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The Exile's Hand: Chapter 1
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 22:43:10 +0000 UTCHi all,
I’m having trouble with the Artisan’s Path chapter, so I’m posting my original story instead. I posted a couple of chapters of a story with a similar premise a long time ago. But the story has undergone many changes. I will post another chapter of this story before getting into this week’s chapter.
Chapter 1 - Awakening
Myles stood at the edge of the shore, bare feet gripping the rocks, a wooden spear held firm in his hands. The tide pools spread out ahead of him, and just beyond them, the ocean beckoned with its usual gentle, rolling waves.
He'd been putting this off for weeks now, if he was being honest with himself. The tide pools barely reached his waist at their deepest points, but even that felt like drowning to someone afraid of the water.
Usually, he would stay on land and spear fish from outside the water—a safe, predictable routine that had kept him and his mother fed for years. But today wasn't merely about catching fish. His fear of the water had held him back for far too long, limiting his freedom on an island where freedom was already in short supply. His exile from the village was completely outside his control, but this? This was something he could do something about.
A flash of silver caught his eye.
A school of fish had wandered into the tide pools. They swam closer to shore, practically advertising themselves as easy targets.
Myles tightened his grip on the spear and stepped forward, feeling the cold water lap at his toes. Every instinct screamed at him to retreat, to stick with what worked. But he'd been having this same argument with himself for months now, and frankly, he was getting tired of his cowardice.
Another step, and the water rose to his ankles. That's when the memory hit, and the crescent scar on his thumb began to tingle with phantom pain.
Something had occurred here six years ago. It involved an encounter with a creature, electricity, and pain. He pushed the half-formed thoughts away. Today was about moving forward, not backwards. Today was about finally doing something instead of just thinking about it.
The fish continued their dance through the shallows, completely oblivious to his internal struggle. One particularly large specimen, its scales bright silver beneath the surface, swam within easy striking distance. All he had to do was take three more steps, position himself correctly, and thrust. Simple enough, in theory.
Myles stepped forward, then again. The water reached his shins now, and panic clawed at his throat. His legs wanted to run, his hands wanted to drop the spear and scramble back to safety. But he held firm, feet finding purchase on the sandy bottom.
He was still standing. The water wasn't over his head. He wasn't drowning, despite what his mind wanted him to think.
Another step. Then another.
Now he stood waist-deep in the largest tide pool, spear raised and ready. The fish seemed to sense his presence but weren't particularly alarmed. The large silver fish swam directly beneath him, its movements lazy and confident.
Myles drew back the spear, muscles tensing for the strike.
An electric blue streak cut through the silver mass of fish.
His blood turned to ice. The crescent scar on his thumb exploded with sudden, vivid pain as memory came flooding back. The electricity had left him unconscious and scarred.
The blue creature moved through the school, and Myles realised that it wasn't a fish at all. It was longer, sinuous, with small fins running along its serpentine body. And not just any sea serpent, but the same one. The same one that had nearly killed him when he was eleven.
He should run. Every rational part of his mind screamed at him to flee, to get out of the water before the creature noticed him. But his legs had turned to stone, paralysed by the old trauma reasserting itself with perfect, terrible clarity.
The serpent's head turned toward him, and its eyes met his own.
Then the creature struck, its body uncoiling like a living whip. Electricity danced along its scales as it lunged, and Myles had just enough time to think that this was exactly the kind of cosmic joke his life had become—finally work up the courage to face his fears, only to be attacked by the exact thing that had contributed to them in the first place.
The world exploded into lightning and pain.
Every muscle in his body seized at once, and he fell forward, striking the surface hard. Water rushed over his face, and the shallow pool that had felt manageable moments before became a trap. The electricity began to fade, leaving his muscles twitching weakly, barely responsive. His lungs burned for air, but his body wouldn't obey.
Just as consciousness began to slip away, a memory surfaced—not from his life here on Barrier Island, but from his previous life, that other world his mind somehow remembered with crystalline clarity.
The community pool. He was eight years old, small for his age, watching the older kids dive fearlessly from the high board while he stayed in the shallow end.
The dare had been simple enough. Swim to the deep end, touch the drain, swim back. Prove he wasn't the scared little kid everyone thought he was. Halfway across, his technique had faltered. Panic had crept in as his strokes became erratic, desperate.
Then the water had closed over his head.
The silence beneath the surface had been absolute. His lungs screamed for air while his body sank toward the tiled bottom.
He had fought then—clawed at the water with everything he had, legs kicking frantically against the drag of his soaked shorts. But the water had seemed alive, hungry, pulling him deeper with each desperate struggle. The edges of his vision had darkened.
Then—salvation. Strong hands had seized his shoulders, hauling him upward. The lifeguard's face had been a blur as she pulled him through the water with powerful strokes. His lungs had convulsed with the need to surrender, to breathe liquid instead of air, but those hands had anchored him to life.
Breaking the surface had been rebirth—air flooding his lungs in a desperate, ragged gasp as the world exploded back into sound and sensation. The moment he'd learned that sometimes survival meant fighting back against impossible odds, that surrender was not the only choice.
Even now, seventeen years later and in a different life entirely, that lesson sparked defiance in his fading mind.
His fingers twitched. Then his arms. The muscle control returned slowly, fitfully, but it returned. His head jerked up, breaking the surface with a splash.
Air rushed into his lungs in a ragged, desperate gasp. He coughed up water, his body shaking violently, but he kept his head above the surface. His legs found purchase on the bottom, and he stood on trembling limbs.
The electric serpent had disappeared, and the fish had scattered. The whole encounter had lasted maybe thirty seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.
His spear floated nearby. He grabbed it and climbed out of the pool.
Myles rested for a moment on his back. He had overcome his fear, encountered the creature that had carved scars into both flesh and memory, and lived. It wasn't exactly what he'd planned, but it was progress nonetheless.
He rose and began the walk home. Each step up the path felt different, as though the encounter had shifted something fundamental in how he moved through the world. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving behind a strange mixture of triumph and bewilderment.
What lingered wasn't the trauma of nearly drowning again, though that memory would find its place among the others. Instead, fragments of his other life dominated his thoughts.
Sometimes these memories surfaced at the strangest moments. He'd be carving a fishing spear and suddenly recall a craft knife that was more sophisticated than what existed on the island. Or he'd watch the sunset and think of streetlights and car headlights, concepts that had no place in this world. Even his speech patterns betrayed him—phrases and ideas that belonged to someone who had lived in cities, attended schools, watched moving pictures on giant screens.
His mother noticed these oddities. The way she'd pause mid-conversation, studying his face like someone trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
The hut came into view, its weathered timber walls a patchwork of driftwood and rough planks. Myles pushed through the front door, stepping into the familiar embrace of home. The interior was small but cosy, every item and piece of furniture serving a purpose.
Along the far wall stood a collection of clay pots and glass bottles, their contents ranging from dried herbs to powders—all products of his mother's botanical expertise. These were the goods that Samson, the village trader, still came to trade despite their exile. Whatever had caused their banishment, it hadn't been enough to make the villagers reject Nerissa's plants or herbal remedies.
A wooden table dominated the centre of the room, its surface scarred from years of use. Beside it sat one of Myles's contributions—a water filtration system he'd constructed, which allowed him to extract salt from the seawater. He couldn't explain where the design had come from, only that it had appeared in his mind fully formed.
Myles headed out the back door and into the garden, where his mother, Nerissa, knelt amongst rows of vegetables. She had a wicker basket beside her and was pulling beets from the earth.
The garden itself was a testament to his mother’s skill. Tomatoes grew fat and red. Herbs flourished in neat rows, their leaves vibrant. Root vegetables pushed deep into soil that should have been too sandy to support them. Sometimes Myles wondered if his mother didn't possess something beyond ordinary skill—a touch of magic that made plants bend to her will.
He crouched beside her. "I encountered that creature again."
Nerissa looked up, dirt smudged across her cheek. "The same one that almost killed you a few years ago?"
"Yep. Almost killed me again."
"I told you to stay away from the water, Noah."
Myles felt the familiar stab of irritation. "Why do you call me that? My name is Myles."
"Noah sounds better."
He didn't rise to the bait. This particular argument had been waged too many times. "I may have come off second best, but I scored a huge moral victory today."
"Moral victory?" Nerissa laughed. "What a useless concept. Where do you get these strange ideas?"
Myles changed the subject. "Are you preparing for the next trade with Samson?"
"Yes. But I expect things to be slightly different this time."
"How so?"
Nerissa sat back on her heels. "Your eighteenth birthday is coming up. People usually awaken around this time. The mayor is likely to come and check to see if you have the System Mark."
"So, I finally get to see my father again?" The words tasted bitter. "He hasn't once bothered to visit us since our exile."
"He’s not your father"
"No matter how much he doesn't deserve that title, it doesn't change the reality."
Nerissa didn’t respond.
"I need to trade for another spear," Myles said. "The one I'm using now is almost broken. Do we have enough to trade for it?"
"So long as you bring more fish home."
"I will catch more tomorrow."
Myles stood up and headed back towards the house, but stopped when Nerissa spoke again.
"I want to give you a refresher on the System tomorrow."
His brows furrowed. "What's the point? No one has awakened to the System since the village’s founder."
“It's best to be ready. I have a feeling you will need it.”
Myles entered the house, his mind churning with questions. Her insistence on teaching him about the System made no sense. No one had awakened to it for over a century. Why did she think he would be any different? And how did she know so much about something that was more myth than reality?
He both loved and resented her in equal measure. The love came easily—she was his mother, his only companion on this lonely stretch of beach, the one constant in his life. His resentment grew because she kept her secrets, refusing to answer his questions, no matter how many times he asked.
He was haunted by one question: what had happened so many years ago that forced them into exile? He knew his mother had to be responsible, and his father—the mayor—had been the one to cast them out. But his memories of that time remained frustratingly blank.
He wanted to know. Needed to understand why the man who had given him life had chosen to pretend he no longer existed.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The first stone caught him in the temple, a sharp bloom of pain that sent him stumbling. The world tilted, vision blurring as more rocks found their mark. He dropped to his knees, curling inward like a wounded animal, arms wrapped around his head.
"Loser!"
"Nobody wants you here!"
"Go back to where you belong, outsider!"
Their voices wove together into a tapestry, each thread pulling tighter around his chest until breathing became a conscious effort. Tears carved hot tracks down his cheeks, mixing with dirt and the metallic taste of his blood.
"Look, he's crying!"
"What a baby!"
"Bet his crazy mother's crying too!"
At the mention of his mother, something ignited in his chest—white-hot and desperate—but still he remained curled against the ground, waiting for the abuse to pass.
A distant bell tolled from the village. His tormentors' laughter faded as they ran off, leaving him alone. He waited a minute before he got to his knees, his muscles protesting every movement.
A shadow fell across his hunched form. "Still here, are you?"
Thomas stood over him, tossing a stone between his hands.
"I only wanted," Myles said, pushing himself upright, "to make some friends."
"Friends? With you?" Thomas laughed. "Listen closely, outsider. No one in this village will ever be your friend. Your mum made sure of that."
"You're wrong about her," Myles whispered.
"Everyone knows the truth." Thomas flicked the stone against Myles's chest. "Stay away from us, or next time will be worse."
Myles watched the boy disappear down the winding path towards the village before walking in the opposite direction. Warm blood traced a path down his temple as he pushed through the gate toward home.
It was high tide, the waves lapping at the shore. He stumbled forward, caught himself—
And froze.
The air before him shimmered like a heat wave. At first, he blamed his throbbing skull. He blinked hard, pressed knuckles against his eyes until stars exploded behind his lids, but the distortion remained.
The world began to change.
Cards materialised from nothing, ghostly and translucent, drifting through the air.
He turned in a slow circle. The cards surrounded him, each one showing a different creature. A four-legged beast drifted past. He reached out, but his hand passed right through it.
"What are you?"
Movement caught his peripheral vision. Among the drifting phantoms, one card drew his gaze—a blue-scaled serpent. Recognition struck like lightning, sudden and complete.
He knew this card. Somehow, impossibly, he knew it.
Anger surged through him, hot and unreasonable. Without thought, he lunged forward, desperate to claim what felt rightfully his. His fingers brushed the surface, and pain exploded through his hand like touching fire.
His eyes snapped open to find his face buried in his pillow. A hand rubbed his back, anchoring him to the present as the nightmare's grip loosened its hold on him.
"The Shadow haunts you tonight," Nerissa murmured.
Myles pushed himself upright. "First time in years."
"Your mind must be in turmoil."
"Just dredged up an old memory." He rubbed his eyes. "From when I was a kid."
Something shifted in his mother's posture. "You remember something?"
The intensity in her tone made him pause and study her face. "No, just that day outside the cove, with the village kids. Why does it—"
"I see the nightmares too," she interrupted. "Too many for my liking.”
“What are your nightmares about?”
Nerissa rose from beside his bed. "Go back to sleep. The Shadow rarely strikes twice in the same night."
He watched her retreat, noting the rigid line of her shoulders. Her reaction when he mentioned memories—a brief look that could have been fear—only raised more questions.
He ran his fingers over the blanket's worn fabric, piecing together the fragments he did have. The morning he woke up in the village, he had no memory of the past few days. His mother was delirious with fever, unable to offer any answers. And the villagers looked at him with hatred, blaming him for something he couldn’t remember. He still remembered the first time he met his father and how the man avoided talking to him or looking him in the eyes.
At first, the blank spaces didn't seem to matter. He'd built new memories here in the cove with his mother, filling the void day by day. Despite the growing distance between them, despite her secrets, she remained his anchor. His world narrowed to her and these rocky shores.
His mother was hiding something important. Something she feared he might remember. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to force back the headache building behind them. What truth could be so terrible that she'd rather he stayed ignorant of his past?
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The first light of dawn painted the horizon in pale gold as Myles dragged his boat across the beach.
He'd built this vessel three years ago with timber traded from Samson. He had begun the project to conquer his fear of water. Things didn’t go as planned, and the boat had been left unused ever since. Yesterday's encounter with the serpent had shifted something fundamental in his chest, not courage exactly, but a quiet resignation to whatever waited beyond fear.
The fish were much more abundant in the deeper waters. If he wanted to catch enough to trade for another spear, he needed to take some risks.
The boat settled into the shallows with a gentle splash. Myles climbed inside with an oar, his spear and a net. He pulled against the current, each stroke carrying him further from shore. Here, the water deepened to a rich blue-green, and schools of fish swam just beneath the surface.
The barrier came into view gradually. It rose from the ocean's depths in a perfect arc of translucent energy, its curved walls encompassing both Barrier Island and its twin, Monster Island.
The village had lived within this cage for over a century. Children grew up knowing no world beyond its boundaries, their dreams confined to what lay within sight of their shores. The dome let wind and rain pass through it, and the tide flowed in and out freely. However, the instant a living creature touched its surface, it turned as hard as granite.
No one knew why they were trapped inside the barrier. The elders spoke of a great transgression, a crime so serious that the punishment was to be cut off from the outside world forever. But it happened so long ago that no one could tell if the stories were true or just made up.
Myles waited until a school of fish passed by his boat before casting his net. By the time the sun rose higher, fifteen decent-sized fish were resting in the bottom of his boat. There was no sign of the electric serpent.
Perhaps had no interest in another confrontation. Myles felt grateful for the reprieve.
His boat bumped gently against the barrier. Myles pressed his palm flat against it, feeling the familiar buzz that raised the hair on his arms—not painful, but insistent, as if tiny currents ran just beneath his skin.
The barrier held firm under his touch. He pushed harder, watching his palm flatten against the unyielding surface.
Myles stared at the barrier, the same question burning in his mind that had plagued him for years. Could it be breached? The thought refused to leave him alone, no matter how many times logic told him it was impossible.
But the question persisted. It had grown from childhood curiosity into something more consuming, a goal that shaped his daily routines and nights. There had to be something he was missing, some detail that previous generations had overlooked.
What made him different? The honest answer was probably nothing. He possessed no special knowledge or unique insight.
The awakening offered his only realistic hope. If the stories held truth, if someone could manifest abilities that defied normal limitations, then perhaps the System held answers that conventional wisdom couldn't provide.
The yearning for freedom sat heavy in his chest. His memories of sprawling cities and endless roads felt more real than the wooden deck beneath his feet. How could others accept these boundaries when his mind held visions of these places?
What lay beyond? Other islands? Continents? Civilisations that had advanced beyond anything this isolated village could imagine?
Myles pulled his hand away. He needed to finish preparing the fish. He grabbed the last fish, raising his knife to deliver the killing blow.
Heat blazed across his right hand. The knife dropped as agony shot up his arm. He cried out, clutching his wrist, expecting to see burns or blood.
A window appeared in front of him, translucent and displaying a message.
The host has met the conditions to awaken.
So, what do you think? The next chapter will go into details of the System.
Thanks for reading.
