Aenaris Island
January 26, 1977
The sound of the sea was constant, like an ancient breath that never ceased.
Gentle waves broke against the black stones of the coast, and the wind carried the scent of salt mixed with the damp perfume of the vegetation.
The sky, still painted by the last colors of dawn, reflected on the crystal waters as birds traced slow circles in the air.
The island felt alive.
Every tree, every rock, every whisper of wind carried its own rhythm — the same pulse that had made that sacred place remembered in old tales.
This was Aenaris, the island of the Aenari people, where time moved slowly, and life followed the pace of nature.
Between the round houses made of dark wood and straw, the Aenari people were already awake.
Laughter, voices, the faint rhythm of drums — everything moved in harmony.
Along the path that descended from the hills, a man walked with steady, silent steps.
A bow rested across his shoulder, his gaze sharp and measured.
Kael Gravem carried the kind of presence that needed no words — dark skin glinting under the morning light, golden eyes that saw everything, and a calm face that rarely betrayed emotion.
A hunter by trade, an observer by instinct.
He stopped at the top of a small rise and looked down at the village.
The central fire burned in blue, releasing thin trails of smoke.
The rhythm of the drums mingled with the ocean's heartbeat.
For a brief moment, Kael let the bow slide down his shoulder and breathed deeply.
'The island breathes with me.'
He followed the trail downward.
Fishermen greeted him, children waved.
He answered with short nods, but the faint smile on his lips betrayed his peace.
Near the well, Lyra shared fruits and laughter with two elder women.
Her silver hair danced in the breeze; her pale skin glowed softly, and her gray-blue eyes held the reflection of the sea itself.
She wore light robes in shades of white and blue — simple, yet radiant enough to make the whole place feel brighter.
In her arms slept a quiet baby, wrapped in a soft white cloth.
Orion, the child they had brought with them, rested without knowing that the entire island seemed to pulse because of him.
It was for him — for their new family — that Lyra had returned to her homeland to take part in the sacred ritual of her people.
Kael approached, and her eyes found him through the gentle chaos of the morning.
"You're back early," Lyra said, smiling.
"The island is wide," Kael replied, placing his bow near the wall, "but the hunting grounds are few."
Lyra chuckled, adjusting Orion in her arms.
"You say that as if it were a flaw."
"Maybe it is. I still don't understand how, after so long, your people haven't driven the animals to extinction."
It was an honest thought — one he had carried since his first day on the island.
"Restraint and balance, my love," Lyra said. "We hunt little, and only on special occasions. Day to day, we live on fish, fruit, and what the land gives us."
"I see. A good custom."
Kael glanced at the baby.
Orion moved his tiny hand as if chasing a dream, then relaxed again.
"He sleeps too easily for all the noise around here."
"The noise is music," Lyra said. "The island and its people love sound. Too much silence makes the spirits uneasy."
"Then I must be the only spirit they should fear."
Lyra laughed softly.
"You're just the outsider who still doesn't know how to dance."
"I don't dance," Kael said, half-playful.
"But you will," she replied, already walking away.
Kael sighed and followed her to a table where she was preparing herbs and fruit.
The village moved like a single living thing — and before he noticed, he was moving with it.
The baby woke up, his soft cry barely above a whisper.
Lyra rocked him gently, humming a lullaby so quiet that even the wind had to lean closer to listen.
"Shh... it's all right, my love. We're home."
Her voice was soft, and Kael found himself watching in silence.
That tone, that cadence... it made the world itself seem calmer.
A woman approached with a basket in her arms.
"Lyra, my husband's back hurts again. Could you check on him after lunch?"
"Of course," Lyra replied, smiling. "But tell him not to lift the boats alone. I can help, but I don't perform miracles."
"I try to tell him, but he never listens," the woman said, laughing.
Kael watched their exchange quietly.
It was like this all day — people coming to Lyra for advice, for cures, for warmth.
They trusted her the same way they trusted the tide.
A while later, while Kael was cleaning his bow, he heard slow steps behind him.
The village elder approached — a tall man with sun-marked skin and white hair braided with shells.
"So this is the husband of our daughter of the sea," the elder said, voice deep and steady.
Kael stood and greeted him with a respectful nod.
"Yes, sir. Kael Gravem."
"A strong name. One that doesn't bend easily," the elder said, smiling. "The island and its spirits are watching you. Tonight, we begin preparations for the ritual. You'll stay in the cliff house — the wind is gentler there."
Lyra bowed her head.
"Thank you, elder. We're honored."
"It's the ancestral spirits who honor you," he replied. "The ritual of the new family is rare these days. It's good to see our house bloom again."
The old man left, and Kael watched him go.
"'The ritual of the new family,'" he repeated softly. "Let's hope they approve of what they see."
"They don't judge," Lyra said, adjusting Orion in her arms. "They feel."
"Then I hope they feel something good."
The day drifted on in peace.
Fishermen sang as they cleaned their nets; children threw shells in the sand and chased one another, laughing.
Kael helped raise a fallen tent, then sat by the fire to clean his arrows.
Lyra spoke with two elder women, teaching them how to mix herbs for the ritual.
Orion slept inside a woven basket, covered up to his chest.
Kael lifted his gaze to the horizon.
The sun was descending slowly, painting the sea in orange.
Smoke from the houses rose in thin lines, carrying the sweet scent of wood and leaves.
The whole village seemed to move with a single heartbeat.
Lyra sat beside him, resting Orion on her lap.
"When I was a child," she said, looking at the horizon, "my mother told me that sunset is the hour when the spirits walk between the sea and the land. That's why we hold our rituals at night."
Kael kept his eyes on the water.
"And what do the spirits do when they arrive?"
"They observe. They listen. They decide if the bond between people is true."
Kael turned to her.
"And ours?"
"It doesn't need to be judged," Lyra answered with a small smile. "It's already been lived."
Orion sighed, and for a moment, they both sat in silence, watching the sea.
The baby opened his eyes — calm and curious — and stared at the world as if it were brand new.
Lyra smiled.
"He'll grow up thinking the world is made of peace."
"I hope it stays that way," Kael said.
The drums began to rise again — slow, rhythmic.
Lanterns made of shells were lit one by one, marking the path that led to the village's central circle.
The sacred fire would be rekindled there that night — not as a final ceremony, but as the first gesture of the ritual of union.
Lyra stood, cradling the baby.
"Shall we?"
Kael rose, adjusting the bow across his back.
"Let's go."
As they walked down the sand-lit trail, the wind blew softly, lifting golden grains that shimmered in the fading light.
The island seemed to watch them — silent, yet welcoming.
That night would mark the first step toward something sacred.
But for now, there was only this: the sea, the fire, and a family in harmony.