Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 125(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
“They won’t,” I say, unable to keep the wobble out of my voice.
A shadow glides beneath the surface, graceful and deliberate. Another follows, closer, stirring the silvered water until it parts around him. When he rises, the lake seems to bow. His hair streams like white clouds in the fading light, threads of green weaving through it like kelp kissed by the sun. His face is strong and ageless, all clean lines and calm authority, the kind of beauty that belongs to the deep, otherworldly and undeniably alive. His eyes, pale as sea-glass, catch the dying light and hold it, ancient and knowing.
I stand on wobbly knees, and Everett stands with me, solid and comforting by my side.
My father’s gaze finds mine, and the months we’ve been apart collapse. The punishment, the silence, the ache of separation all disappear, and I’m once again his daughter, waiting for him to smile.
“My daughter, you look well. Changed, but well.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “You came.”
“I had to,” he says simply. “The Council felt the lake’s pulse return to balance. The poisons recede. We followed the current here.” His eyes shift to Everett, studying him with the wariness of a creature who has lived long enough to see humanity’s worst. “You’ve done this together?”
Everett nods, his gaze steady and open. “She’s the heart of it. I just followed her lead.”
My father’s gaze softens with love and pride. “The waters whispered of human hands cleaning what others defiled. I didn’t believe them at first. I feared they spoke of another trick, another cost. But it’s true. The balance holds because of you.” His eyes hold regret now. “You were right to save him. I was wrong to let the law blind me to what mattered more.”
A half sob, half laugh escapes me. “Father—”
His palm glimmers with faint light as he lifts his hand. “I thought banishment would teach you obedience. It taught me loss instead. The reef is emptier without your song. Your grandmother wept for you every tide. I have missed you, little starfish.”
Tears blur the horizon. I step closer to the edge, the lake lapping at my toes. “I missed you too. Every night I listened for the current and wondered if you still heard me.”
“I did,” he says softly. He pauses, and the weight of kingship settles back over him. “You may return, Ariel. The Council has seen the proof of your heart. You’ve done what none of us dared. You’ve built trust where fear lived. You can come home.”
My breath catches. Home. The word shimmers like light through water. Behind me, Everett’s hand finds mine, warm and certain. He’s my home now, the pulse that steadied me, embraced me, loved me through my exile.
“I can’t,” I whisper, then louder, “I choose to stay. I chose him the day I saved him, maybe before that. I love him. My place is here now.”
My father studies me, grief and pride weaving through his expression. “Then so be it. The ocean does not keep what the shore needs.” He looks at Everett again, and the old authority in his tone softens to something almost human. “Protect her, protect the water, and the lake will guard you in return.”
A breeze stirs the reeds. The ripples around him shimmer with faint light, spreading outward.
He smiles. “I love you, little starfish. You will always have the protection of the water. Wherever you walk, its heart will know your name.”
The glow fades as he sinks beneath the surface, the last trace of him dissolving into silver rings.
“I love you, Appa,” I whisper.
Everett’s arm slides around my waist, anchoring me as I stare at the quiet water.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“No,” I whisper, leaning into him as tears stream down my cheeks.
He presses a kiss on my temple. “Then we’ll be not okay together.”
The lake murmurs, content, and the sky folds itself into dusk. Despite my words, for the first time in a long time, both worlds feel at peace.
And so do I.