourishment. After minutes of brutal war between training and breakfast, breakfast always won.
He sat in his high chair, which was ingeniously rigged from a tall stool with a rope tied around the middle for safety. He ate whatever she put in front of him. Eris was a good cook. The fresh fish was always perfectly prepared, and the vegetables came from the large, well-tended garden behind the cottage.
Eris was always busy. After breakfast, while Aster began his serious, one-sided battle with the wooden axe, she worked relentlessly. She weeded the garden, her motions quick and efficient. She hung laundry, which was just Aster's small tunics and her own simple dresses, on a line strung between two stout palm trees. She spent hours indoors, mending their clothes by hand or weaving new baskets from the tough reeds gathered from the marshy side of the island. Her focus was on point, just like his.
Sometimes, Aster stopped his training to just watch her. He was a quiet child, profoundly reserved. He didn't babble or laugh easily. His emotions were faint, small pulses of feeling: a slight widening of his eyes when he spotted a colorful, strange crab on the beach. A tiny, quick smile when his mom brought him a cool cup of fresh water, his hand briefly reaching out to touch her arm in thanks. A deep, frustrated frown when he failed to lift the heavy battle-axe.
Eris saw every one of those pulses. She never spoke down to him. She spoke to him as if he were a person, capable of understanding the nuances of struggle.
"Your form is off, Aster," she said one morning, walking over. He stopped, holding the axe awkwardly, and looked up at her, waiting. "You're trying to lift with just your arms. It's a waste of energy. You have to use your legs. Your whole body. Like this."
She stood beside him, mimicking his stance. Then she moved, executing a slow, powerful motion that started deep in her feet, twisted through her hips like a spring being coiled, and flowed effortlessly into her shoulders. It was graceful, but Aster could feel the raw, contained power in the motion. It was not mere physicality.
He watched, his golden eyes soaking in the lesson. Then he tried to copy her. His attempt was a wobbly, clumsy imitation, but she nodded.
"Better. You shifted the weight. Again."
He tried again. And again. He practiced that one single motion for the next hour, his small face beaded with sweat, until his limbs shook with exhaustion. He wanted to be strong. The reason did not matter. He just knew it was the most important thing he could do. He had to be strong, like... well, he wasn't sure. He just had to be.(He can be a dumbazz sometimes)
In the heat of the afternoon, the sun became too much even for the shade of the cottage. His mother declared training over. She picked him up, ignoring his small grunt of protest, and carried him inside for a nap. He was usually too tired to fight the decision.
While he slept, she sat on the porch. A long, well-used spear lay across her lap. Her gaze was always directed outward, toward the vast, empty Calm Belt.
Aster knew this place was death. He had seen the shadows beneath the surface. Massive, impossible Sea Kings, serpentine shapes that could blot out the light in the deep water. They were larger than the entire cottage, bigger than the whole cove. Yet, they never came close. They always slid past their island, avoiding it with a noticeable detour, as if the landmass wasn't even there.
This avoidance was because of his mother.
He learned her secret one night. He woke from a bad dream, a dark dream he couldn't recall, and walked quietly into the main room. His mother wasn't there. The front door was open, letting in the cool night air.
He crept to the door and peeked out.
His mother was standing on the beach, exactly at the edge of the water. The twin moons were full, casting a bright, silvery light over the entire cove. She was standing perfectly still, her eyes closed, and her hands open at her sides.
Then she began to glow.
It wasn't a fierce, blinding light, but a soft, pale silver aura that seemed to emanate from deep inside her. It pulsed slowly, gently, with the rhythm of her steady breathing. As he watched, the light seeped out of her hands, spreading across the sand, over the water, and up into the air. It grew, stretching like a huge soap bubble, until it formed a massive, shimmering dome that covered their entire island and the shallow waters around it.
He could see the light ripple as it passed over the highest palm trees, and he could feel it. It was a sensation of deep, absolute quiet and suppression. It was like someone had put a heavy blanket over the world, muffling all sound and suppressing all life. It hid them. It protected them. It made them non-existent to the beasts of the sea.
He watched, his eyes wide, absorbing the knowledge. He wasn't scared; he was only intensely curious. This was his mother. This was her power.
As the dome settled and became invisible, his mother opened her eyes. She didn't turn; she just spoke.
"You should be in bed, Aster."
He didn't flinch. He just watched her.
She turned her head, her wavy hair catching the silver moonlight. She smiled at him, a small, tired smile that held deep resolve. "It's okay, little one. It's just something I have to do. To keep us safe." He nodded, a single, solemn dip of his chin. He understood "safe."
She knew he watched her almost every night. He pretended to be asleep, but he cracked his eyes open and watched her go outside to perform the ritual. He watched her raise the silent, protective barrier. It became another part of their routine. A necessary, vital secret they shared.
The months bled into one another. Aster's legs grew stronger; he was close to managing a full, controlled swing of the axe now, as long as he didn't lose focus. Eris's garden flourished, providing for them. The days passed, peaceful and warm, marked only by the movement of the sun and the twin moons.
Then, one afternoon, the familiar rhythm was violently shattered.
Aster was on the beach, grunting as he tried to chop a piece of driftwood, his "chop" still more of a heavy, clumsy thud. Eris was nearby, hanging up fish to dry on a simple wooden rack.
Suddenly, she went perfectly, terrifyingly still. The fish in her hand dropped to the sand.
Aster stopped, his axe held halfway in the air. He looked at his mother. Her gaze was locked on the distant sea. Her face was pale, tight with a panic he had never 'felt', it felt like an overwhelming fear that eclipsed her usual strength. It was weird, but he could feel it.
He followed her gaze.
There was something in the water. Far out, a shape that was moving. It was a person.
It was a man, swimming.
He cut through the Calm Belt like it was a normal swim, with impossible speed and power, leaving a long, clear wake of disturbed water behind him. He was swimming steadily as if the dangerous sea were a normal lake.
As they watched, a massive, serpentine shadow passed beneath the man.
Suddenly, a gigantic Sea King appeared out of the water. Aster's small hands instinctively clenched the wooden axe.
The man stopped swimming. He paused, suspended in the water, and glanced down into the deep where the shadow moved.
Then it happened.
A sudden, terrifying pressure slammed down on the island. A heavy weight crushed the air, making Aster's small legs tremble violently and his head spin with nausea. It was sharp, loud, and absolute, nothing like his mother's quiet, silver-hued barrier. This was pure, aggressive dominance.
The pressure hit the Sea King. The massive shadow thrashed violently, in blind, animalistic panic, and then darted away, swirling the calm water in its desperate retreat.
The crushing pressure vanished as quickly as it came. The man resumed swimming toward them, unaffected.
Eris's hands flew to her mouth. She was shaking violently, overwhelmed by the sheer, devastating force of the aura that had been briefly unleashed.
The man kept swimming, getting closer and closer. He was towering, immensely powerful even when wet. He finally reached the shallows, his feet crunching loudly on the sandy bottom. He stood up, water streaming from his impossibly broad shoulders, and stumbled slightly onto the beach.
His hair was long, black, and spiky, sticking out in wild, wet clumps. He was not exhausted. His eyes were intense, almost maniacal, and they locked instantly onto Eris. A massive triumphant grin appeared on his face.
"Eris," he breathed, a raw sound of relief and joy. "It's been a while."
Aster watched as his mother's face completely transformed. The fear was instantly vaporized by a joy so intense it seemed to vibrate off her skin. A huge, unguarded smile broke across her face, followed by a loud, happy sob, a sound of relief he had never heard her make.
"You idiot!" she cried and ran towards him.
She threw herself across the sand and crashed into his arms. He laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed across the calm water, and spun her around, holding her tightly to his massive chest. She was crying and laughing all at the same time, hitting his chest with her fists in overwhelmed affection.
Aster stood his ground, axe held low at his side, watching them. He was no longer wary; he was engulfed in the pure, powerful wave of happiness pouring from his mother.
He let out a long, quiet sigh, a sound of acceptance and relief. He was glad. His mom was finally happy.
He started walking toward them, his small legs moving slowly, deliberately, dragging the wooden axe through the sand.
Eris pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. The man looked over her shoulder and finally saw Aster. His already massive grin somehow stretched even wider, a terrifying yet welcoming expression.
Aster stopped a few feet away. He looked up at the tall, wet man who held his mother.
"It's been a while, Dad," Aster said. His voice was soft, barely a mumble, but in the oppressive silence of the Calm Belt, it was perfectly clear.
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