Tom was ashamed to not have a driver’s license by his age, especially at this moment, because it might have helped him in manoeuvring the ship. He knew about driving and had passed the theory test, but when the waves were crashing, crew were screaming and the wheel was uncomfortably soft to the touch, it did him no good. Still, he kept his breath at an even roll, planted his feet and tried his best. It was hardly as difficult as going to a conference and being expected to socialize. And you know what, the sound of rocking water through his headphones helped him go to sleep when he needed the assistance. So, Tom grabbed the wheel and spun. What’s the worst that could happen?

The ship rocked, nose forward, like a beginner learning to ollie on a skateboard. It lurched Tom, who held on to the wheel, but bodies splashed around him. The level of screaming rose, hard to distinguish from all the other booms and cracks, the feel of the wheel and the whipping cold. A bit much for a tutorial, he thought.

Was there a pause menu, a settings screen somewhere? Tom made the motion of taking his headset off -which in hindsight made no sense; this was full body VR- but all that happened was he now had a feathered cap in his hands. A captain’s hat. Confused, Tom strained, trying with all his might to make out the shouts through the screen of sensation overload.

“That’s it, captain? You’re abandoning us?” A sailor surfaced beside the mast. Dark leather, white cotton, all drenched and stuck to his skin, looking as let down as his expression.

Tom took a moment to take in the information, then stuck out his hat to give him. He also smiled, but a bit late, forgetting to make it seem natural.

“Umm…” Tom said, looking back at the wheel, then to the sailor to connect the two. You’re the captain now, buddy.

Mouthing obscenities, the sailor donned the hat and took hold of the wheel. Looked natural when he did it. It was a little embarrassing to leave him to it, but it made logical sense. The sailor knew what he was doing.

“Thanks,” Tom muttered as he crossed below deck. To somewhere he hoped was a bit quieter. And less stimulating.

He drew a lot of stares, being the only one going down and in while the rest of the crew were fleeing above. Tom waded through, legs starting to shiver. His teeth chattered rhythmically, but that was the one fun thing about freezing, made him feel like a pumped-up drummer. Idly mimicking Gojira, he meandered past a trail of floating belongings towards a cabin. Inside, as he had hoped, the erratic and emotionally charged shouts from above were muffled nicely.

Now he could think. This is the start of a quest, maybe? One of those things where you get hard stomped at the start, then go to the true beginning? But that didn’t feel right. Was it a bug -no, he probably just messed up what he was supposed to do, save the day or something? There was probably someone hard at work trying to pull him out of the game session right now. Nothing to do but wait.

But before Tom could continue, he kicked a chest still weighed down to the ground. Bubbles rose around in front as below it opened, and a whole host of sharp blades came flying out of the water like silver fish.

*

Head back, laying in the sand, Kuyeny held in his laughter as he failed to catch a fish. They spawned him as a fisherman, which was chill, especially since it came with the fabulous view of the port across the strait. He took it as a que to roleplay, sticking his rod in a terrible spot and pretending to wait, all the while imagining his brothers and uncle boiling alive in their rage. He’d for sure pay for it when he got out, but this far away from any action, Kuyeny would make them wait the whole three days.

But… it was quickly becoming boring.

Especially since the weather had turned, and the once cosy bed of sand now resembled a gristly yellow sponge. And a storm was on its way. Great. Kuyeny wanted to do one thing; piss off his elitist uncle, and he couldn’t even do that.

All the thoughts inside his head were telling him to get the fuck up and make use of the time he had in the Battle Royale. And they weren’t really his thoughts, just lessons drilled into his head. That’s the part that irked him most. Even in a glass case, a separate digital world where only he got a ticket and those unlucky bastards didn’t- even here they could influence him.

Grumbling his way to the surf where he had left his fishing rod, Kuyeny kicked sand about in sprays. Half out of rage, but half also to observe how well the physics system held up even on this small scale. It really was a next-generation achievement. Everything mimicked real sensations, even the drag as he pushed his feet, even the annoying ass way grains of it would clump under your clothes. But—

Kuyeny paused and retracked his last step. Tried to paint the same pattern with his toes. He felt like it was a trick of the light the first time, but now that he could recreate it he was certain; the system wasn’t perfect. Small bits of information were lost in translation. He knew it; you couldn’t mimic real life to that degree. Kuyeny felt chills, felt powerful with finding this discovery, and decided to test it one more time. Bad move.

This time his toes caught, on something super fucking sharp! Bouncing around on the sand with just one foot proved too difficult and Kuyeny fell, inhaling a mouthful. With no comment on the taste, he looked to what he had unearthed with his ‘experiment’.

“A spear?” he shouted, to all those watching his feed, especially Riot employees, “Who buries a fucking spear on the beach? Hazardous! Is there no safety authority on Runeterra, how’s that for realism?”

He chuckled at his joke, then cringed, then winced as his foot throbbed. He sat there until the voices of his brothers poked at him enough to override it. “Alright, alright, I’ll pick it up.”

With a sharp pull, Kuyeny tore a length of it loose and gasped as sand swirled around it, following the motion in firm but ever-changing formations, like the spear was leading a migrating flock.

“Oh!”

*

Tom ducked, covering his face as blades continued to spin out of control in the cabin. He stayed crouched with his nose above water, just high enough to watch them tear through the deck above, which didn’t help the flooding situation. Still, it was fascinating. Nothing was pulling on the blades to make them fly, and they had no handles anyway. They acted like they were alive.

Through the shorn floorboards, the sky opened up wide and the blades flew topside. Tom chased after them, diving back the way he came because he realised then, that he’d react exactly the same if he had been released from a cage.

He prepared himself for the stressful noises above, ready to be hit upon by orders and shame. Thankfully, the screams this time were just screams. Between the flooding and the blades who seemed intent on bringing the ship down first, the sailors had all jumped overboard. But Tom walked in the middle of the carnage, arms raised, poised. As he walked up the waterlogged planks, the path before him was whittled away. The masts sliced, railings cut and ropes shredded. He understood. This was the only way that the writhing weapons could express themselves; they were pure emotion. But…that was preferable.

Tom didn’t need to pretend to be something he wasn’t. There wasn’t a procedure or social norm carefully chaperoning his actions. He simply came before them as he was, and reached out. Not to hold, grasp, or control. Just a touch. Flat steel on palm.

After it happened, Tom pulled back, expecting pain. But instead, there was a heavy quiet. The blades lingered in the air, swaying and veering off to the side. 25 of them, upright and altogether like a pleated skirt, all waiting for Tom’s next action.

“You put me on the spot here,” he told them, “What do you want me to do?”

He veered to the sides like they did. And they did the movement right back, but smoother, the blades flowing with one another. Looking around at the waves, Tom realized how in sync they all were. He wondered if that was helping to calm them. Using the sea as a guide, Tom started to dance, and the blades stepped in beside him.

For a moment it was joyous. In the next, he slipped underwater.

*

Kuyeny felt like he was dancing, and his dancing was shit. His newfound spear could whip up sand, but controlling it to do anything useful was the issue. There didn’t seem to be a pattern of movement, and picturing the effect he wanted didn’t do a damned thing except get it stuck in his eye.

By the time he had decided to give up struggling with that, some sailors had crawled to the shore, evidently the crew of a ship further away, just the tip of the -what was it called, the Titanicy bit- that, jutting out over the sea. Running over to them, Kuyeny helped them up as they coughed and gagged on his sand.

“Did you all make it out? Is everyone alright?” he asked.

“Fuck of ye’ landlubber. Fishing on a beach, what kind o’ man are ya?” The sailor tore away, although he was clearly struggling to stand. “Geh a load of this,” he called to his friends, “He finds his fishy wishyy on the beach!”

Kuyeny held his mouth shut, useless spear tipped down. His ears pumped hot as each new laughing sailor passed. “Looks like everyone’s just fine, then.”

“Is Bilgewa’er, ya loon,” the last sailor said with a shake of his head. “That was nottin’.” Even as he said that, he turned back to the sunken ship, and his face told a different story. When he realized Kuyeny caught him, the sailor gave him a shove and went on his way.

Alone again, Kuyeny stared at the ship himself. Imagined himself on that hanging tip, with a weapon that ruled the sea instead of shitty sand. He felt lofty, and powerful, raising his spear and prancing around -but wait, the ship was hurtling towards the shore, somehow. Like a wooden fin it loomed, then stopped, and finally the tip began to falter to the waves. Kuyeny scanned it, wondering what the hell he just witnessed…and the way the sailors dodged his questions; could it be that not everyone made it out safe?

He splashed out into the shallows. Already, the tempest below made it hard to move. Kuyeny didn’t trust his swimming skills once the bottom dropped out and even with the ships final lurch, the distance was too great. He stamped his spear down in frustration, sand billowing around it. “I demand you bring me that boat!” he shouted.

Water surged from both sides. Two pillars of sand charged, following on from the tip of Kuyeny’s spear. They didn’t just stretch, they took on the forms of soldiers, with crumbling helmets and mail, and marched. He trembled, but managed to keep it aloft as they tugged the boat, ignoring logic, ignoring gravity, following only his order. With a crash, it was beached and the two soldiers kneeled before Kuyeny, bowing, then dissipated with the next gust of wind.

*

Once the movement settled, Tom reckoned it was fine to climb out the side of the VR pod. The devs really waited until the last possible moment to pull me out, damn. He could still taste that dank salt water all the way at the back of his throat and in his sinus. It was a pity; he would have liked to spend more time practising with the blades.

Metal on metal rang out like a warning. Tom came to, blurriness all gone; he was on a beach. In Bilgewater still. His blades were behind his shoulders, angled forward, tense. And they were staring down a raggedy fisherman with a spear.

*

Once his sand dudes were gone, Kuyeny realized that this badass power was not free. He felt drained, thirsty maybe but not exactly. Dehydrated? Either way, he was on the verge of a headache and he knew he didn’t have the energy for a command like that anytime soon. Unfortunately, this wasn’t fresh water all around him that he could drink, and a quick search of his fisherman pouches didn’t turn up any either. But he had a ship right next to him! Salvage seemed reasonable. Anything airtight might’ve still been onboard. Somewhere.

As he made for it however, a seasoned-looking sailor hopped out from the side. A red captain’s jacket, tight beard and swept back blond hair. Seeing his choice of weapon, or rather, the several dozen of them, confirmed that it was a player. Kuyeny furiously rubbed his temples, anticipating that his headache was about to get a lot worse.

*

Tom hated dancing in public, it always made him so stiff. This time was no different. He made the first strike, but knew how dumb he looked, which made it even worse. Frustrated, the blades flew at awkward angles at the fisherman. He sighed; it would not be the cleanest kill. He had to learn to be more confident in his moves, like how he was out on the ocean.

“Guys,” he called to the blades, readying a second strike, “Let’s get a move on.”

But the weapons did not react.

*

“Guard!” Kuyeny commanded, crouching down into the forming sand, “In front and above.” It was all he could think of, and even this little defence made him want to bury his head and take a nap. He flinched, as the blades collided with his sand protectors in a barrage. He could hear them squirming, trying to pass through, causing sand to leak at his sides and making a pile on his boots. The weapons inches from his face.

“Wait!” Kuyeny said, then realized the sand was listening, “Trap them inside.”

*

Tom surveyed left and right as he approached the bunker of sand. Thankfully, there was no one else around. He checked once more, then launched into the flashiest spin, kicking up and flaring his arms. The sand held on as much as it could, but gave away as he landed, collapsing in a heap around the person they were protecting. The blades scattered back unrestrained, cutting Tom in several places until they found their balance.

Okay, yes, I could’ve done that better, he thought towards the blades, But that guy outplayed you with sand! You have to respect that.

Sulking at his back, the blades refused to help him unearth his adversary.

*

“Hey!” someone called, barely cutting through the thumping of Kuyeny’s mana-starved headache. “Hey, how the hell did you -like, control sand? That was really cool!”

Please kill me, Kuyeny thought, This pain is unearthly, fuck this game’s designers.

The multiple blades guy shook him again, rattling his head like a gong. “Hey! Are you trying to say something?”

Kuyeny looked up at him, unamused. “Kill me.”

“No. Tell me how your ability works.”

Kuyeny sat up, swallowing his pain long enough to convince this idiot to stop BMing. “Don’t you wanna win?” he asked him.

Blades guy shrugged. “There are more important things. I’m happy just learning. What about you? Are you going to kill up to a dozen players for a silly title?”

“Well, there is money involved, too.”