The days following the Mana Awakening Festival were unlike any others Euryale had lived. The village, usually so quiet and slow, remained buzzing with excitement, curiosity, and awe. Children raced through the dirt paths mimicking their newfound elements, and travelers from distant realms mingled with villagers in the taverns and under the starlit fields.
But for Euryale, the world had become a little heavier.
He stood in the garden behind their home, the scent of dew on herbs in the air. The sun hadn't risen fully, and mist rolled across the fields like low-lying clouds. He held his hands out in front of him. Water droplets in the air shivered and coiled as if drawn to him, and when he focused harder, he could feel their presence—not like weight, but like a thread that ran between them and him.
"You're up early again," said Xena, stepping onto the porch with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders.
Euryale turned to her, smiling. "I just wanted to practice."
She walked over and set a warm mug in his hands. Tea, sweetened with honey. "You don't have to prove anything, you know. Not to the village, and not to us."
"I know," he said softly. "But something... stirred in me. When I touched the crystal. It felt like something ancient woke up."
Xena gazed at him thoughtfully. "Sometimes awakening power also stirs memory. Even if it's not from this lifetime."
He blinked. "Do you think I had another life? Before this one?"
Xena hesitated, then smiled, brushing his bangs from his forehead. "I think souls are deeper than we understand. Whether or not you remember who you were doesn't change who you are now."
Later that day, Euryale walked through the village with Amara. She had stayed behind while the other Zephyr Isles travelers departed, apparently sent by her elder brother to watch over Euryale.
"They're watching you," she said plainly.
"I know," he replied. "I can feel it."
"Not just Velin and the Celestial Dominion. The Hollow Temple sent someone too. That old man with the glass eye? He reads shadows. He was asking about you."
Euryale looked toward the sea, his face calm. "What do they want?"
"Potential," Amara answered. "There's something about your mana that unsettles them. Spirit is rare. Void even rarer. The fact you might carry both? That's enough to make old men whisper."
He was silent for a while, then asked, "Do you think I'm dangerous?"
She tilted her head. "Do you feel dangerous?"
"No," he said. "But I feel... watched. Like I'm part of something I don't remember agreeing to."
Amara touched his shoulder gently. "Then make your own choice, Euryale. Whatever the realms want, they can wait. You've got a family. That matters more."
That night, as they gathered around the fire again, Salah pulled a carved wooden box from a high shelf. Inside it were keepsakes: a silver comb from Xena's wedding, a shell bracelet Silas made as a toddler, and a blue stone with strange veins—one Euryale had picked up as a child and claimed was magic.
"We want you to keep this," Salah said, handing him the box.
Euryale blinked. "But this is your memory box."
"It's ours," Xena corrected. "And now, it's yours too. As you walk forward into new things, carry a little of where you came from."
He held the box in his lap, fingers gently tracing the wood grain. He didn't cry, but he felt something settle inside his chest—something quiet, anchoring.
"Will they make me leave?" he asked suddenly.
Salah met his eyes. "Only if you choose to. No one owns your path but you."
Euryale nodded slowly, hugging the box to his chest.
And outside their window, the stars blinked in a sky growing ever deeper, as the world turned toward what came next.