Waking God: Rising

The days at sea blurred into one another until, at last, the ship buzzed with anticipation. Soldiers longed for solid ground, and even the sailors—men who had made the sea their life—yearned for land after nearly a year adrift. It was funny, in a way, watching them all grumble about the very thing they'd chosen.

On one of those last days on the ship, something happened. My mother and I were in our room; she was teaching me a game we played in our homeland. I will remain vague on the contents of the game for now, as they will play an important role in the future.

But my mother told me it was a game that served many purposes: it helped to clear the mind, sharpen it, and even calm it. She did warn that it had made really smart men go mad; after all, the game's main objective is to outmaneuver your opponent, to control and guide their actions like a shepherd does with sheep.

And that is no easy feat, to take control of another man's mind, especially an intelligent one. She taught me the many ways to win this game, and the many ways to spot errors, but she also told me that to win the game is not enough, and hardly as satisfying as dominating your opponent.

"To defeat a man in this game is good, but seeing the light in the eyes of your opponent die because he has lost, not because he wanted to, but because you willed it so and he was powerless to stop it, is even better," she had said with a mischievous grin.

Our lessons were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Enter," my mother commanded. Then a soldier came in. He was a rather stout and rough-looking man who had difficulty fitting through the small door. After a short while, he decidedly gave up and just stood outside. This earned a chuckle from me and a smile from my mother. The soldier clicked his tongue in annoyance but said nothing.

"My um, lady?, the commander has requested your presence in his sleeping quarters," he said, avoiding her eyes.

"Tell the commander I will be there soon. That'll be all." She said as the went and closed the door.

Then she turned to me "There is something we need to do before we leave. Listen up," she said, her face serious, the air around her changed.

I straightened up. Whenever my mother was like this, she demanded complete focus from me. She rarely ever scolded or hit me, but all the times I had drawn her ire, she was in this state.

I banished irrelevant thoughts from my mind and locked eyes with her. When she was sure she had my undivided attention, she nodded and continued.

Mother's gaze sharpened. "There are different types of men in this world. Those who are carried by the current," she said, her voice low and intense. "They react. They have no will of their own." She paused. "Then there are those who build boats to navigate the current. They lead, they control, but they are still bound by the river's course." Her eyes met mine. "But there are others…they divert the river. They change the landscape itself. They are... more gods than men. And that," she said, her voice hard, "is what you must become. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Good," she said. "Now [...], take off your mask."

 It was more of a metaphorical mask, than a physical one. 

The mask she was referring to was the personality i wore over my real self.

My real self was always in a chaotic, and godlike state.

I had to wear a mask for stability.

She called me by my natural name, i can't write it. The act of invoking the name by word or ink itself is dangerous, so [...] will have to suffice.

My true self responded to her summon, my mask gave way.

The moment the veil lifted, the world outside mirrored the chaos within me. A storm exploded across the sky. Lightning forked and danced, illuminating the ship in stark, blinding flashes. The rain hammered the deck, a relentless percussive assault.

The wind shrieked and tore at the sails, and the ship groaned beneath my feet. Every sensation was amplified, every sound a deafening roar. I felt the raw power surging through me, the storm a reflection of my own unleashed energy. I could taste the salt on the wind, feel the vibrations of the thunder in my bones. The land, a faint but growing presence on the horizon, seemed to draw closer with each crashing wave.

The wind, once a force of nature, now felt like an extension of myself, its fury tempered by my nascent control.

Suddenly, my mother's command sliced through the tumult, "Enough."

Silence. Absolute and immediate. The storm vanished as if it had never been.

"Now," my mother spoke. "Let's build you another mask."

My mother placed her hands on both sides of my face. Then she looked into my eyes and muttered some unfamiliar words, which made me gradually lose consciousness until I eventually passed out.