The sea shimmered like liquid sapphire beneath the golden rays of the late afternoon sun. Deep below the surface, nestled within a sprawling coral city of impossible architecture, the palace of Dephenai stood as a testament to the power and creativity of its creator.

  Crystal spires spiraled upward, catching and refracting the filtered sunlight into prismatic patterns that danced across the sandy floor of the grand dining hall.

  Dephenus sat at the head of the long table carved from a single piece of ancient driftwood, his imposing figure commanding the room. His light green eyes, the same color as the shallows near the surrounding tropical islands, swept across the dining hall with growing impatience.

  The large golden crown upon his brow felt heavier today, its pearls and sea-blue diamonds catching the filtered light as he turned to check the ornate coral clock on the wall for the third time in as many minutes.

  His flowing robes of azure and turquoise, which normally moved with the grace of gentle waves, now seemed to mirror his inner agitation.

  The elaborate feast spread before him—dishes of underwater delicacies prepared by his most skilled servants—remained untouched. The aroma of exotic herbs and spices that usually brought him pleasure now only reminded him of his daughter’s absence.

  Beside him, Imaia maintained her usual serene composure. Her beauty never failed to captivate him, even after all these years—the intelligent gleam in her dark brown eyes, her plaited black hair adorned with small white shells, her flowing purple robes embroidered with silver creatures that told stories of her domain.

  Dephenus tapped his fingers against the ancient wood, each drumbeat marking another moment of his daughter’s tardiness. The servants—a mix of merfolk, Dephenaids and other sea creatures gifted with humanoid forms—moved silently around the room, their efficiency a stark contrast to Laura’s absence.

  “She’s late again,” he muttered, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.

  Imaia’s calming hand touched his arm, and he felt some of his tension ease.

  “Patience, my love,” she replied, her melodious voice working its familiar magic. “Laura has always had her own sense of timing.”

  The comment stung because Dephenus knew exactly where his daughter had learned such casual disregard for schedules.

  “No doubt she learnt it from Permeus,” he remarked.

  He watched Imaia’s expression shift slightly, that familiar look of gentle reproach crossing her features. “Must you connect every negative trait of our daughter to her ex-lover?”

  “You know he could have actually taught her some redeeming qualities during their time together,” Imaia suggested.

  “It’s not like our brother has many redeeming qualities in the first place,” Dephenus admitted.

  “Hush, I believe our daughter will come into the room any second now,” Imaia promised.

  As if summoned by her mother’s words, the grand double doors at the end of the hall swung open..

  Laura was magnificent—every inch his daughter, yet unmistakably marked by Imaia’s influence. The same elegant bone structure as her mother, the same graceful movement, but with his light green eyes and an inner strength that was uniquely her own.

  Her flowing blue robes with subtle purple flapped with all her strides.

  “Apologies for my tardiness,” she said, her voice clear and strong as she smoothed her dress. “I was reviewing the historical records of previous union meetings, as a preparation for my attendance this year.”

  “It’s that so?” he asked.

  “Indeed,” she answered with confidence.

  “Dephenus!” Imaia’s shocked exclamation caught him off guard. “Our daughter spent the entire night reviewing your blasted notes, and all you can do is ask her if she is telling the truth rather than ask her if she is not tired?”

  The accusatory tone in his wife’s voice made him retreat slightly. Sometimes Imaia’s protective instincts toward their daughter made him feel like an outsider in his own family, though he understood the feeling came from love.

  “I appreciate your concern, Mother, but I am fine,” Laura assured them both.

  “Are you sure?” Imaia continued to press

  “Mother, I am half immortal and in a year’s time, I will fully achieve it. Trust me when I tell you one night without sleep will not kill me.”

  Dephenus decided that this was the best time to resume his questioning.

  “So,” he began, “you are sure you read the records?”

  “Yes, father. I am sure.”

  “And what did you learn from these records?” He asked.

  “Well for starters, the council doesn’t really do much,” Laura replied, accepting a goblet of glowing sea nectar from a servant. “I really don’t see why you fuss over it so much.”

  Dephenus felt his jaw tighten. The casual dismissal of something he considered vital stung, even as he recognized the truth in her observation. Imaia’s soft chuckle only made it worse.

  “A shrewd observation, my dear,” his wife said, and Dephenus felt ganged up on in his own dining hall.

  “That council is much more significant than either of you see it to be,” he argued, though he could hear the defensive note in his own voice.

  “So why are you the only person who takes notes?” Imaia asked.

  “I am not the only one,” he protested.

  “Oh yes,” Imaia remembered with mock surprise. “You and Permeus’ assistant share your notes afterwards.”

  “You mean Germaine,” Laura reminded her.

  “Yes, it seems you, Darkeus, Helus and the titan seem to be the only people who actually care about that council, my love, although our daughter’s observation is true and it is quite useless,” Imaia elaborated.

  “So you would not be part of it if we were not married?” he asked, though he dreaded the answer.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “I don’t want to be part of it now,” Imaia answered without hesitation.

  The admission didn’t surprise him.

  “Why do you think I was so willing to let our daughter carry the burden once you presented the idea to me?” she continued.

  “Because it is to teach our daughter responsibility. Not give you a vacation.” Dephenus answered.

  “A gift is a gift, my love, regardless of the day, time and reason you receive it,” Imaia argued.

  Realizing this argument would lead nowhere productive, Dephenus refocused on his daughter.

  “You’re late regardless of your reasons or observations. When you represent our realm, punctuality is not optional. It is expected,” he said, letting his authority fill his voice.

  “It won’t happen again, Father,” Laura assured him, meeting his gaze directly.

  “See that it doesn’t,” he replied. “One day, you will govern this kingdom, and you must learn the discipline required for such responsibility.”

  “Father, I would only have to govern this kingdom if something bad happened to you,” Laura argued.

  “And what if it were?” he asked softly.

  He watched her expression flicker, saw when his mortality became real to her.

  “Nothing is going to happen to you, Father. You’re an Origin—immortal, powerful. Nothing in creation would ever threaten you.”

  A shadow passed across Dephenus’ heart. If only it were that simple. If only the image she held of him—invincible, eternal, untouchable—were true. But he and Laura both knew better, had discovered together the terrible secret that made their immortality conditional rather than absolute.

  “You and I both know my invulnerability has a limit, and we have enemies who could one day aim to exploit that,” he said.

  “Yet still we control your weakness,” Laura argued, and Dephenus heard the desperate note in her voice. “I assure you, you will reign eternally.”

  “I hope so,” was all he could say.

  The uncomfortable silence that fell over the table felt heavy with unspoken fears. Dephenus knew his daughter was trying not to think about the day she might have to take his place, trying not to acknowledge the vulnerability they had discovered together. He could see her retreating into focus on her meal, and gave her that respite.

  After several moments of quiet dining, he spoke again. “Do you remember your assignment?”

  Laura nodded confidently. “I am to attend the union of Origins meeting in your and mother’s place, observe the proceedings, and report back everything discussed.”

  “There won’t be much to report back,” Imaia added unhelpfully.

  “Good,” Dephenus said, choosing to ignore his wife’s comment. “You will be glad to hear that something new will happen this year.”

  “Like what?” Imaia asked doubtfully.

  “The council has a new member,” Dephenus announced.

  “Get out,” Imaia replied, her disbelief almost comical.

  “Indeed. I’ve received word that your aunt Dalia will be attending.” Dephenus said.

  “Aunt Dalia?” Laura asked, her eyes wide.

  “That is new,” Imaia admitted. “And in the one year we do not go.”

  “Missing it already?” Dephenus asked, unable to resist the slight jab.

  “The only thing that I will be missing is seeing my grandchildren, who will return with their mother after the meeting,” Imaia replied, though Dephenus caught the hint of genuine regret in her voice.

  Imaia was always best friends with Dalia during her days when she was Origin of the Golden River before she would eventually leave to become his queen. The two hadn’t spoken in decades though, and this was a heavily missed chance.

  “Still, I am happy for our brother Helus finally being able to convince someone to join that lonely club,” Imaia added with her characteristic humor.

  “Even if it took him fifty years,” Laura added.

  “I, for one, believe Dephenai should be the first to welcome her,” Dephenus interjected, seizing the opportunity to guide the conversation toward his real purpose.

  “Since when were you so friendly?” Laura asked.

  “I just think you need an ally,” he answered honestly.

  “An ally?” Laura asked, not seeing the necessity.

  “Well, Darkeus has Desia and Golobus has Aerus,” Imaia reminded their daughter.

  “I’ll have Permeus,” Laura replied, and Dephenus felt his stomach drop.

  “That is what I fear,” he sighed.

  Dephenus loved his brother—had always loved Permeus despite their differences—but the thought of him as Laura’s primary ally on the council filled Dephenus with dread. Permeus was unpredictable, prone to flights of fancy, more likely to encourage Laura’s impulsive nature than to temper it.

  And then there was the history between them, the time Permeus had spent courting both Laura and her older sister before ultimately choosing Imara.

  Dephenus knew Laura had felt betrayed both by Permeus’s choice and by his own role in guiding his brother toward the older sister. He was glad she had maintained her friendship with Permeus, but that friendship sometimes worried him more than it comforted him.

  “You prefer that ally to be Dalia,” Laura noted, reading him perfectly.

  “You should make a point of speaking with her, if possible,” Dephenus instructed, pleased that she understood his intention.

  “Well then I guess I will be the first to greet her,” Laura promised.

  “That is what I want to hear,” Dephenus said, feeling genuinely leased for the first time since the meal began.

  “And don’t forget to send our love,” Imaia interjected.

  “Yes, Mother, I’ll send your love to my sweet sister Imara and her girls as well,” Laura promised.

  Dephenus nodded approvingly, then delivered what he hoped would be his ultimate piece of guidance.

  “Remember to carry yourself as an Origin would. You represent not just yourself or your family but our entire realm.”

  Laura sighed softly.

  “Father, I’m not an Origin.”

  “Doesn’t mean you should not carry yourself as one,” he debated, though he knew she would push back.

  “No matter how I carry myself, they will know the difference,” Laura argued.

  Before he could respond, Dephenus gestured to the servant who had been waiting patiently in the shadows. The man approached bearing the long, ornate box that contained Dephenus’ carefully planned surprise. At his nod, the servant opened it and carefully placed the magnificent silver trident on the table before Laura.

  Dephenus watched his daughter’s face as she stared at the weapon in awe. The trident gleamed with inner light, its three prongs elaborately engraved with symbols of the sea and tipped with material that captured the very essence of water. It had taken months to create, drawing upon the deepest magic of his realm and a portion of his own power.

  “What is this for?” Laura asked.

  “It is a gift,” Dephenus explained, his voice solemn with the weight of what he was offering.

  “A gift? For what?” she asked, clearly shocked.

  “Like your mother said, ‘A gift is a gift regardless of the time and reason you receive it,’” he answered, catching Imaia’s loving smile from the corner of his eye.

  “It was forged from the silver of the deepest trenches and blessed with a portion of my power. It will help you feel more connected to the essence of what it means to be an Origin.”

  Dephenus watched carefully as Laura processed his words, saw when understanding dawned in her eyes.

  “Father,” she began, her voice tight with emotion, “I appreciate the gesture, truly. But I am not and never will be an Origin. This doesn’t change the fundamental truth."

  The words struck him but Dephenus had expected this reaction. He leaned forward, letting his intensity show.

  “Both of us know that’s not entirely true, Laura.”

  The heavy silence that fell over the table felt charged with unspoken truths. Dephenus was aware of Imaia watching them both with careful eyes, sensing the tension building between father and daughter, but his focus remained entirely on Laura.

  “I cannot pretend to equal Origins. It would be impossible for them to see me as anything more than the daughter of Imaia and Dephenus,”

  Laura finally said, her voice soft but firm.

  “Nothing is impossible,” Dephenus countered, pouring all his conviction into the words. “The trident is yours. Take it to the meeting. Let the other Origins see you come not just as our representative, but as our heir in every sense of the word.”

  He watched Laura look down at the magnificent weapon, saw her reflection distorted in its polished surface. He could feel the weight of his expectations pressing down on her, could see her struggling under the burden he was placing on her shoulders.

  “I’m starting to think I’m not ready for this,” she whispered.

  The admission sent alarm through Dephenus’ heart. He could sense her retreating, could feel her pulling back from the destiny he had spent years preparing her for. This was the moment that mattered—not just for the council meeting, but for her future, for their realm’s future.

  He rose from his seat and moved around the table to stand beside his daughter. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, he let all his love and faith in her flow through his touch.

  “You are ready for both to represent us at the meeting and to accept your destiny,” he said. “You have been ready for longer than you know.”

  Laura looked up at him, and Dephenus felt his heart swell at the trust he saw in her light green eyes—his eyes. They shared a visual embrace through eye contact that spoke of years of love, guidance, and preparation.

  When Laura rose from her seat, Dephenus opened his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. He felt the strength in her frame, the potential that ran through her like electricity, but also her delicate humanity. She was his daughter, his heir, his greatest achievement and his greatest fear all wrapped into one precious person.

  “I won’t disappoint you,” she promised, her voice muffled against his chest.

  “You never could,” Dephenus replied, his voice thick with emotion.

  “You never could.”