A Barely Controlled Storm

Standing in front of a large oak door that looked like it had been weathered through years of torrential storms, a boy with shortcut turquoise hair adjusted his shirt. Taking a deep breath, a pain in his chest forced him to cough.

Clearing his throat, the boy raised his right hand, about to knock on the door, it suddenly swung open slightly, startling the boy.

A man with cold grey eyes appeared in the doorway, looking at the young boy in front of him. His cold eyes showed a slight warmth, about to say something, the man with grey eyes was interrupted when a voice from inside the room called out to him. 

"- so tell that fool if he wishes to come here he'll have to bring an army actually worth a damn on the water!"

The boy froze watching the man walking down the hallway, as he turned the corner he seemed to disappear as if he wasn't even there in the first place. The only proof of his existence being the open door beside him.

Blinking, the boy straightened his attire before returning his attention to the man inside the room. Stepping through the doorway, he shut it behind him. Turning around, he took in the room.

Lined with bookshelves, the boy's eyes ran across each spine of the hundreds of books. Some were to do with sailing – skills relating to both beginner and expert, books detailing fictional sea beasts: the mighty kraken, sonorous mermaids and the silent killers of the sea. There were other books detailing less fictional creatures of the deep, seafaring Fiend's that had been slain in the past and seafaring Fiend's that had not been slain.

The boy thought for a second about bedtime stories his dad would create with these creatures, stories that would be used to get him to behave when he was naughty.

"If you don't do as your mother says, the kraken will use its tentacles and pull you down the toilet."

The boy's lips curled into a slight smile before disappearing as the man at the opposite side of the room took notice of him.

Framed in front of a large glass window that showed a hectic storm, a man in his late fifties, judging by the white hairs that had started to take over his goatee. The man was buried under stacks of paperwork that covered his desk, a few piles had even been placed on a low table in the middle of his room. On either side of the table, two comfortable looking sofas were arranged, an arms reach from the table.

Stopping beside the table, the boy didn't make a move to sit down. Instead, he rigidly stood straight with his arms at his side.

Glancing up from his paperwork, the man squinted.

"You're late, I summoned you ten minutes ago."

His voice was curt and disinterested.

Swallowing, the boy with turquoise hair looked away.

"I'm sorry father, on my way here one of the maids was having trouble carrying a bunch of, um, things."

The father of the boy with turquoise hair looked up from his paperwork with an annoyed expression.

"Things? I summoned you, and you were too busy doing things?" Shaking his head, the man put down the paper he was looking at. "How has your training gone? Have you been keeping up with your training regimes? I have received reports from the instructor I assigned to you to help you train your Gift that you have been slacking in class and in some cases skipping the class entirely."

Frowning, the boy looked away. Scratching the back of his head as an uncomfortable feeling began to grow in his throat. Clearing his throat, the boy sighed.

"I'm sorry father it's just… My Flaw, if I use my Gift for too long it can cause quite palpable issues…"

The man shook his head, "Yes, yes. That is the problem with Flaws that affect Gifts. You should be happy that you took after me and not your mother in that case. But without practice, how could you find out methods of getting around such a problematic Flaw." Picking up another sheet of paper he scowled, "I will assign you double classes until you leave for Compound Thirty-Four."

The boy with turquoise hair squinted as his father said this, although his father seemed finished with the conversation, the boy was not.

"Father? Compound Thirty-Four? Isn't that where Sickly go for the Transference? But, why would I need to go to a government facility, we have our own facilities, do we not?"

The boy's father paused as he was writing a sentence in blue ink. Resting his pen on his desk and firmly planting the sheet of paper, the boy's father put his fingers together, interlocking his knuckles as he gazed upon his son.

The boy could see a soft look in his father's eyes, after a moment the expression disappeared, with a stern stare. The storm outside seemed to only be getting worse, not that the storm ever let up. Sixteen years ago a storm started that had drowned his homeland under rain, tide and storm and still, sixteen years later, the storm continued to threaten to wash all traces of humanity from the map.

"As you know," Leaning back in his chair, the man glanced over his shoulder at the storm behind him. "The storm rages on, and gets worse by the day." Scowling, he turned back to his son. "The Augur's in our clan predict that there should be a large Rapture in the near future. For that reason, I am sending you to the mainland, from there you will travel by train to Compound Thirty-Four and be under the Government's protection. I hear the Director of Compound Thirty Four is a capable individual."

The boy with turquoise hair frowned, hearing this.

"But father, you had your Transference here, so did mother… And so did grandfather…"

The boy's father remained silent – quiet on the verge of uncaring – until the boy mentioned his grandfather. After this, the man's brows turned down, following his lips, which turned into an angry curl.

"And so what if I did, your mother did and your grandfather. This is what I have decided, so this is what happens, is that not my role as Clan Leader. To decide what is best for those who reside under me." His voice resonated around the room, the waves crashing against the rocks far below the window.

Slightly startled by his father's sudden outburst, the boy turned away.

"Not like you'd even know what a father should do."

The father glared at his son.

"What did you just say, boy?"

Staying silent for a moment, the boy turned to look back at his father. Almost copying his father's previous cold expression, the boy answered.

"Nothing father, I just realised what time it is. My next lesson is starting soon. It would be best that I am there before my instructor arrives. It would be a shame to keep them waiting."

"Hmm," The man picked up both the pen and paper he had put down moments ago. "I expect you to keep with the training regime your instructors assign to you when you travel and arrive at Compound Thirty-Four, at least until the time of Transference."

"Yes father… As you wish." 

Bowing slightly, he turned towards the door. Stopping as his hand touched the doorknob. The boy with turquoise hair looked back to his father at the other end of the room.

The boy squinted as he looked at his father. He never seemed the same after the boy became Risen. Where before he was just a man with an intimidating aura, now the father of the boy with turquoise hair seemed, different. His calm and stoic person was still there, but there was something else. Looking at his father, he felt the same as if he was staring out the window. Both a barely controlled storm that threatened to wash away all around it.

The boy's father looked up from his paperwork, their eyes met.

"Did you forget something?"

The boy's muted expression turned sour.

"Nothing Father, I was just on my way… Actually, what was Uncle doing here? I wasn't informed of his arrival, I would have come sooner if I knew."

The older man's annoyed expression returned as his brow quivered.

"He was just passing on a message. It's not your problem, adult business. Now get to your lesson, I have too much to do."

Bowing once again, the boy turned, signalling his exit by slamming the door to the office.