The rest of the day blew past, with Oliver wading through a fog in his mind, his limbs slow and sluggish, late to respond to his commands. His eyes felt glossy, and tired with heavy lids. Yet he could not bring himself to rest. Vittorio guided him around town, seemingly unaware of his state, as Oliver kept smiling, laughing and following his… friend’s… suggestions.

Vittorio took him to so many stores Oliver couldn’t count, and with an empty smile, nodded along at any of Vi’s fashion suggestions.

With a jingle of a bell and hands filled with fancy and expensive bags of shopping, they left the final store.

Vi stretched his arms above his head. “Ahhh… what fun. How about we return home?”

A cool salty breeze whistled through town, caressing Oliver’s face and drawing his mind into momentary clarity. Like he was being pulled, he turned to face the horizon and was met with a golden sunset over the sea.

His eyes widened, feeling returning to his body as he stared at the glittering water that mirrored his eyes, mirrored his soul.

It was then that he realised why people described his eyes as beautiful, why they described it as a sunset over water.

Were they truly that gorgeous? As beautiful as the sight before him now? The cold void and the burning rage paused their feud to bask in the warmth of the sunset and the salty air of the sea.

The dull droning of the world split apart and softened in his ears, and the sound of children’s laughter reached them. He looked around, hearing the air travel, the people working below at the docks, the boats setting sail. The warmth encircled him, inside and out, a gentle embrace before it shot out over the ocean once more, like an open hand beckoning him.

“Oliver?”

He blinked and turned to the prince, who was staring at him.

I wonder if he feels this way when he looks at me.

“Oh, shit, sorry Vi, what did you say? The view just- caught me off guard.”

The cold and the burning returned, continuing their fight and the fog in his mind settled in, numbing his senses from the pain of it.

“Do you want to go home now?” Vittorio repeated, his worried gaze disappeared the moment Oliver spoke again.

Oli froze for a moment, eyes drifting to the stones beneath his boots.

“Well…” He could almost hear a voice in the ocean’s wind. “I’ll drop these bags home, but there's somewhere I’d like to go after.”

Vi cocked his head. “Alright, I could make another stop.” He shrugged.

Oli flinched, then shook his head, he clutched the bags to his chest. “N-no, I… I’d like to go alone.” Timidly, he glanced up at Vi, lips buried behind the bags. “Some me-time, you know?”

Vittorio tensed before he sighed and flashed Oliver a grin. He ruffled Oli’s head as if there wasn't a leather cap blocking his hair.

“We have had a big day. If you want, I can drop these bags home and you can make your stop. Just don't be too long.” Vittorio already started grabbing bags off of Oliver, before he could even react..

As the prince bent down to grab them, Oliver leaned onto his tip-toes, planting a quick kiss on the Prince’s cheek. He pulled away from Vi with a red blushing face, eyes averted to the ground.

Vittorio had frozen completely and Oliver expected to see his face red and adoring the way it was in his room that morning, but when he looked up it had grown pale and wide-eyed. His hands shook.

“Vi?” Oliver’s soft voice quivered.

The Prince’s pupils grew tiny, and the sight of it made Oliver’s blood run cold.

He finished grabbing the bags and turned away from Oliver, looking around for staring faces.

“I’ll see you at home.” He muttered with a sigh and began to walk away.

Oliver could have sworn he saw The Prince wiping his cheek as if it were stained.

The cold void grew.

Oliver turned away, shoes thumping down the path.

He eventually found himself on the beach where he had met Pirra the night before. Cautiously, he flattened himself to the wall of the cliff, peeking his head around corners before advancing.

Trying to find the entrance to the cove proved to be much more difficult than he thought.

By the time the sun had almost completely set, with only a desperate sinking last light left, Oliver was ready to give up searching.

That was until the ocean’s breeze returned, whispering nothing at all. It touched his chin and guided it, turning his head without his influence to find a tiny crack in the wall.

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He clenched his jaw and stepped closer, a hand outstretched. Where he expected to feel solid, rough rock, his hand instead disappeared beyond the wall.

He blinked, pausing with his hand simply ending where the wall began, before he stepped back slowly, his hand simply slipping out.

He turned it over, inspecting the skin, wondering if it had been severed in the process. When he found no signs of dismemberment or scarring, he swallowed his fear and pressed forward, hesitantly stepping through what he could only presume was a magic barrier.

He’d never seen magic before. Something deep in his bones tingled and he could almost have sworn it was brighter in there. It was as if a gentle pale light descended onto the path in front of him with each step forward.

Eventually, the light died down, leaving Oliver in darkness. It wasn’t pitch black, but dark enough that Oliver needed to brace a hand on the wall for guidance, and he brushed the light off as moonlight peeking through the crack in the wall.

However something within him said it wasn't quite that.

He made it to the open cove that the crew had brought him to before, distant light coming through the small cave opening on the other end. His eyes wandered from the cave entrance to the ship Pirra had stored her gold on, watching as the pale light reflected off of the shimmering treasure, leaving patterns on the ship’s torn sails.

He wondered how a ship so large could even fit through such a small opening.

Slowly, he took off his boots, and his socks, before taking a slow, cautious walk down from the wet rocks, to the sandy faux-beach where the water greeted him.

At first, Oliver just stared at his reflection, taking in the lines and curves of it all. The soft cheeks, the big eyes, the round lips. He swallowed a sob, shifting the sound halfway through into an aggravated growl-like yell. He kicked out at the reflection, disturbing the still water and turned away, clenching his eyes shut.

What am I even doing?

A spiralling internal monologue of thought was beginning to form as the war in his gut continued. Hot then cold, burning and destructive then consuming and empty. But it was cut short by a soft light peeking under his eyelids, turning his sight from ignorant, afraid darkness to a gentle red tint, light through the skin.

He opened them – cautiously – and found himself surrounded by the same pale light. He turned in a circle, looking for its source, only for the light to follow.

Thoughts tumbled through his mind and a conclusion was slowly forming. He waved a hand over his face, watching the light hitting against his palm. He rushed to the water again, peering at his shocked expression.

He was met with the sight of his, usually, dark twirling markings now glowing brightly.

He could do nothing but stare. And as he stared, trailing the lines on his skin, he watched as they grew, moving almost imperceptibly over his skin.

They slowly swirled and intertwined with one another, symmetrically patterning themselves down from where they had previously ended on his cheeks. He simply watched, growing calmer at the sight as he watched them trail down the sides of his neck and over his collarbones. They now met and twisted around each other at the top of his sternum. Tiny branches of the markings formed out from the swirlings on his neck, aiming towards his shoulders, and then stopped, seemingly satisfied with their progress. The light dimmed.

He sat in stunned silence for a moment.

Oliver knew that elves of all kinds had defined markings that represent which element of nature they were tied to, or which subspecies they were descended from. Oliver knew those markings grew as elves aged. Oliver assumed his never grew because he was only a half-elf.

He had never heard of markings growing so rapidly.

The feelings within him paused their war, as if they too were stunned at this revelation. Tears pricked his eyes and quickly overflowed.

They were not tears of sorrow. They were filled with joy.

The drops of salty water fell from his face into the seawater below, sending small ripples over his reflection. For the first time, Oliver felt in tune with those strange markings on his body. He didn't hate the sight of them. The disconnected feeling they conjured within him suddenly didn’t matter so much. Sitting here, reflection in the water, markings aglow with ethereal fae light, he felt strangely at home.

He reached out to caress the reflection, to dip his fingers into the water and feel even closer to that sense of belonging. He barely even noticed the wind return, strong enough that it carried his cap away from him and sent his hair ruffling and flying widely around. He didn’t notice the way it enveloped him.

His fingertips connected with the surface of the water.

They did not dive through, they simply stopped on the surface, as if were as solid as glass.

After a moment, he pressed his hand to the water, flattening his palm against it. He pulled it off, finding it dry.

His tears had stopped and he was overcome with a buzzing curiosity that consumed him, curious with a sweet aftertaste. It set the war ablaze within him quiet, a ceasefire. He hopped to his feet and with an apprehensive foot outstretched, and fearful eyes clenched shut, stepped out onto the water.

He did not sink.

He simply stood on the water, as if it were solid.

He peeked his eyes open, and a giddy laugh bubbled in his throat. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit, holyshit holyshitholyshit.” He laughed out breathily. He began to whoop and laugh as he danced around, hopping between feet across the water, steadily approaching the centre of the cove. He stopped with a wobbly hop onto one foot as he planted the other down.

Oliver threw his hands into the air. “HOLY SHIT!” He exclaimed, giddy excitement lacing his voice, laughter weaving its way into the very air of the cave.

Suddenly gravity fell out from under him and he came crashing into the water. He paddled to the surface, now drenched head to toe.

“OH MY GODS THAT IS SO FUCKING COLD.” He hastily swam to the shore, confusion slowly replacing the superficial panic that filled his veins.

He couldn’t begin to understand what was going on. He had been hearing - or rather, feeling - this call to the sea since he had been born. He’d gone swimming before and had never been able to walk on water.

He touched the new lines between his collarbones. Maybe… just maybe he was growing.

He grinned. The wind carried his hat back to him, the leather cap falling at his feet as the wind suddenly stopped, making the cave quiet. It was only then that he realised the wind had existed at all. He leaned down and picked up his cap, ignoring the icy water weighing down his clothes. He dusted it off and peered over the water, eyeing the gentle tide that waded in from the cove entrance on the other side.

With hands clutching the leather cap, Oliver took one last look over the cove, listening to the quiet, wordless melody that permeated the atmosphere of the cove, and further within his heart. Relishing the lingering joy and the excitable curiosity, he began the trek home. The adrenaline of the twirling leaps and bounds he took during his climb back over his balcony mixed with all the emotions that had been building up that whole day. It made him feel almost... ill.