Aaravos gasps, surging out of the waters of the Nexus. He stumbles, trying to find his footing, only to have hands steady him.
He blinks, water streaming down his face, finding his son standing beside him.
There is a soft chirp at his shoulder, and he looks down.
'ahmar is sitting there, beady eyes watching, their bond strong and present once more.
"Forgive me, 'ahmar," Aaravos says, "I should have never let you leave my sight."
The star-worm makes a grumbling sound, accompanied by the feeling of don't do it again.
"I won't," Aaravos promises.
The worm continues to grumble, crawling up to nestle behind his ear, sighing as they settle.
"How do you feel?" Callum asks.
"Well," Aaravos answers, pressing a hand to his chest, breathing in deep, delighting in the lack of pain, even the numbness of the scarring left by corruption has eased. "Better than I have in years."
"Thou didst speak with the Three, and They granted thee healing," Lady Altumanina says.
"We didst speak, yes. Thanna, Bright and Blessed, gave to me a task, laid afore me as penance. I hath created such a creature and so I must end it," Aaravos says.
"What task is this?" his mother asks.
"There was a mage, to whom I spoke whilst I remained in the tower. He had a mirror, not unlike mine," Aaravos says, wading out of waters, Callum at his heels.
"A mage?" Callum asks.
Aaravos winces. "He called himself Viren."
Something flickers in Callum's eyes, an emotion that Aaravos can't quite make out before it is gone again.
"I thought that maybe he might be able to free me," Aaravos says, waving a hand to dry his robes, "and so I gave him 'ahmar...I...was..mistaken in my choice of allies and he killed 'ahmar to escape the prison he found himself in."
"Viren was imprisoned?" Callum asks.
"For treason, as I overheard," Aaravos says quietly. "I...after I discovered his past, what he had done...I could no longer justify aiding him. I would have taken 'ahmar back but, I had not the power to do so."
"What he had done?" Callum asks.
Aaravos looks at him, his brilliant and kind son, "He hurt you. My son. What kind of father would I be if I continued to aid someone who had harmed one who I love so dearly?"
Callum flushes.
"Thou wilt face this man, then?" Aaravos's mother says, her eyes stern.
"I shall, for it is the task that the Gods hath lain afore me. All Paragons shalt face a trial, unlike any other, as the legends doth say," Aaravos says, easily slipping into the more archaic form of elvish that his mother uses.
"Thou wilt hold caution in thy heart, when facing such a foe, my son," Lady Altumanina says.
"I understand the risk, 'umi," Aaravos replies, closing his eyes and drawing magic about him, assuming the mantle he had long ago lost, his bracers settling about his arms, his marriage torc warm against his throat when he opens his eyes again.
"You look like Morning Star," Callum says.
"He is me, Sihr," Aaravos says, amused.
"I know that," Callum says, hugging him. "I'm glad you're better."
"Me too," Aaravos murmurs.
Ladwyr is leaning against Samos, one wing tucked around her, head on their shoulder. In her hands, is an orb of moonlight, casting shadows across her pale face.
She offers Aaravos a warm smile, relief clear in her eyes, an expression that is mirrored by Samos.
The sun has finally set, the moon slowly rising above.
And there are two figures approaching them.
Callum steps forward, eyes wide, "No way," he breathes, staring..
The figures when they come within ten feet of the group, do not feel mortal to Aaravos's senses.
They feel...Other. One carries a spear, clad in a rich red tunic, overlaid with bronze armor. One eye is silver, the other gold, red hair plaited away from a dark face speckled with stars.
Their companion, dark-haired and green-eyed, wears a cloak that mimics the night sky, stars shimmering in the fabric.
Greetings, children of magic, a Voice says, soft as summer rain, and yet deep as thunder. And greetings to you, child of Spring and Light.
"Me?" Callum asks.
There is a soft laugh. Yes, you. And you know Us.
"Jahara and Omma," Callum says, quietly.
Yes. Humanity since the dawn of this world, was not ready to wield magic as their birthright. Until now, Jahara, for it must be Her, says, and in Her hand, She holds a magic unlike anything Aaravos has ever felt, it is Sky and Stars and so much more, a swirling vortex of energy that is entirely unique.
Our Gift to you, little Sihr, Omma murmurs, and as one both Gods lean towards Callum, who accepts the gift from Their hands, looking awed.
"What do I...what do I do with it?" Callum asks.
It is to be given, little Sihr, Omma says, laughing softly, to be taught to your kinfolk, to their children and so forth to the End. It is time that mortalkind learned the ways of magic.
Go now, with Our blessing, Jahara says, brushing one hand over Callum's forehead.
Then They are gone.
Callum looks down at the light in his hands.
"Callum?" Rayla asks, coming to his side, nudging his shoulder. "You good?"
"Well...I just talked to Gods," Callum says, blinking, "and I didn't end up making a fool of myself, so...that's something."
"You are something new," Aaravos says softly, and his words are an echo of that long ago morning, when he'd only just discovered that he would become a father, that joy bright and brilliant in his chest.
His son is no Paragon, that title belongs to elvenkind, not one who bears mortal and elven blood alike. But nor is he an Archmage.
The word that springs to mind, has the sense of Divine touch about it, and Aaravos cannot help but think of how well the title will fit his son, a mantle to call his own.
"Libertas, I name you, the first of your kind, freed from the shackles of the past, chosen by magic and blessed by your gods," Aaraovs says, resting a hand upon his son's shoulder.
"Libertas?" Callum asks.
"Freedom," Aaravos says, smiling.
Callum grins back, "I like it."
He looks back down at the magic he holds in his hands, considering it for a long moment, before he makes a sharp gesture and the magic seems to break apart, scattering to the winds.
But Aaravos can feel how the world's magic has shifted, how new magic is settling into the fabric of creation, bright and warm.
"Let us return to my home," Lady Altumanina says, "for there is much to discuss and plan."
"Agreed," Aaravos says.
It is very late by the time the group returns to the tower, where Aaravos's own tower leans precariously nearby.
Callum is stumbling with tiredness, and Rayla is much the same, Zym snoring contentedly in Callum's satchel.
Even the other Archmages look weary, Ladywr leaning against Samos. Lady Altumanina is supporting her apprentice, whose feet are beginning to drag.
The sudden flare of light, as they approach however, startles them all out of sleepiness.
Two elves stand before the tower, one wreathed in flame, the other remaining still at her side.
"Well, well, well," Archmage Canna says, raising a hand to form a sun-blade pointing directly at Aaravos, "isn't this a surprise?"