Gray skin. Violet eyes. Six gray tentacles sprouting from the middle of her back. Everyone acted like that was normal. Her mother and father were ordinary humans with fair skin and blue eyes. Neither had tentacles. Neither had violet eyes. Neither had skin the color of storm clouds. Yet whenever Octicia asked why she looked different, she received the same vague assurances:
Some children simply take after distant relatives.
Magic does strange things.
You'll understand when you're older.
But over the years, Octicia began to put the pieces of the puzzle together—beginning with her name.
"Father, why am I different?" she finally asked one night at dinner. "I'm adopted, right?"
"No," came her father's calm reply. "You're ours."
"Then why—?"
"Because I am not what you think I am. I am a priest of the Kraken."
For several seconds, Octicia said nothing. Then she laughed. Her father did not. The smile vanished from her face.
"A kraken priest? You told me you were an accountant."
"I am an accountant."
"You can be both?"
"The temple has expenses."
Octicia glanced toward her mother, expecting her to laugh, protest, do anything. Instead, her mother stared silently at her plate.
Her father folded his hands. "The Kraken is older than mankind, Octicia. Older than our kingdoms. Older, perhaps, than the gods themselves. What sleeps beneath the Abyss is not merely an animal. It is the hope toward which all creation moves."
Octicia's tentacles curled uneasily behind her. "And what does that have to do with me?"
"Everything." Her father rose and walked to her side of the table. There was no menace in his expression. Quite the opposite. He looked at her with unmistakable pride. "You were chosen before you were born."
Octicia pushed her chair back. "Chosen for what?"
"To become a Kraken. One of many, Octicia. An army of hunger, to devour the world."
The room went very still. Octicia stared at her father, aghast but unable to speak.
"Your transformation has only begun," he continued. His smile faded, though his voice remained gentle. "Your skin. Your eyes. Your limbs. These are the first signs. As you grow stronger, the change will continue. In time, you will shed this human shape entirely."
Octicia stood. "No!" she screamed, finally finding her voice. Her chair toppled backward as her violet eyes widened. "You want me to help you with your stupid plan to destroy the universe?"
"Destroy?" Her father seemed genuinely surprised by the word. Then he smiled. "Oh, Octicia. No. I want you to save it."
She stared at him.
Her father gestured toward the window. Beyond it were thousands of distant lights: homes filled with people eating, arguing, laughing, mourning, being born and dying. "Look at them. Every creature suffers. They hunger. They fear. They lose those they love. They grow old. They die. Then their souls return, born into new bodies, and it begins again." His voice grew softer. "Again and again and again, for all eternity. An endless whirlwind of suffering." He looked into his daughter's eyes. "But we can stop it."
Octicia felt suddenly cold.
"When the Kraken consumes a soul, that soul does not return. There is no next life. No hunger. No grief. No fear. No loneliness. No death, because there is nothing left that can die." His eyes glistened with tears. "Death is peace, Octicia." He offered his hand. "Perfect peace."
She pulled away. "You—you're insane! Both of you!" Her tentacles lashed outward. One struck the table and sent bowls crashing onto the floor.
Her father didn't flinch. "No." her father asserted, his voice filled with a strange and distant resoluteness.
"Damn you! DAMN. YOU. Both of you! I'm leaving!"
Her father's expression hardened for the first time. "You cannot outrun what you are."
"Watch me."
She ran. Her mother called after her. Her father did not. Octicia sprinted through the streets until the lights of her neighborhood disappeared behind her. She ran beyond the city walls, through muddy fields and moonlit woods, until her lungs burned and her strange limbs dragged through the dirt behind her. Only then did she stop. She collapsed beside a stream and stared at her reflection.
Gray skin. Violet eyes. Six tentacles.
For the first time, she truly hated herself. Her life. Her appearance. Everything. She grabbed one tentacle and tried desperately to pull it from her back. It was like trying to pull off an arm. It didn't work. Octicia began to cry.
Gods, krakens, reincarnation, parents—damn all of them! She wanted to be a humble and ordinary girl who would someday marry a handsome man and have many children. Not a freak called Octicia. And as dawn broke over the trees, grief slowly hardened into anger. She balled her hands into fists and punched her reflection with all her might. If magic had done this to her, then magic could undo it. She would use the magic within her own body to subvert her horrific destiny.
Octicia stood and wiped the tears from her face.
Years later, men would know her as Octicia the Cunning, one of the most formidable witches of her generation. She crossed kingdoms in search of forbidden spells, bargained with spirits, robbed forgotten temples, studied transformations, curses, immortality, and the secret anatomy of magical creatures. She even delved to the very bottom of the abyss, in search of answers. But every answer led to another question, and every question drew her closer to the terrible truth buried in her blood.
The changes never completely stopped. Some years, they were almost imperceptible. Other years, she awoke to discover that her tentacles had grown longer. That her violet eyes could see things human eyes could not. Worst of all were the dreams: an endless black ocean, reflecting stars disappearing one by one. Worlds falling into an impossibly vast mouth.
And afterward, silence.
No crying.
No war.
No hunger.
No death.
Perfect and eternal peace. Sometimes, in the moments before she woke, Octicia understood why her father had called it beautiful. That frightened her more than anything. So she kept searching. Somewhere in the accumulated knowledge of gods, witches, demons, and forgotten civilizations, there had to be a way to sever herself from the thing waiting in the Abyss. Until she found it, Octicia made herself a promise. She would remain human. She would remain herself. And if the Kraken came to claim its promised daughter before she discovered the cure, it would learn that Octicia the Cunning had never been very good at doing what she was told.
