The cobblestone path glistened with yesterday's rain, reflecting the hurried footsteps of passersby. Wagons creaked past, their wheels splashing through puddles as merchants shouted prices to indifferent crowds. People chattered and laughed, moving about their day without a second glance at the shadows that clung to the edges of the bustling streets.
In one particularly dark alley, far removed from the noise and life of the city, sat a boy no older than fifteen. His disheveled blond hair hung limply over his face, matted with dirt and grime. Golden-yellow eyes stared blankly into a puddle at his feet, their color dulled by exhaustion but still sharp enough to betray years of bitterness. This was Kale—a name whispered only by those who had once known him, though now even they seemed to have forgotten.
"Knowledge is a blessing, you know," said a voice inside his head, calm and amused, like an old man lecturing a stubborn child.
Kale groaned inwardly. He was used to this—the damned voice had been plaguing him ever since his fifteenth birthday. It talked endlessly about knowledge, floating words and streams of light, nonsense he didn't care to understand.
"What's so great about knowledge when I can't even use it?" Kale muttered under his breath, glaring at the puddle as if daring it to argue back.
"Well," the voice replied matter-of-factly, "it depends on how you look at it. When you access the Ocean of Knowledge, it's… well, not really an ocean in the traditional sense. No waves or waters, just boundless expanses of golden streams of light. Threads of insight drift around, motes of wisdom float like fireflies—it's overwhelming, honestly."
"Bullshit," Kale snapped. "Ocean my ass."
The voice sighed dramatically, as though dealing with a particularly difficult student. "If you'd just follow me and access the Ocean of Knowledge, kiddo, you wouldn't be homeless right now."
Kale rolled his eyes, ready to retort, when something caught his attention—a coin glinting faintly in the dim light of the alley. Someone must've dropped it. Hesitant but desperate, he reached out to grab it, only for a boot to slam down inches from his hand.
"Don't you dare touch my stuff!" barked a man looming above him. Dressed in fine clothes, his fingers adorned with rings that sparkled arrogantly, the man sneered down at Kale. "I'm a Seeker! My family accesses the Shallows. You lowly scum don't deserve anything near us."
Kale flinched, mumbling an apology before scrambling backward. The man spat disgustedly, then turned and strode away, leaving Kale alone once more.
"See?" the voice chimed in smugly. "That's what happens when you let others hold all the power. Those are Seekers, kid. They can access the Ocean of Knowledge. If you listened to me, maybe you wouldn't be groveling in filth right now."
"Alright, alright!" Kale growled, throwing up his hands in frustration. "What do I need to do, genius voice in my head?"
The voice chuckled softly, almost affectionately. "No need to rush. Focus. Give intent. Tug on that familiar pull deep within you."
Kale hesitated, staring at the puddle again. What did the voice mean by "familiar pull"? Still, anything to shut it up. Sighing, he crossed his legs and closed his eyes, focusing on… something. Anything. At first, there was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, slow and steady. Then, faintly, he felt it—a tug, like a thread pulling gently at the edge of his consciousness. It wasn't physical, yet it resonated deeply, like a distant dream he couldn't quite remember.
As he focused harder, something flickered in his mind's eye—a tiny speck of light, dancing like a firefly. Another joined it, then another, until dozens swirled around him, filling his vision with shimmering brilliance. The world shifted, melting away into golden streams and radiant threads. It was vast, endless, breathtaking.
And suddenly, he understood.
He was standing—or rather, floating—in the Ocean of Knowledge.
"Congratulations, kid," the voice said, its tone tinged with pride. "You did it."
For the first time in what felt like forever, Kale smiled—not bitterly, not sarcastically, but genuinely. Maybe knowledge wasn't such a curse after all.