Location: The Storm Break Coast — a rugged, wind-lashed expanse south of the Tide woven Sea.
The cliffs here whisper with ancient names — shipwrecks caught in vines, relics buried in barnacle-choked tombs, and long-forgotten outposts of sea-blooded kin.
Ashkai, guided by instinct and dream, arrives alone.
🌧️ The Journey South
His descent from the Tempest root Highlands has taken days. Each night, dreams haunt him:
A glowing crown sinking through darkness.
A leviathan's eye watching from beneath coral.
Feng Xian, in a tide born chamber, reaching out — as if calling to him, or warning him.
The storm brand on his chest pulses, especially when rain falls or waves crash.
He knows this isn't mere curiosity now.
The Crown recognizes his blood.
Or fears it.
🪨 The Hidden Sect: The Reef Shroud Monastery
Hidden along the cliffs is a sect long believed extinct — the Reef Shroud Monastery, a hybrid order of storm walkers and tidal monks who once served the Marethren but vanished after a civil schism centuries ago.
Their domain is invisible unless the tide is at its lowest — and Ashkai arrives just as the sea retreats at dusk.
The cliffs shimmer, revealing a hidden tide gate carved into stone, framed with barnacle-etched runes.
Ashkai's lightning flickers — the runes awaken.
He is let in.
🧘 The Reef Shroud Monks
Inside, the atmosphere is dim and drenched in salt. Faint glows ripple along coral-grown pillars. Monks wrapped in kelp-thread robes sit silently, their voices lost to a vow taken long ago — only their tattoos speak.
The Elder of Salt and Silence, a man with storm cloud hair and glassy sea-eyes, welcomes Ashkai not with words, but with a vision.
⚡💧 "You carry a brand long denied, boy. Yet the Crown sings for more than one."
"There were once three bearers to the Tide flame pact."
"One of blood. One of breath. And one… of storm."
⚔️ A Warning and a Gift
The Reef Shroud Monks give Ashkai an old coral-twined relic — a shard of a Trident Keystone, once part of the Leviathan Gate that sealed the Abyssal Pearl Vault.
It resonates faintly with his storm light.
"You are not meant to walk his path," the elder says.
"But you may be forced to cross it."
Ashkai's eyes harden. His storm is not a thing of peace — but of precision. Of fury waiting for the right moment.
He bows, thanks them with a vow, and leaves at first light.
Ashkai stands on the precipice of the reef-strewn coast. In the distance, he sees the shimmer of the Tide woven Pavilion's outer wards — and farther still, the veil over Zaryss pulsing faintly.
Behind him, clouds gather unnaturally.
Before him, currents converge.
"Hold on, Feng Xian," he murmurs. "You're not the only one the sea remembers."