The first News Coo arrived at dawn.
Axiom noticed it before anyone else—not because it was loud, but because the wind shifted around it. The bird descended in a wide spiral, wings cutting through the air with practiced ease, before landing on the railing near the docks like it owned the place.
It was large. Larger than any normal bird had a right to be.
Black feathers. Sharp eyes. A leather satchel strapped around its neck.
Lowtide Village stirred.
"Oh, good," Toren muttered, tying off a rope. "Bad news travels fast again."
The News Coo let out a proud squawk and pecked at the satchel meaningfully.
Hana came out wiping her hands on her apron. "Put it on the board," she said. "And don't steal the fish this time."
The bird looked offended.
Axiom watched quietly as the paper was pinned up—fresh ink, bold headlines, creased from travel. The News Coo lingered, accepting scraps from amused villagers before taking off again, wings beating hard as it vanished toward the open sea.
Esdeath stood beside him, eyes following it until it became a speck.
"That thing," she said, "knows everything."
Axiom nodded. "Almost."
The paper smelled like salt and ink.
Axiom didn't read it the way others did.
Most people scanned headlines for danger—pirate attacks, storms, Marine crackdowns. Axiom read between the lines. Where things weren't happening. Which names appeared too often. Which seas were suddenly mentioned more than before.
The world was moving.
Pirate crews rising in the New World.
Marines increasing patrols in the Blues.
Cipher Pol activity rumored near trade routes.
Nothing that affected Lowtide Village directly.
Yet.
Esdeath leaned closer, peering at the symbols. "You understand this?"
"Yes."
"Good," she said. "Tell me when it matters."
He glanced at her. "You don't care?"
"I care about outcomes," she replied. "Words are just early warnings."
That was… unsettlingly accurate.
Training changed after that.
Not in intensity.
In purpose.
Axiom began focusing less on endurance alone and more on movement. Short bursts of speed across uneven ground. Sudden direction changes. Learning how to stop without skidding, how to land without sound.
He didn't name it.
But Toren noticed.
"You're moving like those Marine types again," he said one evening. "The fast ones."
Axiom pretended to stretch. "You mentioned that before."
"Yeah," Toren continued. "They don't fight fair. They move first, hit once, then they're gone."
Axiom stored that away.
Nearby, Esdeath practiced her own kind of control—not freezing streams, not showing off. She cooled stones just enough to crack them, then warmed them again. Focused. Precise.
Restraint.
That impressed Axiom more than raw power ever could.
The Galeheart Wilds tested them soon after.
It wasn't dramatic.
No roar. No ambush.
Just weight.
A presence moved through the trees as they trained deeper than usual—large, patient, intelligent. Leaves shifted too slowly for wind. Branches bent without breaking.
Esdeath noticed first.
"Something's watching," she said calmly.
"I know," Axiom replied.
They didn't draw their swords.
They waited.
A massive shape revealed itself between the trees—a land predator thick with muscle and scars, eyes alert rather than feral. Not hungry. Curious.
Axiom met its gaze and held it.
The creature snorted, then turned away, disappearing back into the Wilds.
Esdeath exhaled softly. "It decided."
"Decided what?"
"That you're not food," she replied. "Yet."
Axiom smiled thinly. "I'll take that."
That night, another News Coo passed overhead.
This one didn't land.
It circled once, then continued eastward, wings beating hard as if the wind itself were urging it onward.
Axiom watched until it vanished.
The world was connected by those birds—news crossing oceans faster than ships, rumors becoming truth, truth becoming history.
And somewhere far away, events were already unfolding that would one day matter to him deeply.
But not yet.
Not while he was still seven.
Not while he could still move unseen.
Not while the sea hadn't learned his name.
Esdeath sat beside him, sharpening her blade.
"When we leave this island," she said suddenly, "the world will notice."
Axiom nodded.
"That's why we won't rush."
She smiled faintly. "Good. I prefer preparation."
The wind picked up again, carrying the scent of salt and distant storms.
Above them, unseen wings carried the world's whispers onward.
And Tempest Isle—quiet, overlooked—continued to shape two children the sea would one day regret ignoring.