Tomorrow would be the start of the Festival of the Wings. There were only two days left. After that, no offering could be made until next year. But the underwater temple held its hush. Coral-lanterns flickered low, bioluminescent algae weaved between the worn bowls, were lined across the tidestone floor, resting in shallow spirals carved by generations of Driftcallers. The floor traced the shape of a soul— its lines, grooves, and etched spirals mimicking a Driftroot.

  Several initiates were already present, most with bowls in their hands. Some were spaced respectfully at the edge of the room. One sat cross-legged before a trio of possessions, whispering a mantra that barely stirred the air. Another, older, cupped their palms together, weaving slow Essentia spirals, centering themselves. A pair of twins was kneeling, copying verses from a ritual scroll with nervous fingers.

  A young boy with gray colored scales and a single white horn walked in, rubbing his silver eyes as he stepped inside the Offering Chamber. Maybe today would be different. Maybe today, I could finally set my soul back on the right current

  In the middle of the chamber, where whalebone ribs arched into a broad table worn smooth by centuries of hands, an Elven girl sat with her satchel spilling onto the bench. Coral light pooled around her, catching the flarepetal braid coiled above her ear—a twist of crimson petals smoldering against her moon-pale hair.

  In front of her were three empty bowls. She notices Kaelin looking at someone from behind her and turns in that direction.

  Near the far column, another initiate glanced up from where Kaelin was — a boy only a few years ahead of him, held status by posture alone. His eyes narrowed briefly at the sight of Kaelin, then slid right past him like he wasn’t there.

  "Kaelin," Esthel called, her voice easy and steady.

  Still shaking off the haze from his silver colored eyes. Why did waking always feel heavier here? Esthel, of course, looked like she’d woken at dawn with a song memorized.

  "Come here," she said, patting the bench beside her where her satchel still marked the spot she'd saved.

  Still yawning, Kaelin walked over without a word, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he approached.

  Esthel gave a dry glance toward the other initiate.

  "Ignore Dyunn. He seems to be walking around with an eel up his ass today."

  Kaelin gave a slow blink, then shrugged. "That's all? That's better than most days." He let out a short breath, more tired than amused. "I’ll never understand his issue with me. Just wish it was something bigger than what I am."

  Esthel rolled her eyes and set her satchel onto the table with a soft thump. "You know Dyunn. He likes pretending he can smell weakness in the water. You don’t give him what he wants, and it drives him mad."

  She reached into her pocket with a faint smirk. "Hey, I have something for you," she said, pulling out a small Drift stone — smooth and faintly green, holding it out to him. “Here. Use this when you go to spiral.”

  Still half-asleep. His fingers curled around the stone before his brain had even caught up. Kaelin blinked at it, feeling the faint warmth at its core.

  Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Anchored? Balanced in the current, like they say, Driftstones should help you do?

  “It’s enchanted?”Kaelin asked, voice rough with sleep.

  “Barely.”

  He turned it over in his hand. Half-hoping it would settle the buzz behind his eyes. It didn’t.

  “It's my old Driftstone, it will bring you luck,” Esthel said. “Or maybe not. But I did get a new one. So, you can keep it.” She smiled, and something about the way it lit her features. Made Kaelin blink.

  Maybe it was working already.

  Behind them, the door creaked open with a soft groan. A young human boy, no more than seven or eight, stepped nervously into the chamber. His robes were fresh and clean, a standard-issued scrollbook clutched tight to his chest. As the boy reached for a bowl, still bleary-eyed with sleep, his foot slipped on the wet stone floor. He tumbled forward with a yelp, sending several bowls clattering across the chamber.

  The sudden noise jolted Kaelin upright, out of his daydream. He blinked, then moved without thinking.

  Dyunn’s laughter had cracked through the chamber, too loud for the silence it broke. A few initiates glanced up at the sound, but quickly looked away.

  “What a graceful start,” he said, arms crossed. “Tripping over your feet before the gods even look your way?”

  He stepped forward, gaze lingering on the boy — then sliding deliberately to Kaelin.

  “Careful who you let pull you up,” he added, eyes flicking briefly to Kaelin with thinly veiled contempt. There it is again. That heat. Just breathe, don’t rise to it. He kept his breath steady, forcing down the heat rising under his skin. His fingers curled slightly against his thigh—not in anger, but anchoring himself. Not today. Esthel rose before he could respond.

  “At least he got up,” she said calmly. “Which is more than I can say for most of the main line when something goes wrong.”

  Dyunn’s smile thinned, and for a moment, Kaelin caught a flicker of something else behind his sneer—something like resentment. “Still acting like the whole family owes you a parade, cousin?” he scoffed, turning away with a flick of his sleeve. “Enjoy your strays,” he muttered, retreating. Three of his usual companions peeled away from the edge of the chamber to join him, and each fell into step behind Dyunn without a word.

  Around the chamber, no one spoke. A few initiates kept their eyes fixed on their bowls, busy themselves with their offerings— anything to pretend they hadn’t seen Dyunn.

  She didn’t sit right away. Her hand traced the edge of the whalebone table — the same one she’d been using before.

  “They call us branch blood,” she said quietly. “Like we’re a mistake that kept them growing. Something easy to snap off when it’s inconvenient.”

  She looked at Kaelin then, and her voice was firmer. “But roots run in all directions. Not just up.”

  Kaelin held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded toward the scattered bowls. "Come on. Let’s help him before Dyunn comes back with more wisdom."

  Esthel gave a small smirk and followed, kneeling opposite Kaelin as they reached for the fallen bowls.

  "Here—wait, let me help you," Kaelin says to the boy, already kneeling.

  The boy froze, wide-eyed, clearly expecting scolding. But Kaelin just started gathering the scattered bowls.

  "Are you okay?" Kaelin said gently.

  The boy nodded quickly, still shaken.

  Kaelin gave a small smile. He moved first, before anyone else could. He crouched and gathered the bowls, pretending not to notice the stares. “Hey, it happens to everyone,” he said, voice warm but low. “In my first year, I dropped three ritual scrolls and a whole vial of duskfire ink. Stained half the temple floor.” He let the moment breathe. Thought Master Vasalith would exile me on the spot.”

  "She just made me clean it all up... I picked parasites off the manta rays for a week, and I smelled like sea rot for days," Kaelin finished, offering a hand to the boy. "I'm Kaelin. And trust me, it takes some time, but you'll get used to waking up."

  Esthel’s voice, still cool with tension, cut in gently. “If Dyunn gives you a hard time again, just come find me. Let’s see how brave he is when someone bites back.”

  That earned a shaky laugh.

  "I'm Sarn," the boy replied, voice small but steadier now.

  Kaelin nodded. "Nice to meet you."

  They finished arranging the bowls, the clatter fading into the soft hum of the chamber.

  Kaelin glanced at the boy. "You can sit with us if you want. The table’s open."

  Sarn shook his head gently, clutching his scrollbook again. "Master Vasalith said she wanted me in the spiraling rooms first. She said… It’s time I learned how to thread properly."

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  Kaelin raised an eyebrow, but smiled. "I hear that more than I need to from her. You’ll be fine."

  The boy nodded, hesitating. “Not looking forward to spiraling with her, though.”

  “Most don’t,” Kaelin replied. “But you’ll come out better for it.”

  “Thanks for helping me,” Sarn said quietly, bowing his head slightly as he clutched the bowls to his chest, then quietly turned and exited the Offering Chamber. As the door opened, Master Vasalith stood waiting just beyond the arch, her expression gentle. She met Kaelin and Esthel’s eyes briefly and gave them a small nod of approval before turning to walk with Sarn down the corridor.

  Kaelin watched him go, then turned back toward the table.

  Funny. He walked just like I used to. Holding everything too close, hoping no one noticed the tremble. Gods, I hope someone did.

  Dyunn and three others had already claimed their spot. His satchel sprawled and bowls arranged deliberately—as if marking territory.

  That silence again. Not anger. Not really. Just weight. Maybe I should say something. “He knows we were sitting there.”

  Her jaw clenched subtly. “Of course he does. That’s exactly why.”

  Kaelin touched her elbow lightly with the driftstone. He pressed the Driftstone gently into her hand—a quiet reminder. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let's not fight. You're already better than him. Besides, you can thread Essentia using the warm and cool methods. We can use our old table—the one with the reef crack.”

  Esthel exhaled slowly, the sharpness dulling just a bit. “You mean the one you broke because of something petty?”

  “Yeah,” Kaelin said, a slight grin forming. “I just added some character.”

  She snorted lightly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “And infections.”

  They moved to the far side of the chamber, toward the old coral-bone table that leaned unevenly against the wall. The smell of brine-rot and old coral lingered faintly around it, a reminder of its neglect. Three bowls rested nearby—likely the same ones they'd just cleaned up after Sarn's accident.

  Esthel picked them up, brushing a thin crust of sediment away. As she shifted one of the bowls aside.

  Kaelin spotted something beneath the bench — a scrollbook, its edges damp but still new. He glanced at Esthel, then quietly raised his hand over the book. A soft breath escaped his lips as he whispered a small drying charm.

  Warm Essentia pooled around his fingertips, tracing runes of evaporation through the air before sinking into the pages. The scrollbook stiffened slightly in his hands as the moisture lifted, leaving it dry and crisp enough to open without damage.

  He thumbed through the first few pages. Esthel leaned over slightly, noticing the book in his hands.

  "Where are your bowls?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.

  Kaelin blinked, then gave a sheepish shrug, holding up the scrollbook instead. It is standard issue—a mix of calendar dates, ritual diagrams, and basic history. His eyes paused on a familiar story — the Sixfold Heroes. Scribbled in the margin was a name: Sarn.

  One offering. Maybe two, if I lied to myself. And now I’m standing here with a book that’s not even mine. Just more proof I’m stalling.

  Kaelin lingered quietly. His thumb brushed the damp corner of the scrollbook—one last hesitation—before he tucked it carefully under his arm. Then he admitted softly, “Oh, I am sorry. Just found Sarn’s book, but one set is enough anyway. I’m... still not ready.”

  She glanced sideways, a quick flash of irritation in her eyes—not directed fully at him, but enough to sting. “It's not like you can force a meaningful offering overnight,” she muttered, more sharply than she'd intended. “If you miss the offering, you'll have to wait a whole year," she added, bitterness edging her voice. "Don't you want your soul to return to Aionis as soon as possible?"

  Don’t snap. Please don't get mad. It's been hard after the change; I feel rage most nights. “I know,” he said softly.

  Esthel sighed, the brief flash of frustration fading. She held out one of the bowls, fingertips brushing his as she handed it over. “Still,” she murmured, voice softer now, “I remember what it was like when you first showed up. You looked like you wanted to disappear. It’s good to see how far you’ve come — and that you're still here.”

  Why does that hit harder than it should? She always knows how to say things that slip past the armor. He smiled faintly and began arranging the bowls alongside her. “Oldest table here,” he finally said, breaking the quiet with a small breath. “Seems fitting.”

  Esthel glanced at him, her expression easing back into a quiet smile. “Guess you’re not the newest one anymore.”

  “You still remember the ink?” Kaelin asked softly.

  "It wasn’t the ink that stayed with me. It was how everyone acted like you’d vanished. You looked so confused and stubborn and miserable, I figured... well, someone who actually knows how to clean properly should probably handle it.”Esthel said chuckling

  Kaelin’s voice caught, but he smiled faintly. “Yeah. I didn’t know what to say. Everyone acted like I didn’t exist. You just... handed me a rag. I’ve never forgotten that.”

  “I saw someone on the floor with duskfire ink up his nose,” Esthel teased, but her voice was gentler now. “And I had extra rags.”

  He gave a quiet laugh. “First words you ever said to me were, ‘You missed a spot.’”

  “And you sneezed on the lantern,” she said, smiling faintly.

  Kaelin looked away for a beat. “I thought Vasalith would exile me. Or worse, make a lesson out of it. But she didn’t. She just handed me a mop. And you handed me a rag.”

  Esthel smiled, brushing her hair behind one ear. “I’ll remember you brought that up next time you go to Spiral.”

  Kaelin glanced back at that smooth Driftstone in his hand and turned it over again. The underside caught the light differently this time — faint etchings revealed themselves in the curve of the stone: a spiral looping inward toward a single rune carved at its center. The word wasn't in Common, but he recognized the runes. From what he could remember, it meant to center.

  He frowned slightly, thumb brushing the groove. "Where’d you even get a new one?”

  “Reward from Llyrian,” she said. “His last test helped me reach the second stage of the Flame Thread. Right before the bindroot threshold.”

  Can this really help me get past my breakthrough?" Thanks," he said quietly, glancing at Esthel. "Really."

  Esthel smiled slightly and nodded toward the charm in his palm. "The driftstone's meant to help you center. You’re supposed to place it on top of your head. Let the weight settle your Field before you spiral."

  "That's all?" Kaelin asked, raising an eyebrow. "Wait, how can I practice my forms or tend to the gardens. Just like me, trying to balance a rock on my head, looking like a fool."

  "I can only imagine," as Esthel laughed under her breath. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small Driftbead — no larger than a marble — "But this one is a bit harder to keep still she said

  Try placing this one on your head as you center your Field, but the challenge is holding that balance while releasing negative Essentia. It’s harder than it looks. You'll understand as you practice with yours."

  Just smile. She doesn’t need to see the rest. “It’s been a year since I joined." He paused, a familiar tightness catching in his chest. A whole year, and I’m still standing in the shallows while everyone else learns to swim.. I’m still stuck at my breakthrough. I can hear some whispers of nature now, but it’s hard to make out its words. It sounds mostly like water, wind, fire, and earth.”

  Esthel’s expression softened. “You’re closer than you think,” she said. “Most initiates don’t even hear the elements until their third year. You’ll get there, Kaelin. The Drift doesn't speak clearly to anyone at first. You have to keep spiraling and threading.”

  Kaelin chuckled once, then let the quiet hang for a beat. His fingers tapped the edge of the bowl absentmindedly. "Has Master Llyrian said anything about the Vyreling that had been spotted recently?"

  "No," Esthel said, her voice quiet but certain. "Master Llyrian and Vasalith are in council about the attacks. They think it's best to either catch it—or take it down."

  "Have they tried talking to it yet?" Kaelin asked, not quite sarcastic, but not hopeful either.

  Esthel shook her head. "They said they tried, and it doesn’t listen. I don’t know. Everything feels wrong. Maybe it’s cursed and no one’s saying it."

  Kaelin's gaze drifted toward the ocean beyond the window, the corallight catching on the glass like glimmers of distant memories. Something tightened in his throat.

  "Kaelin's voice dropped. "No one deserves that," he said, not quite looking at her.

  A flicker of something cold and sharp stirred under his ribs and tugged at his Driftroot. His hand flew to his chest as if to catch whatever pain had bloomed there, breath hitching, just short of a gasp.

  Kaelin swallowed once, the chill still pressing beneath his ribs. He looked back toward Esthel.

  I wont let the the curse win.

  "Are you okay? Is it the curse?" Esthel asked, voice just above a whisper.

  "Yeah, but I'll be okay," Kaelin muttered, forcing a half-smile.

  "What did you offer the gods this year?" he asked, quieter now, but trying to sound steady.

  Esthel tilted her head slightly, reading the hesitance in his voice. "Let me show you."

  Esthel reached beside her satchel and drew out three objects — one wrapped in linen, one carved from veilsteel, and one a twisted ribbon of Essentia-threaded bark.

  Kaelin hadn’t meant to stare, but something about the way Esthel handled each item with such care in her hands, the quiet breath before each motion held him. Her Field shifted as she moved with focus and steadiness. These weren’t just offerings—they were Essentia laced promises, memories, and shared experiences that fill the gods' domain and substance before one passing.

  The first offering, a scarf of soft linen, she lifted it slowly. Its edges were frayed, but it had been carefully folded

  Her breath steadied.“This was sent to me by my sibling from across the sea,” Esthel said, brushing a thumb across the familiar weave. “I lost it during the Flame Thread rite. Thought it was gone forever. Then, one morning, I found it on my cot, a little damp from river mist. That’s how I knew it was meant to return.”

  She closed her eyes and held it over her heart. A shimmer of Essentia spiraled gently from her chest into the bundle. Then she whispered a short mantra. Only then did she place it into the first bowl.

  She retrieved a threaded medallion from a hidden fold in her satchel for the second offering. It was small, carried a ceremonial weight — the surface etched with a faded symbol of the twin moons. Kaelin recognized it instantly — the warding token gifted after her father's passing. Esthel cupped it against her chest and whispered a mantra — older than the one before, softer too. Her Essentia responded slowly, a gentle warmth seeping through her fingers as the medallion pulsed in kind, absorbing the resonance. When the mantra faded, she lowered the token and gently placed it into the second bowl — the one meant to carry forward.

  She held the third, the bark ribbon, in her hand for a long moment. Unlike the others, she did not speak over it. Her fingers pressed together slowly as she focused, and Kaelin could see the fibers begin to separate — not snapped, but frayed down into overly thin pieces, almost nothing but diced threads.

  The pull of Essentia was faint and bitter as she wove it through. Then, in silence, she lowered the ribbon into the final bowl. The placement was still.

  “That one,” she said, “was for what must not return.”

  Kaelin had one item — the compass in his belt pouch — and maybe a second, if he stretched the meaning. He brushed the worn leather, shoulders stiff. The compass felt heavier now, more hollow. Would the gods even care? The third… he had no idea.

  He glanced at Esthel again. Her braid was tighter today. So was the knot in his chest.

  Esthel stepped over beside him, brushing her palms lightly together. “I’m ready to place my offering,” she said gently. “Would you like to come with me?”

  Kaelin nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go now—before I get stuck at the ritual circle until next midday.”