The night after the battle lay heavy with silence, broken only by the soft lapping of the lake's water and the gentle crackle of firelight. The bodies of the Orcas had been washed away, dissolved into mist by the strange, sacred power that had risen from the lake. As the survivors tended wounds and reinforced the perimeter, something stirred beneath the shimmering surface.
Ripples spread across the still water. Then, like moonlight taking form, figures began to rise—ethereal beings composed entirely of flowing blue light and mist. Water Sprites. Dozens of them emerged, delicate and graceful, their forms dancing like liquid flame. And behind them, emerging last and tallest, came a being of majesty and awe.
The Water Spirit King.
He towered above the lake, formed of ocean and ice, crowned with coral and pearl, his eyes like deep wells of eternity. All fell silent. Even the wind held its breath.
And then he bowed.
The Water Spirit King, Lord of the Lakes and Rivers, bent his massive, glimmering form in reverence—not to Alaric, not to Braten, not even to Lucy.
But to the child.
To Caelen Thorns, the baby with golden eyes, who blinked quietly in his mother's arms.
And then, one by one, the other Sprites bowed too—hundreds of them, kneeling in unison beneath the pale moonlight.
The Duke of Polaris, Alaric Vaelstrome, felt his breath catch. His thoughts raced, his heart thundered.
"Spirits—no, Sprites—these are no mere forest fey," he realized. "They are elemental beings—second only to dragons and gods. They do not bow to kings. They do not bow to mortals. Then who... what... is this child?"
Caelen's golden eyes gleamed faintly as he stared at the Spirit King. He blinked once, slowly... and then closed his eyes, as if acknowledging their presence with peaceful approval.
The Spirit King turned, his gaze settling on Alaric.
"You bear the mark of Vaelstrome," he said, voice like rushing rivers and distant rainstorms.
Alaric bowed low. "I am Alaric Vaelstrome, Duke of Polaris, Your Majesty."
The Spirit King nodded. "Long ago, five centuries past, I blessed your bloodline. I remember it well."
Then his eyes turned to Caelen once more, their depths unreadable.
"Tell me, what is your connection to the one born beneath the Fallen Star?"
Alaric's heart froze at the words "Fallen Star". The same phrase whispered by the Elven High Priestess, feared by dwarves and dreamt of by Dragons.
"I... he is the son of my dearest friend," Alaric said, stepping aside.
Braten stepped forward, hand on his chest. "I am Braten Thorns. A former Knight, now father to this child."
The Spirit King studied him. Then, slowly, he raised his hand, and the lake behind him surged upward before crashing into Braten in a harmless spray. A rush of warmth filled Braten's limbs—his joints, his bones, his very soul. He gasped.
"You now bear the Blessing of the Waters," the Spirit King said. "You will know healing, and protection, and the strength of flowing steel. Wield it well, Braten Thorns."
Then he turned to Lucy, his voice gentler now.
"To you, mother of the Starborn, I entrust one of my own kin. She shall protect you from any who dare harm you."
A wisp of water coiled through the air, then took shape beside Lucy—a small, dragon-like creature, glowing faintly blue. It had long elven ears, blue fur over its lithe, serpentine body, and luminous eyes filled with ancient kindness. It nuzzled gently against Caelen's hand.
"This is Neraya, my most powerful kin, second only to me. She will guard your child with her life, though I doubt he needs protection from lesser beings such as us," the Spirit King said, his voice tinged with awe.
Alaric stepped back in stunned silence. He looked at the creature, then the Spirits, then Caelen.
"Lesser beings…?" he whispered to himself. "They call themselves lesser… to him?"
His mind reeled. Sprites—guardians of the elements across realms—revered Caelen as something greater. Something beyond their understanding.
The Spirit King straightened, his form rising to the heavens once more.
"You may rest here tonight," he said. "No harm shall come to you under my watch. The forest itself shall stand guard."
And with that, he dissolved into mist, fading into the still waters alongside his kin—save for Neraya, who curled beside Lucy and Caelen, her eyes glowing like tiny stars.
That night, beneath the gaze of ancient spirits, the party slept peacefully. But in the mind of every soldier, every knight, every parent... the same thought burned:
What is this child destined to become?