Blood & Brine: The Tattooed Voyager

The ocean stretched endlessly before Alon, its surface glistening under the golden light of the morning sun. He stood at the edge of his small outrigger canoe, spear in hand, scanning the waters below. The village relied on the hunters to bring in food and prove their strength. Today, he intended to show them that he was ready to stand among the warriors.

Earlier that morning, the village elders had gathered in the ceremonial hut, their voices weaving prayers into the air, calling upon the spirits of the sea to watch over the young ones setting sail for their coming-of-age trial. Alon had stood among them, alongside his peers, their expressions a mixture of excitement and nervous determination. The scent of burning sage and salt filled the air as the elders marked their foreheads with sacred ash.

"Return with your spirit unbroken, and your place among the warriors shall be earned," one of the elders had intoned, his wrinkled hands steady as he gestured a blessing over them. Alon had bowed his head, feeling the weight of the moment settle upon his shoulders.

Before setting off, Alon had stood among the villagers, exchanging words with friends and rivals alike. The air buzzed with excitement as the other youths prepared their canoes, each determined to prove their worth. As he tightened the ropes securing his supplies, his father, Tuhon, the chieftain of Banuwan, approached. The conversation still echoed in his mind.

"You are not yet a man, Alon," Tuhon had said, his voice steady but firm. "Bravery alone does not make you one. Strength must be tempered by wisdom."

Alon had clenched his fists. "Then let me prove that I have both."

Tuhon studied him in silence, his gaze piercing. "And how will you do that?"

"I will bring back a catch that will make the village proud," Alon declared. "A hunt worthy of my name."

His father exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "Hunting is not just about the catch, but about knowing what you fight. You will not seek danger for the sake of glory."

Alon's jaw tightened, but he nodded. He would prove himself, but he would not do so recklessly. As he turned toward the shore, a familiar voice called out to him. His elder brother, Datu, stood at the water's edge, his wife and child by his side. Datu, a seasoned hunter and warrior, carried the scent of salt and conquest, his own tattoos telling stories of past victories.

"You go to face the sea, little brother," Datu said, stepping forward. "Remember, the ocean is both a mother and a beast. Respect her, and she may grant you favor."

Alon met his brother's gaze, sensing the weight behind his words. "And if she does not?"

Datu smirked, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Then fight like you always have—with heart and mind as one. But do not chase glory blindly."

His brother's wife, Lihua, smiled gently. "May the spirits guide your path, Alon." The child in her arms giggled, reaching for him with tiny hands.

With a final nod, Datu clapped Alon on the back. "Go now, and bring home a worthy hunt. Make us proud."

Alon exhaled, pushing his canoe into the surf. The time had come.

Now, alone on the sea, he watched as movement beneath the waves caught his eye—a massive, writhing shape shifting in the deep. He had seen many creatures in the waters surrounding Banuwan, but this one was different. A giant octopus, he thought. A worthy prize.

His grip tightened on his spear. If he could bring it back, the village would surely recognize his strength. He had grown up hearing tales of hunters returning with great kills, earning their place among the warriors. Today, he would join them. Today, he would prove himself.

A memory surfaced, unbidden—a night by the fire, when his elder brother had returned victorious from his own coming-of-age hunt. Alon had sat cross-legged, eyes wide with admiration as his brother recounted the struggle, the thrill of the chase, the moment steel met flesh. "Strength alone isn't enough," his brother had told him then, ruffling his hair. "A hunter must be patient, must know the sea like his own breath. The ocean gives, but it also takes."

Alon had nodded eagerly, too young to understand the weight of those words. Now, after days adrift in the open sea, his patience tested by the relentless sun and the vast emptiness around him, he finally did. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, exhaustion threatened to dull his senses, but still, he stood at the edge of his canoe, spear in hand, scanning the depths for a worthy prey.

His mind wandered back to the day his brother returned from his own trial, dragging a massive marlin onto the shore. Alon had watched in awe as the villagers gathered around, their voices rising in admiration. He remembered how the sunlight had gleamed off the slick, silver scales of the fish, how his brother had stood tall, pride evident in his stance. "Strength alone isn't enough," Datu had said, his voice firm yet kind. "The sea does not reward impatience. You must listen, you must watch, and when the moment comes—you must strike true."

Now, floating on the endless blue, Alon let those words settle. He adjusted his grip on his spear, his breath steadying. He would not rush. He would not falter. He would prove himself, just as his brother had before him.

He gripped his spear tighter, adjusting his stance. The creature surfaced, its slick, dark skin glistening, tentacles curling lazily. Alon took a deep breath, steadying his aim, and with a swift motion, hurled the spear downward.

The impact was immediate. The beast thrashed violently, its tentacles lashing out, creating a vortex of white foam and crimson blood. Alon yanked on the rope attached to his spear, struggling to keep control as his canoe rocked with the force of the dying creature. His arms burned from the strain, muscles screaming as he fought against the pull of the furious sea. A sudden jerk nearly sent him overboard, and for a moment, panic surged through him. If he lost his footing now, he would be dragged into the depths. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself, his heart pounding. This was the test he had sought—one that demanded all his strength, patience, and resolve.

He fought to pull his kill aboard, adrenaline surging through his veins. But as the waters settled and he got a clearer look, his stomach dropped. This was no mere octopus. Its enormous eyes, black as the abyss, stared lifelessly at him. The suckers along its tentacles were lined with jagged, unnatural ridges.

Realization struck like a lightning bolt. A baby Kraken.

Panic gripped him. He had heard the legends—Kraken were not mere beasts. They were ancient, intelligent, and vengeful. To slay one, even a youngling, was to invite the wrath of the sea itself.

The wind howled as if in response to his fear. The horizon darkened, storm clouds rolling in with unnatural speed. The waters churned beneath him, as if something immense stirred in the deep. He had no time to think. He hauled the Kraken's body into his canoe, its weight nearly capsizing him, and paddled with all his might back to Banuwan.

The village was abuzz with awe and unease as he dragged his prize onto the shore. Villagers whispered among themselves, casting wary glances at the lifeless creature. His father, Tuhon, stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

"You have done what no other has," Tuhon said, his voice calm yet heavy with meaning. "But you have invited forces beyond your understanding."

Alon clenched his fists. "I thought it was an octopus. I did not mean—"

"It does not matter," Tuhon interrupted. "What is done cannot be undone. The Kraken's blood is upon you now."

Matuk, the village tattooist, approached, his aged eyes filled with both admiration and concern. "There is only one path forward," he murmured. "The blood must be sealed within you. The mark must be made."

Alon swallowed hard. He had sought to prove himself as a warrior, but instead, he had become something else entirely. Marked. Cursed.

And the sea would not forget.