Lythor, Lumithar 24, 528 EK

  After Kaela declared her intent to challenge the prophecy engraved in Visilanth, the Thalasson dignitaries present immediately realized one thing: this was not an ordinary meeting. This was not a discussion about supplies, alliances, or mere survival. What was being debated was something far more dangerous — an act that, for some of them, amounted to defying the will of the gods.

  When the word “hunt” slid from Kaela’s mouth, the hall changed instantly. Not an explosion of emotion — rather a silent tension, like the sea suddenly holding its breath before a storm.

  The circle of stones held only them: Lorvalis and Lirena at the center, Kaela and Vaelvalis facing one another, Ocea standing by the queen, and Ocevalis — the uncle who had known war longest — a hard shadow opposite Kaela.

  Ocevalis stepped half a pace forward.

  “Hunt that creature?” his voice was low, heavy with experience. “Kaela, you know who I am. You know the seas I have crossed. There are creatures that are not to be hunted — only avoided.”

  Lorvalis cut in before Kaela could answer. His tone was measured, but no less firm.

  “We accept your first proposal,” the king said. “Moving Thalasson. Difficult, almost impossible — yet still within the bounds of reason. More sensible than attempting to change a line we have long understood as fate.”

  Kaela lifted her chin. Her look was not defiant, but neither did she budge.

  “We call it fate because we have never dared touch it,” she said. “What if what we call prophecy is only a warning?”

  Those words thinned the air in the hall. Lirena stared at her daughter with worry, while Ocea drew a soft breath.

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  Lorvalis shook his head slowly. “If it is a warning, precisely for that reason we must choose the safe path. Since Chalentos began to record its history, there has never been a single tale that strayed from its course. Not because we are fearful — but because that boundary is real.”

  Kaela was silent for a moment. Her chest rose in a slow, nearly invisible breath — only those who knew her would notice. When she spoke again, her voice ran deeper.

  “We have delayed what should have occurred — not once, but repeatedly. We choose roundabout ways when straight paths look too steep. We buy time with small sacrifices and then call the result coincidence so it feels safe. But those were decisions. Always decisions. And every decision changes what waits ahead of us. If we keep calling bravery foolishness, it’s no wonder we believe fate is a wall — not because it can’t be moved, but because we have never dared push against it.”

  Lirena took a step forward, trying to temper the direction of the talk.

  “My child,” she said softly, “we can leave. Rebuild. We need not sacrifice our people for one experiment.”

  “True,” added Ocea. “That path is hard, but still within what we can bear.”

  Silence fell again.

  “Forgive me, Father,” Vaelvalis’s voice broke it. He stepped forward and looked Kaela squarely in the eye. “This time, I stand with Uncle Ocevalis.”

  Kaela flinched. “Vael—”

  “Wait,” Lorvalis raised a hand. “Let him speak.”

  Vaelvalis inhaled. His tone was cold, measured — more like a speech than an objection.

  “Kaela’s idea gives us time, supplies, and wealth. That is indisputable,” he said. “But it doesn’t solve the core issue. We are faced with three choices: leave, hunt, or press first.”

  He turned to his father.

  “Starting a new kingdom means forcing our people — sea-elves who throughout history have lived upon water — to learn the land, soil, and farming that have never been part of our lives. It’s not merely moving places; it forces our bodies, culture, and instincts to change over decades, even centuries. That isn’t safety; it’s a long-term gamble. And hunting that creature? We know the risks. It is not merely a monster.”

  Kaela moved to interrupt, but Vaelvalis went on quickly.

  “So the most rational path is to press other kingdoms. Seize lands that already have soil, food, and infrastructure. Our people can survive, learn, and assimilate.”

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  But simply reading and enjoying this tale is more than enough—I am already deeply grateful.