It was days like this Frenk hated.

Actually it was the majority of his life he hated.

Frenk sat there, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff that hung over the pounding grey ocean. The ocean. It had always helped him think, helped him relax, help him feel a little human. Next to him, his sword was stuck point down in the ground. His short blonde hair ruffled in the breeze, and he exhaled slowly.

It was always the desire to escape, the desire to not be a part of the world anymore that brought Frenk here. Somehow, watching the ocean and the furious pounding of the waves over the broken rocks below calmed him. Sometimes he even thought about just jumping off and joining the ocean that calmed and soothed him so.

/Couldn’t be any worse than what’s going on up here,/ Frenk thought with a bitter sort of humour. /We’re just pounding futilely too. That ocean is never going to get through that rock./

He sighed, and closed his eyes. /No. That’s wrong. It takes much time, but the ocean will get through this rock eventually. Those rock shards at the bottom there are proof. We will be free eventually, but it will take many lives and much patience./

Patience was something he had very little of. So this is what made it so hard for him. He didn’t want to wait—he wanted nothing more than to march his happy self right into that throne room and gut the wretches who were ruling them. He had such little regard for the throne and the authority that when it switched hands about a year back he never even bothered to find out who his new leader was. Hell, maybe even leaders.

/Doesn’t matter anyhow,/ he thought. /Whoever it is deserves to die for leading my people—and the people of the former Lower Empire—this way. Not even leading…more like sending them off to their deaths when they are insubordinate./ His expression was growing more and more contorted with each thought. /Not even insubordinate! Simply struggling for freedom…a breath of fresh air!/

One of his fists clenched at his side and he became faintly aware he was slipping back into what he came out to the cliff to avoid. He willed his hand to unclench and his teeth to stop grinding. The small ribbon tied around the hilt of his sword began to flutter in the slight, cold breeze, and the clouds hung ominously overhead as usual. The people of the group of islands known as Antey learned to ignore them after a while—rain was common place.

Frenk almost wished it would rain. He wanted weather to match his mood—he wanted thunder and lightening, so that maybe while he was walking back to the outskirts of Gracken he would get struck by lightening.

It was a queer sort of emotion he felt constantly, wanting to die and live for revenge all at the same time. Instead of tearing him apart as one would think it would do, the two contrasts lived together docilely and mixed together to form a certain sort of apathy.

/I’ll fight, but if I die doing it…so what,/ Frenk thought blandly. /I guess that must be my philosophy on life./

He felt a splatter of water on the back of his neck, and he guessed that perhaps he would get his wish after all. It was beginning to rain. He sat and stared at the churning ocean for a moment more, then stood slowly, stretching, and yanked his sword out of the ground. He turned around, casually sticking the blade back in it’s sheath but his hand froze on the hilt when he was faced with a tall, willowy looking boy. The young boy—tottering on the edge of young man, Frenk would assume—looked at him. Rather, stared straight at him…with his eyes closed.

“Is it beautiful?” the boy asked suddenly, and Frenk did not relax his grip on his blade.

“Open ye eyes and have a look for yeself,” he said, his accent coming out thick and harsh, even to his ears.

The boy opened his eyes, and Frenk realized his folly. The young boy’s eyes were a pale, milky bluish-white all throughout. He was blind.

“You know,” he said evenly, “I still cannot see a thing. Is it beautiful?”

“I dinnae know ye was blind,” Frenk said, relaxing his hand a bit. “My apologies.”

“No need for apologies. Tell me this—is it beautiful?”

Frenk turned briefly to the cloudy grey sea, inhaling the salt air. “It’s the most beautiful thing a man with sight’ll ever lay eyes upon,” he said a bit proudly, smiling in spite of himself. “Now, I have tae ask ye. What are ye doing running around by yeself when ye’re obviously blind?”

The boy smiled, and it was a bit of an eerie sight to Frenk because the boy stared straight ahead. Like he was smiling at something Frenk couldn’t see.

“Sir, I have a message for you,” he said in a clear tone. “From my master.”

“Ye master,” Frenk repeated. “I’m afraid I don’t know ‘im. Go on, though.”

“There will be a time when all will know,” he said. “But I deliver you this: you are to help me gather a mass.”

Frenk looked at the boy for a moment and made a noise. “What’s ye name?”

“I have been called Tempest for as long as I can remember,” the boy replied, “even though that is not my name.”

“Then what is ye name?” Frenk asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Let us not speak of it,” Tempest replied cryptically. “You are to help me gather a mass.”

“As in a mass of people? Or a congregational mass?” Frenk asked. “Either way, I’m not interested. Sorry, boy,” he said, walking past the blind boy.

“Do not leave,” Tempest said suddenly, his clear voice ringing out towards the ocean. Frenk turned and stared at the boy’s back.

“I said I wouldn’t help ye,” he said firmly. “Now go back tae ye master and tell ‘im that.”

“I’m afraid no is not an acceptable answer,” Tempest said, turning slowly. His fastened his unseeing eyes on the spot where Frenk stood. “This time, do not leave until you hear it all.”

“Fine. I’ll humour ye cause ye’re blind. Go on.”

“You are to help me gather a mass of people,” Tempest explained as if Frenk were a younger child, “and we are to overthrow the order of the Upper Empire.”

Frenk looked at the blind boy and grinned. “Ye say interesting things, boy. I admire ye spirit. But I hate tae tell ye this—ye’re blind. And how exactly are ye going to overthrow the Empire like that?”

“Funny,” Tempest replied evenly. “The people in Gracken told me the same thing when I walked to find you here. And the people on the mainland told me the same thing when I sailed—alone—to Antey.”

Frenk shook his head. “Sailing and walking are different than fighting.”

“My master does not allow me to go to battle unprepared,” Tempest said. Frenk looked him over.

“Ye look unprepared tae me,” he said incredulously. “No weapon?”

“I have one,” he said, nodding. “I’ve got one. You just cannot see it. It will show itself when it is wanted.”

Frenk looked at the boy oddly. “Ye say interesting things.”

“My master has the power,” he said. “We will gather people and overthrow the Empire.”

“Let me get this straight,” Frenk said. “Ye master wants to raise an army of rebels and take over?”

“Yes,” Tempest replied. “Something of that nature. Although…only a few will be needed. I know where to go to get them also. You are the first.”

Frenk looked at the young boy near man in front of him, and at the pounding ocean. For a moment, he sat in thoughtful deliberation.

“Tempest, boy,” he said while walking back to the boy’s side, “ye got yeself a man.”