The sky folded the next morning.
That was the only way Silas would later describe it—folded, like a sheet of blue had been carefully bent, not torn, just… bent.
One moment, the sky was ordinary, lazy, gulls drifting on warm air currents. The next, the clouds arched in a perfect dome, forming a circle that hovered above the village like a portal. The light that poured through was soft, steady, and strange—not sunlight, not moonlight, but something older.
Ma and Pa had known it would happen. They had spent the previous night whispering in the kitchen, checking the wind and tide charts, and silently praying that Euryale didn't wake them early.
Euryale, blissfully unaware, slept on as the village began to stir. Silas was tangled in his blanket and Lyra was kicking gently in her sleep.
Then a man appeared.
He did not fall from the sky. He did not descend. He simply arrived, stepping onto the sand with a calm precision, like gravity had decided to be polite.
Lyra woke first and screamed.
Silas scrambled out of bed, half dressed, tripping over slippers and shouting, "WHO'S THAT?"
Pa sighed and lifted an eyebrow. "Of course today," he muttered.
The man's robes shimmered faintly, constellations stitched in silver thread that seemed to move if you weren't looking directly at them. He brushed sand from his sleeves, glancing at the children, the family, and the small fishing village behind them.
"Good morning," he said, voice smooth, friendly, and just faintly amused. "Apologies for the entrance. Spatial gates… they have a sense of timing."
Pa, never one to waste words, lifted his spear halfway. "State your business."
The man inclined his head. "Master Velin, of the Celestial Academy."
Euryale rolled over, muttering in his sleep, completely oblivious.
Lyra sat up, blinking. "Master… Velin?"
Silas covered his eyes with one hand. "Is that bad?"
Velin's lips twitched. "Only if you dislike paperwork."
Pa lowered his spear slightly, while Ma's eyes narrowed in silent approval. They had known this visit was coming. They had prepared for it.
Velin's gaze, however, rested on the shoreline, on the waves curling as if they had a secret of their own.
Pa muttered under his breath, "Remember, keep it calm. Only the two of us know."
Euryale finally stirred, rubbing his eyes. "Why is there a man standing in the yard… waving?"
Pa cleared his throat. "Nothing. Just… a visitor, Euryale. Go back to breakfast."
Velin chuckled quietly, watching the children squabble over who would get the first honey flatcake. He stepped closer to the water, letting the waves lap gently at his boots.
"Tell me," Velin said softly to Pa and Ma, careful to keep his voice low, "how is the boy?"
Xena shrugged. "As curious as ever. Still arguing with the sea before breakfast."
Velin smiled faintly. "Good. That is exactly what I hoped."
Pa glanced at him. "You came all this way just for him?"
"Not for him," Velin said, eyes glinting like starlight. "For the tide. For what it remembers."
The children were now eating flatcakes noisily, oblivious to the weight of what Velin had just said. Silas loudly declared he was "practicing magic in my mouth with honey" while Lyra dropped crumbs on the floor.
Velin leaned down to whisper to Pa. "He is not ready to understand. The awakening… the White Core—it is his alone to discover. But the sea already knows him."
Pa nodded solemnly, then turned to Ma. "Keep him busy. Let him argue with the waves. He needs to feel it before he can control it."
Velin straightened, glancing at the horizon. The waves pulsed faintly, as if answering some unseen rhythm. "White Core Bearers are anchors, not rulers," he murmured. "The myths speak of them as guides for tides and tempests. They do not bend the sea—they hold it steady when the world forgets."
Ma nodded quietly. "We know. That's why we've protected him."
Silas pointed to Velin suddenly. "He's wearing stars on his cloak! Can I touch them? Are they stickers?"
Euryale, now finally awake, squinted at Velin. "Who are you? Why do you look like the one who test me the other day?"
Velin chuckled softly. "I am… a friend. I came to see someone the sea already knows. That is all you need to understand for now."
Lyra gasped. "The sea knows him?"
Pa crouched to her level. "Yes. The sea likes our Euryale. But only because he listens, not because he shouts."
Euryale frowned. "I don't even know how to talk to the sea."
Velin's eyes softened. "Then do not try to talk. Just… stand. Listen. Be."
The children exchanged bewildered looks. Silas muttered, "Sounds like homework from the sea."
Lyra giggled. "Do I get to do it too?"
Velin shook his head, amused. "No. This is for anchors."
Euryale stepped toward the water cautiously. Velin placed a hand into the tide, letting it curl around him like a greeting. "Watch," he said, voice low.
Euryale hesitated, then knelt beside him. "Please… just a little," he whispered.
The water rose gently. Not forced, not glowing, not bending. It simply curved toward him, like an old friend recognizing an old voice.
Euryale's eyes widened. "That's… that's it?"
Velin smiled. "That's everything."
Lyra clapped her hands. "He didn't even spill a drop!"
Velin glanced at Pa and Ma. "Keep him close. Teach him that strength is quiet before it is loud. Let him argue with the waves, and let him fail. That is how anchors are made."
Then, without ceremony, he stepped back into the sea. The waves embraced him, and as he faded from view, it was as if the tide itself had nodded in approval.
Pa exhaled, wiping his brow. "He'll be fine. For now."
Ma ruffled Euryale's hair. "You have no idea what just happened, little storm."
Euryale grinned at her, blissfully unaware of the full weight of Velin's visit—or the fact that the tides of legend had already marked him as their own.
Far out beyond the breakers, something ancient stirred.
Not awakened. Not angry.
Just… watching.
And the sea rolled in, slow, deep, and approving.