The morning sun climbed slowly, dusting the village in a soft gold.
Lila led him along the narrow paths between huts, careful to keep pace with him.
His steps were unsteady at first, cautious, as if he were learning to walk again in a world that was no longer familiar.
They walked deeper into the village.
Smoke drifted between low earthen huts.
Wind brushed hanging bone charms, making them click softly like quiet warnings.
The packed earth beneath their feet still held warmth from the sun.
Conversations quieted when he passed. Eyes lingered.
Not with open fear.
With caution.
With curiosity.
He noticed it.
Their hair was darker.
Their skin bronzed by wind and sun.
Their clothes woven in rough, muted colors.
He stood out — pale, gold-haired, his features unfamiliar in a place shaped by salt and weather.
The boy's gaze kept catching on small, impossible things.
A clay pot refilled itself with clear water without anyone touching it.
"…How are they doing that?" he asked quietly.
Lila followed his stare.
Third grade," she said.
"They can summon lesser spirits. Small helpers.
They can't fight well — but they're good for water, fire, lifting, cleaning, tending wounds, small things that keep life moving."
He nodded slowly, watching the floating firewood settle.
They continued on.
They passed a training yard — packed earth scarred with old impact marks.
Two villagers stood sparring.
Their spears glowed faintly — thin streams of light running along the blades.
The boy slowed. "That… looks different."
Lila followed his eyes.
"First grade," she said softly.
"They can infuse high-grade spirits into their bodies and their weapons.
Their strength, speed, and durability are boosted.
Their blades cut deeper. Their strikes carry spirit force."
He swallowed.
"So they're fighters."
"Yes. And guardians."
She gestured toward the tall carved pole in the center of the village — wrapped in bone charms and glowing sigils.
"Our shaman is first grade too.
She summoned a powerful guardian spirit years ago.
That spirit maintains the barrier around the village."
He felt it — faint pressure in the air, unseen but heavy.
"What about second grade?"
She lifted her hand.
A gentle glow traced across her fingers. The wind leaned toward her.
"Second grade can fight and heal directly.
We can strengthen bodies, mend deep wounds, summon combat spirits — but we can't fully fuse with them."
She smiled faintly.
There was a trace of pride in her voice, though she tried to hide it
"I can bind higher spirits. My teachers say I might reach special grade one day… if I live long enough and don't burn myself out."
His lips curved, unsure but sincere.
He looked at her, eyes widening slightly.
"That sounds… important."
She shrugged, but her smile betrayed her. "It just means more responsibility."
"I think that's… amazing," he said, a little clumsily.
"Even if I don't really understand it."
Her ears warmed faintly at his words.
"And special?" he asked.
Her voice softened.
"Special grade can do everything first grade can — but more.
They can fully merge with supreme spirits.
Their markings reshape their bodies.
Their presence alone can change the battlefield."
He exhaled slowly.
"…That sounds terrifying."
"It can be," she said. "But they're also our shield."
He murmured softly, pressing his palm to the stone.
They reached a quieter rise at the edge of the village where wildflowers grew in pale clusters and the sea breeze slipped gently through tall grass.
The sun hung low enough that its light fell directly across his face.
Lila stopped.
He turned, confused. "Is something wrong?"
She stared.
The light caught his pale hair and set it glowing softly.
His blue eyes reflected the sky like still water.
For a moment she forgot where she was.
"Do I… have something on my face?" he asked.
She blinked, startled — then flushed.
"No," she said quickly. "I just… your eyes. And your hair.
They're… different from everyone here."
"Different is bad?" he asked softly.
"No," she said at once. "Just… rare."
She hesitated, fingers twisting in her sleeve.
"I was thinking… you need a name.
Something that belongs here, at least for now."
He tilted his head. "You'd… give me one?"
She nodded.
"The sea brought you. But you survived it.
You're like the calm after a storm, your eyes looks like the sky over the marsh at dawn… so I thought…"
She took a breath.
"Caelum."
He tested the word quietly. "Caelum…"
A slow, genuine smile spread across his face — warm, unguarded, real.
"I like it," he said softly. "Thank you… Lila."
Her face went red all the way to her ears.
And without realizing it, the boy finally had something the sea hadn't taken from him.
A name.