Brinehollow Village

  A lean young man with light olive skin sat at the end of a pier looking out towards the endless expanse of open ocean. He held a long fishing pole, its string cast far out into the water, bobbing up and down with the passing waves. He shook his head. The fish weren’t biting this morning.

  Of course, they never did, not anymore.

  Maybe it was him. Maybe it was his father’s rod. Maybe it was the ocean itself. But no matter how many times he came out to the end of the pier to fish like he and his father used to, the damn things would never bite. Not for him anyway.

  Nolan’s family had never been the same after his father had died two years before. And the fish knew it. Whatever allegiance they had held to him, died with him too.

  “Hard to be a fisherman if the fish don’t bite,” Nolan grumbled to himself.

  Over the past two years, Nolan and his family had spent what remained of their savings after his father passed. He and his brother had done odd jobs around their village trying to make ends meet, but at the end of the day, it just wasn’t enough. Not for food, not for medicine, and not to care for their mother.

  While she wasn’t an old hag by any means, Nolan’s mother had a persistent cough that would flare up regularly and required her to rest often.

  Leaving Brinehollow wasn’t a simple decision. Being situated in the very South of the continent, there were no nearby villages to safely relocate their mother, especially not with her condition. The journey alone could kill her, if her affliction chose to bear its teeth. And picking up a new trade wasn’t any easier—apprenticeships required coin, and Brinehollow had no masters to train under. Just fishermen, fishmongers, and the stray craftsman.

  Still, something had to be done. It was Nolan’s responsibility to act. His best hope lay to the north, in the port city of Stormhold. There, he might find work aboard a fishing or cargo vessel.

  He knew it would be grueling work, but he was desperate, and given the recent incursions of the Ravaryn Empire on Kingdom territory, there was a need for fish to feed the Kingdom’s Army. Nolan had no family outside of the village so he couldn’t be sure he’d find a job immediately – but he was hopeful. Despite being a fisherman’s son, he was rather well built, if a little skinny.

  While he was well suited to life at sea, having been on a boat for much of his life, he could hardly stand to look over the water. All it ever reminded him of was his father, and how he was so cruelly stolen from him.

  With a sign, Nolan reeled in his line and made to walk back up the pier to go home, casting one last glance at the spot where he and his father used to fish together.

  —--

  Nolan returned just before midday. There were few clothes for him to pack, while his family didn’t live in squalor, he only had a handful of clothes made of worn, thin threads. Evidence of his status as a lowly fisherman.

  His only possession of true value was a small necklace made of some twine and his father’s lucky fishing hook on the end. One of the few mementos that he had to remember his father by, the hook was small and glimmered like gold. He’d once considered selling it, but when the moment came, he couldn’t bear to part with it. Giving it up would’ve felt like losing the last piece of his father.

  Nolan’s home was an ancient wooden building situated at the water’s edge. That house was where he’d been raised. As was his father, and his grandfather, and his father before him. In fact the house had been in his family for so long that nobody knew exactly when it had been built and had multiple additions over the centuries, a living record of their lineage.

  Brinehollow Village itself had been around since well before the formation of the Kingdom it now belonged to, and possibly since the era known as The Sundering, when the Gods waged a terrible war on each other and nearly wiped the world clean.

  During that time, the Gods had unleashed countless calamities upon the world in the form of mighty storms, earthquakes, famine, disease, and many other kinds of world-ending disasters where raw magic tore through man and monster alike. Even worse, their power never subsided, as they continue to rage with just as much force as the day they were conjured.

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  Scars that mar the face of the world.

  But Brinehollow was a quiet place, a safe place. A warm shelter in a peaceful cove on the frontier of the Kingdom. Far, far removed from the bustle of the capital in the center of the nation and even further from the Empire to the North and Velisar Republic to the East. It remained humble, forgotten, and largely untouched by the world’s chaos.

  Stepping onto the front doorstep of his home, Nolan looked inside to find his mother and brother already waiting for him. He had wanted to say one last goodbye to his father on the pier, but now it was time to face the family still with him.

  He thought he’d be ready. But seeing the sadness in his mother’s eyes brought tears to his own. He had a farewell prepared—words of strength and reassurance—but they caught in his throat. In that moment, he felt like a boy again, searching his mother’s face for comfort.

  Despite the sorrow in her eyes, Rosara didn’t cry. She never did—not when her husband died, and not now. She was the family’s foundation. Where Nolan’s father had been joy and laughter, Rosara was reason and resilience.

  With tired eyes, and dark hair with streaks of gray, Nolan’s mother Rosara, held a lovely visage. Though her countenance showed clear signs of age, and her illness routinely confined her to their home, Rosara was just as beautiful as she’d been twenty years before. Or at least that’s what Nolan’s father used to say.

  She wiped away his tears and smiled, laughing softly to herself.

  “Don’t be sad my dear son. I have absolute faith in you. Oh, and be sure that you write! I want to hear of your exploits when you captain a ship of your own and wield a Relic like the heroes of old!”

  Nolan snorted at the thought. “Only nobles become captains. And I’ve never heard of a fisherman carrying a Relic.”

  Relics—fragments of the Sundering—were objects of immense power, rumored to hold the wrath of the Gods themselves. No one knew if they created the Scars or simply fed on them, but all agreed: Relics were weapons of legend, capable of reshaping the world.

  His mother shrugged. “But you are about to make a name for yourself, aren’t you? And don’t forget—you carry the blood of the ancients. Our family has lived since before The Sundering, just like all the families here. We carry a birthright that goes beyond King’s and Kingdoms.”

  Nolan groaned and looked away from his mother in annoyance. There was no winning against Nolan’s mother when she started talking about their lineage or their birthright as inhabitants of Brinehollow. Carriers of the Elder Blood she called them. But such thoughts of power could only help to make Nolan angry.

  He didn’t care about power, or prestige, or glory, and certainly not birthright. He cared about food on the table and healing for his mother.

  Where was this birthright when his father died? Where was the power to heal his family or slay his enemies when a great leviathan opened its maw to crush his father’s fishing boat? What he wanted was his father back and to fish with him once again. No, there was no power inside this backwater, just old wives tales and bedtime stories.

  And all that was inside him was rage.

  But when he looked at his mother’s face, all of that anger melted away.

  She just wanted to give him hope. To remind him that he mattered. And for that, he loved her more than words could say.

  Turning to Kael, Nolan embraced his younger brother.

  Kael stood a head shorter, and shared a similar build to him, but where Nolan represented their father, Kael much more resembled their mother. With a considerably more tanned complexion, darker hair, and deep brown eyes, Kael looked just like her.

  They had already decided Kael would stay behind. He was better suited to care for Rosara, and Nolan couldn’t bear to put him in danger.

  Still, leaving him behind hurt more than Nolan dared admit.

  “Take care of her, okay?” Nolan whispered.

  Kael grinned. “Of course, and you take care of yourself. And don’t forget to send me the money you make. I’ve run out and the guys refuse to deal me in at the tavern,” Kael joked.

  Nolan chuckled at the mention of his brother's gambling hobby. Kael didn’t bet often or too much, in fact he was likely the most responsible 14 year old the world had ever known. Nolan was glad that his brother took the chance to have fun when he could.

  “I’ll send what I can. Just make sure you look after her—and yourself—before spending it on cards.”

  Outside, the rumble of wagon wheels signaled the arrival of the caravan bound for Stormhold. Nolan would travel west through the mountains, then north along the coast.

  Few from Brinehollow ever took that road. It was poorly maintained, and the village was too small to attract regular travelers. Even the tax collectors didn’t bother coming this far south—only a merchant with family here made the trip on a regular basis.

  The only reason that a group of merchants even came this far out was that a member of their troupe had relatives here and wanted to make sure that they got access to goods that they otherwise wouldn’t.

  It would take weeks to reach his destination, but Nolan didn’t mind. If it meant caring for his family, if it gave them a chance to change their fate, it was worth it.

  After all, if the fish refused to bite, maybe it was time the fisherman found a new sea.