Apollo remained perfectly still, careful to keep his expression neutral as he observed this revelation. The bow vibrated against his back as if in confirmation, recognizing the divine heritage that flowed in Cale's veins, diluted by generations, perhaps, but undeniably present.

Cale pressed a hand against his chest, confusion evident in his furrowed brow. "Does anyone else feel that?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Like... like it's calling to me?"

Thorin scoffed. "It's just water, boy. Unusual water, granted, but nothing magical about it."

But Apollo saw the truth in the way Cale's fingers trembled, in the unconscious lean of his body toward the spring. The water recognized its kin, responding to the distant echo of Poseidon's power that lived in the young man's blood.

"It does seem rather taken with you," Lyra observed, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "The glow is stronger when you're near it."

Cale stared into the perfect mirror of his reflection, transfixed. "I feel something," he murmured. "Something I can't explain. Like... like remembering something I never knew."

The spring pulsed once more, sending a ripple across its surface that somehow disturbed nothing, the reflection remaining perfect despite the movement. Apollo watched in silence, the gold in his veins thrumming with recognition of this divine bloodline, this echo of his uncle's power.

'Does he know?' Apollo wondered, studying Cale's face for signs of understanding. 'Has he felt this connection before, or is this the first awakening of his heritage?'

–

Apollo watched as the last of their waterskins filled, the spring's water glimmering with that strange blue luminescence even as it disappeared into leather pouches. The gold in his veins hummed softly, recognizing the ancient power that dwelled in this place, a fragment of his uncle's domain somehow preserved deep within the twisted forest.

"We should take more," Mira suggested, capping her waterskin with reluctance. "Who knows when we'll find water this pure again?"

Thorin grunted, securing his own container to his belt with movements that betrayed his unease. "We've lingered long enough. This place..." He glanced at Cale, who still knelt beside the spring, fingers trailing through the water as if unable to break contact. "This place isn't natural."

"It's the only natural thing we've found in this cursed forest," Mira countered, her good arm gesturing toward the ancient oak that sheltered the spring. "Look how it grows, straight and true, not twisted like everything else."

Apollo shouldered his pack, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his healing wound. The gold in his veins had worked through the night, knitting flesh and muscle, but the injury remained tender, a reminder of human fragility he was still learning to accommodate.

"Cale," he called gently. "We need to move on."

The young man looked up, his expression dazed as if waking from a dream. "Yes, of course." He withdrew his hand from the water with visible reluctance. The spring's glow dimmed slightly as he stood, responding to his departure in a way Apollo couldn't ignore.

'Definitely Poseidon's blood,' he thought, watching as Cale gathered his belongings with distracted movements. 'Diluted by generations, perhaps, but unmistakable.'

They left the ruins with backward glances, each step away from the spring feeling heavier than the last. Apollo sensed the bow's continued pull eastward, more insistent now that they'd found the temple ruins.

Whatever waited ahead was connected to this place, to the spring, to Cale's heritage, pieces of a puzzle Apollo was only beginning to understand.

"I don't trust water that glows," Thorin muttered as they picked their way through fallen columns. "And I certainly don't trust water that plays favorites." His eyes flicked toward Cale, suspicion evident in the tightness around his mouth.

"It was beautiful," Mira insisted, her voice carrying a dreamy quality that hadn't been there before. "I've never felt so... refreshed. So clean."

Lyra said nothing, her green eyes moving between Apollo and Cale with thoughtful assessment. Apollo could almost see the connections forming in her mind, the questions taking shape behind her careful silence. Of all his companions, she was the one who noticed too much, who pieced together fragments others overlooked.

The forest changed as they traveled east, the transformation subtle at first but increasingly undeniable. The twisted trees that had defined their journey thinned, standing further apart, allowing more sunlight to reach the forest floor.

The oppressive weight of corruption that had hung in the air like a physical presence gradually lifted, replaced by something else, something that made the gold in Apollo's veins stir with recognition.

Salt. There was salt in the air.

Apollo paused, drawing a deep breath through his nose. The scent was faint but unmistakable, the mineral tang of ocean brine, impossible this far inland yet undeniably present. The bow thrummed against his back as if in confirmation.

"Do you smell that?" Mira asked, her face tilting upward to catch the breeze. "It smells like... like the sea."

"That's ridiculous," Thorin scoffed, though Apollo noted how the dwarf's nostrils flared, testing the air. "We're a hundred leagues from any coast."

"She's right," Renna confirmed, her hunter's senses as sharp as ever. "Salt in the air. And something else... something I can't quite place."

Apollo knelt suddenly, fingers brushing aside fallen leaves to reveal what had caught his eye, a small, spiraled shell half-buried in the forest soil. He lifted it carefully, the delicate whorl perfectly preserved despite its impossible location. The gold in his veins warmed as he turned it over in his palm, recognizing the signature of his uncle's domain.

"Look," he said, holding out the shell for the others to see. "Seashells. In the forest."

Mira's eyes widened with wonder. "But how? We're nowhere near the ocean."

"Another trick," Thorin declared, though uncertainty had crept into his gruff voice. "This place is full of them. Glowing water, corrupted wolves, and now the sea in the middle of a forest? It's trying to confuse us."

More shells appeared as they continued, scattered across the path like breadcrumbs leading them forward. Small at first, tiny spirals and bivalves that might have been mistaken for unusual stones, then larger specimens partially buried in the increasingly sandy soil.

Cale walked with growing restlessness, his earlier daze replaced by nervous energy. His steps quickened, then slowed, his head turning at sounds no one else seemed to hear. Twice Apollo caught him pausing, head tilted as if listening to a distant call.

"Are you all right?" Apollo asked quietly, falling into step beside him.

Cale startled, as if he'd forgotten he wasn't alone. "I... yes. I think so. It's just..." He hesitated, brow furrowing. "Do you hear that? Like water. Rushing water."

Apollo listened carefully but heard nothing beyond the usual forest sounds—wind through leaves, the crunch of their footsteps, distant birdsong that had returned as they moved away from the most corrupted sections of the wood.

"I don't hear anything," he admitted, watching Cale's face closely.

The young man frowned, rubbing at his ear as if trying to clear it. "It's there. Like... like waves breaking. Far away, but getting closer." His feet shifted in the sandy soil, weight transferring forward as if drawn by an invisible tide. "I feel like I've been here before. Like I know where we're going."

Apollo noted how Cale's movements had changed, no longer the careful steps of someone navigating unknown territory, but the confident stride of a traveler on familiar ground.

His hand no longer hovered near his sword hilt; instead, it swung freely at his side, fingers occasionally brushing the shells and sand as if confirming their reality.

'The blood awakens,' Apollo thought, the gold in his veins resonating with what he observed. 'Poseidon's heritage stirring after generations of dormancy.'

They crested a small rise, and Cale froze mid-step, his breath catching audibly. Before them lay a small clearing where the forest floor had given way completely to sand, pale, fine-grained sand that could only have come from a beach.

In its center, half-buried in the unexpected dune, a stone slab protruded at an angle, its surface carved with intricate wave patterns that swirled around a central symbol.

Another trident.

"What is this place?" Thorin demanded, axe already half-drawn as if expecting an attack.

Apollo hung back, watching as Cale moved forward with dreamlike steps, drawn to the stone as if by invisible threads. The bow pulsed warmly against Apollo's spine, responding to the proximity of Poseidon's symbol, to the presence of the god's bloodline in Cale.

"It looks like some kind of marker," Lyra observed, following Cale at a cautious distance. "Similar to the carvings we found at the ruins."

Cale knelt beside the stone, sand shifting beneath his weight. His hand reached out, fingers hovering just above the carved trident as if feeling heat radiating from the ancient symbol.

"Don't touch it," Thorin warned, too late.

Cale's fingers made contact with the weathered stone, and light bloomed beneath his touch, a soft blue radiance that traced the carved patterns like water flowing through channels. The waves and swirls illuminated one by one, spreading outward from the trident in ripples of azure light that pulsed in rhythm with Cale's heartbeat.

"By the Forge," Thorin breathed, stepping back involuntarily.

The light faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the stone seemingly unchanged. Cale yanked his hand back, staring at his fingertips as if expecting them to be burned or transformed.

"I didn't—" he stammered, looking up at the circle of shocked faces. "I didn't do anything. It just... happened."

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