Balma-Saat

Noun

Translation: The Seed of Healing

Definition:

Balma-Saat refers to a sacred lake near Pollux in Sorgentstein, the elven territory, believed to be an Ormsaat—a powerful node along the ley lines that channel the world's magical energy. The name combines Balma (health, healing) and Saat (seed), symbolizing a place where restorative forces are at their most potent.

According to folklore, Balma-Saat is home to Koimar, the dual-headed fish spirit. The waters of Balma-Saat are said to have miraculous properties, capable of mending wounds, curing ailments, and restoring lost vitality. However, they are also believed to exact a price, as the lake's magic is intertwined with the cycles of nature—giving life in one form while taking something else.

Pilgrims and Magis often seek Balma-Saat for its connection to the ley lines, hoping to harness its energy for powerful rituals or personal renewal.

Finnegan bowed low, his robes billowing slightly as the air shifted around them, charged with the presence of something beyond mortal comprehension.

"High Spirit, the Dual-Headed Fish," Finnegan intoned, his voice rich with reverence. "Koimar, I come to you with an offering in the name of the Green Mother."

Jaer stilled; an offering?

The Magi wanted to move, to do something, but what was at risk? What was at loss?

Koimar's ever-shifting gaze landed on the Elven King, their form shifting fluidly, effortlessly between something soft, something rough, something absolute.

"Offering?" the Spirit mused. Intrigued. Wary. Curious.

Finnegan nodded, lifting the silent child slightly, reverently. "Bring this child to life," he said, his tone smooth, assured, as if the request was nothing more than a transaction waiting to be sealed.

Then he smiled. "This is the Sun's favourite creature."

The mere—fluid, shifting, timeless—tilted its head, its ever-changing features unreadable as it gazed down at the infant.

It leaned closer, its elongated fingers drifting just above the child's tiny form, hovering like mist over still water. "A Sternach..."

"A piece of the Sun," Finnegan declared, his words dripping like honey into the night, "to swallow the Long Night. Made of elven blood."

"What do you have in return?"

The words weren't a demand nor a request—they were expected.

Finnegan smiled without hesitation. He lifted his hand, revealing two delicate, faded wings.

Jaer stiffened, something cold, curling at the base of his spine. What was going on?

The mere's form rippled, shifting into something sharper—something almost hungry—as it regarded the offering. A slow, amused smirk unfurled across its lips, like the edge of a tide licking against the shore. "I see you have learned to bargain, Elven King."

There was a pause—a heartbeat suspended in water—and then Koimar extended a hand, fingers fluid as the depths of the lake itself. "Very well. We have a deal." And the Spirit opened his mouth wide—too wide—and swelled without chewing the ripped wings of a dead Sun.

Jaer stepped forward, unable to help himself. He couldn't name, couldn't explain. He expected something. A rush of magic, a burst of celestial light, or perhaps the lake to split open and flood the air with a healing tide. Something.

But there was nothing.

Koimar barely moved, barely even breathed. No grand display, no ancient incantations. The mere simply turned the infant onto her back.

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And then—

A glow. Faint. Pulse-like. Alive.

From the infant's belly, just beneath the translucent skin, something shifted. Jaer leaned in, squinting, his mind scrambling to grasp what he saw.

A silhouette. Small, delicate—a butterfly.

It fluttered beneath her skin, its golden wings beating in slow, rhythmic pulses, as if it were part of her, as if it had always been there, waiting.

Jaer's eyes snapped up to Koimar, searching for an answer—for any explanation that would make sense of this. But the mere only smiled, that same mirthful, knowing smirk, like a tidekeeper watching the waves swallow the shore slowly.

Jaer looked back down, and only then did he notice that she was breathing. Shallow. Unsteady. But breathing.

The mere's voice rippled across the lake, as fluid as the water it commanded, laced with an amusement that made Jaer's stomach twist.

"You ask me to make this creature cry... well, cry she shall."

Koimar dipped a long, elegant hand into the lake, scooping up a single spoonful of its miraculous waters. The liquid shimmered like spilt moonlight, catching the glow of the Ninth Moon as it rose in the red sky behind him, its reflection fracturing across the restless ripples.

The Spirit let the water slide from his fingers. A single droplet fell, tracing the curve of the infant's cheek, slipping past the untouched skin as if it sought something beneath—something buried, waiting to be stirred.

For a moment, all was silent. It was just a still baby bathing in her own blood.

Then, it happened.

A sound—soft at first, a whimper, like something awakening from an endless sleep.

The breath caught in Jaer's throat as the cry grew, strengthened, and shattered the air around them. It was raw, piercing—not the wail of a newborn, but something older, something other.

Then—light.

The instant the sacred water touched the infant's skin, her body convulsed, and from her tiny chest came a roaring cry, one that didn't simply echo across the lake but reverberated through the very fabric of the Long Night.

A shockwave of brilliance erupted, chasing away every lingering shadow, its sheer intensity forcing even the moonlight to retreat. The sky, once painted in the deep bruises of the Long Night, bled into something else—not dawn, not twilight, but a pure, boundless blue.

Jaer staggered back, shielding his eyes against the sudden, blinding shift in the world.

"She was never"She was alive! There was no need to rip her wings!" The words tore from his throat, anger and horror clashing in his chest.

The cry still rang through the clearing, a sound that was more than just life returning—it was something remembered.

A sound that carried the weight of returning to a world it had already known.

Koimar's lips curved, satisfaction glinting in their ever-shifting eyes.

"And she shall be named Eura."

Jaer's brows furrowed, but before he could speak, Finnegan stepped forward, his robes rustling softly as he nodded.

"Eura it is." Already claiming the name as if it had always belonged to him. "A great name for the Sun itself—Eura Berdorf."

Jaer's mouth parted, hesitation flickering in his eyes. "Finn, the name should be the mother's choice—Zora would want it to be…"

Finnegan's gaze cut to him, dismissive. "You heard the Spirit. Eura is a beautiful name."

Jaer watched, something tight and uncertain coiling in his gut as Finnegan held the infant close. A name was power. And this one had been chosen for her—a pretentious name.

Finnegan cradled the crying child, swaying as if to soothe the world's most delicate piece of glass.

Then, his expression was one of surprise. The vivid crimson of her hair, deep as embers, began to shift, softening, fading—until glimmers of diamond shimmered between the strands. The transformation was slow, yet undeniable, as if the very essence of her being refused to settle into something mortal.

Finnegan's silver brows knitted together, his fingers threading through the iridescent locks, watching how the red disappeared as they caught the light.

And then—the child opened her eyes. She had the Sternach eye.

A colourless abyss, shifting through hues that could not be named. An entire cosmos trapped behind those irises—deep, impossible, unbound by the rules of this world. The infamous gaze that could see through time and space itself.

She was not what he had expected. Not heir. Not just a stolen seed from the Sun.

The creature in his arms was a complete surprise. But a good one?

"Oh please, Jaer, don't make that face. Today, we celebrate." Finnegan coaxed him out of his thoughts.

Jaer didn't answer. Instead, his hands ripped his black robe from Finnegan's grasp. The fabric slipped over his shoulders, covering the rawness that had settled into his bones. He didn't trust himself to speak, but his silence spoke louder.

"If anything else happens to that child, I swear—"

Finnegan tilted his head, amusement flickering across his features, his silver hair catching the newborn sunlight.

"Come now, darling," he interrupted smoothly, shifting the child effortlessly in his arms. "Let's have breakfast on the patio. It's been far too long since I've felt the Sun on my skin."

Without waiting for Jaer's response, Finnegan spun smoothly, cradling the child as he stepped away from the lake. The sunlight glistened against his skin as he disappeared beyond the palace walls.

Jaer remained, frozen at the lake's edge. His fists curled tightly, his nails pressing into his palms as he watched Finnegan disappear into the grand stone halls, taking the child with him.

A chuckle rippled through the air—smooth, mirthful, dripping with a pleasure that felt far too knowing. The Spirit's lips curved into a wicked, indulgent smile, one they made no effort to hide. "Poor little elven child, he has no idea he just signed his own death sentence," Koimar mused with almost childlike delight. "I can't wait to see the tragedy unfold."

"What do you—"

But before the words could fully form, Koimar was gone.

"I WASN'T THERE! I CAN'T WRITE ABOUT SOMETHING I DON'T REMEMBER! Yet..." by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

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