When Niklas wandered the world, spreading terror throughout all that lived, the Calx did not recognize him for what he was. He was great and terrible, but also so very distant, far above the waves. The sparks of bravery that the Calx showed could not be missed, however: They were a race born in terror that could not survive without courage:
From birth to change to death, each of them was utterly alone in the world, without lords or champions, with neither mother nor father known to them, only the vast emptiness of the stormy sky above. Without any comforting voices, they carried on, living as well as they could in utter isolation.
Their flesh was weak, made of jelly and slime. With neither claw nor shell nor bone nor even the sting of the true jellyfish, the children of calx were utterly unable to protect themselves from the terrors of the deep. And yet they explored the waters, heedless of the danger.
As they grew older, the children began to feel the call of the sands, an urge to nestle down upon the floor and cease to move. They knew not whether it would kill them, destroying their minds as their bodies were petrified, and feared it. And yet they changed anyways, unwilling to let their people die out entirely because they themselves feared death.
They knew not whether the Gods watched, nor even if there were any. But perhaps the gods knew of them? Perhaps even one smiled down on such a brave species?