The sky that morning was calm. Too calm, Euryale thought. The sort of calm that made him suspicious the river was plotting something.
"Good morning, young storm," Velin said, appearing almost magically as if the wind had carried him. This time, there was no dramatic arrival, no sudden swoop from the clouds—just Velin, sitting cross-legged on the riverbank, robe immaculately dry despite the damp grass.
Pa whispered in Euryale's ear, barely moving his lips, "Last lesson, kiddo. After today, he won't be coming back until… well, we'll see in a few years."
Euryale blinked. "Years?"
"Fifteen," Velin said, as if reading his mind. "You are twelve now. When you turn fifteen, I expect to see you at the Academy. If you get in, that is."
Euryale froze. "Wait—if I get in?"
Velin tilted his head. "There is merit in humility. And in effort. And a bit of luck."
Silas, who had somehow appeared behind a bush and was hiding snacks in his pockets, whispered, "Luck… I like that. Can I borrow some?"
Lyra rolled her eyes, pointing at him. "Focus, Silas! He's being serious!"
"I am serious," Euryale said, torn between awe and panic. "But… the Academy… it's so far away. And what about… the village? And Ma? And Pa?"
Velin didn't answer immediately. He merely lowered his gaze to the river, tracing a spiral with one fingertip. "The water does not leave the shore. The tide comes and goes. It remembers the coast, no matter how far it travels. But it still ventures outward."
Euryale frowned. "I don't want to leave the coast."
"That is understandable," Velin said softly. "Most do not. But the tide… learns. It listens. And it grows."
Pa crouched beside him, gripping his shoulder. "You don't have to decide now. But think about it. The Academy… it's a chance to learn, to understand what you felt when the water answered you. That's rare."
Xena approached, brushing back stray hair from Euryale's face. "No matter what you choose, we'll be proud. But sometimes, the world calls… even when it's scary."
Euryale groaned and threw himself on the grass, staring up at the clouds. "Why does the world always have to be scary? I liked it when I could just splash water around, make Silas yell, and pretend I was normal."
Velin chuckled. "Ah, but young storm, even 'normal' has its currents. And you, Euryale, are anything but normal. But that… is precisely why this lesson matters."
Silas leaned over the side of the riverbank, whispering to Lyra, "He's going to cry, I just know it."
Lyra whispered back, "He already looks like he wants to cry. I can smell it."
Euryale rolled over dramatically. "I do not want to cry. I just… feel… conflicted!"
Velin nodded. "Good. That is also part of learning. Conflict teaches the heart to make choices. Fear teaches the spirit to be courageous. Humility teaches patience."
"Ugh. Patience," Euryale muttered, scrunching his nose. "I hate patience. It's boring."
Velin's lips quirked. "Then we will make patience… interesting."
And with that, Velin stood, lifted his hand over the river, and whispered something that sounded like the rustle of waves. Immediately, a narrow column of water rose, twisting, twirling, and splashing—but instead of straight arcs, it flopped unpredictably, like a very confused snake.
Euryale gasped. "What is that?!"
"It is patience," Velin said with mock gravity. "You must control it without touching it. Now."
Euryale lunged, hands flailing, as the water splashed him square in the face and soaked his hair. "I—no—wait! Stop! I—!"
Silas rolled on the ground laughing. "It's attacking him again!"
Lyra squealed. "Do it like last time, Euryale! Polite!"
"Polite? POLITE?!" Euryale sputtered, dripping, flailing, and accidentally making the water surge upward in a spout that shot Kaelen—who had been scribbling notes—right in the chest.
Kaelen coughed violently, sputtering, "D-did you just—?!"
Velin raised a hand calmly. "Yes. And notice how quickly he learns, despite chaos. That is why observation, not force, is key."
Euryale blinked, water dripping into his eyes. "I don't feel like I'm learning!"
Pa crouched next to him again, whispering, "Yes, you are. You're just… making a lot of funny mistakes first."
"Funny mistakes?" Velin said, smiling faintly. "I call them demonstrations of persistence. And now, young storm, lesson number three: do not fear failure."
Euryale groaned dramatically. "I am terrified of failure!"
Velin crouched, eyes meeting his. "Good. Fear keeps you alert. It also reminds you of your limits. But remember: even the smallest wave has power if you do not struggle against it. Let it rise naturally. Ask politely, and step back. Even a White Core can splash itself into exhaustion if the wielder panics."
Euryale sighed. "I panic all the time. I'm… me."
"Exactly," Velin said. "And that is exactly why I am leaving this lesson for you to remember on your own. You have talent, young storm. You have a White Core. But talent alone… will not carry you. Only understanding, patience, and… humor."
"Humor?" Euryale echoed. "The water has humor?"
"The water has humor," Velin said calmly. "And so do you. Perhaps that is why it listens."
Euryale blinked, dripping, and muttered, "I think it listens because it's scared of me."
Kaelen, still scribbling notes, whispered, "Note: Young White Core shows strong comedic incompetence."
Velin ignored him. "Tomorrow, you practice alone. Today… remember only this: magic is not a tool to command. Magic is a friend to respect. And now, I must depart."
Euryale's stomach sank. "Depart? Already?"
Velin smiled faintly. "I will see you again when you are fifteen. If you make it into the Academy. If not… then perhaps the tide itself will bring me back sooner—or later."
Silas groaned. "Fifteen? That's forever!"
Lyra kicked him lightly. "Stop whining. He's leaving, not dying!"
Euryale ran to the river, letting a small arc curl around his hand politely, then looked back at Velin. "Wait… what if I don't want to go to the Academy? What if I just… stay here?"
Velin paused, eyes softening. "Then you must consider what staying means, and what leaving means. Both choices have currents. Both carry responsibility. But remember—wherever you are, you are still Euryale. White Core. Son of this village. Brother. Friend. And, perhaps, one day… a guardian the world will need, whether near or far."
Pa hugged him tightly. "We'll support you. No matter what."
Xena brushed a wet strand of hair from his face. "You have the right to choose, Euryale. But whatever your path, we're proud already."
Silas peeked from behind Pa. "But if you go… you'll have to write letters. And maybe send snacks."
Lyra added, "And you'll miss me. And my brilliant ideas for snowball traps."
Euryale exhaled, letting the water drip from his hair. "I… don't know yet. I think I want to go… but the village… I don't know."
Velin smiled faintly, almost like he'd expected that answer. "Good. Thoughtful hesitation is a sign of maturity. Now… farewell for a while, young storm. Keep your hands polite, your heart patient, and your laughter ready. I will see you at fifteen. If the tide allows."
And just like that, he rose, straightened his robe, and walked away along the beach. The ocean whispered softly behind him, waves lapping as if agreeing with every word.
Euryale watched him go, heart tangled between excitement and dread, and whispered to the water curling politely around his hands, "I… guess we'll see."
Silas groaned. "I told you he'd leave!"
Xena, looking at Euryale. "And no matter what, the village will always be your home."
Euryale sighed, letting a tiny arc of water swirl between his palms. "I hope… I can do it."