The days passed one after another in the cave of Néréline, marked by the soothing sound of water droplets falling into the crystalline pool. Aquarion, alone with himself, often stood at the water’s edge, focused, trying to channel the force of Nerathys that rumbled within him.

At first, his powers were unpredictable—almost wild. When he tried to make the surface ripple gently, sudden bursts would erupt, splashing everything nearby and awakening the cave’s dark echoes. His attempts to vanish into a swirling saline mist often failed, leaving him half-visible, hesitant, frustrated.

He trained for hours, using meditation to calm his mind, mentally communicating with the ancient spirit of Nerathys, who whispered cryptic advice. Sometimes, the divine energy would overwhelm him, and Aquarion would feel his body shifting—his eyes turning a deep ocean blue, as if he were becoming a part of the sea itself.

But the solitude grew heavy. He began to withdraw, afraid that the villagers of Néréline would never understand him—or worse, reject him. His biting sarcasm and sharp humor became armor, hiding the fear of being different.

Then one day, during an intense session, he finally succeeded. A stream of water danced gracefully around his hands, fluid and precise. That moment of control gave him a breath of hope: maybe he could become the guardian Nerathys wanted him to be. But he also knew the path would be long, filled with trials and hard choices.

A translucent mist crawled between columns of glowing algae, and the silence was broken only by the drip of water from the stalactites. Aquarion knelt beside the sacred pool, his crown still damp on his brow.

It had been months since he began his training—alone, in communion with the ocean. Every day, he pushed the limits of his gifts: he became water, mist, storm. But that night, something changed.

A strange current crept up his spine, cold and burning all at once. His fingers lit up with electric blue light—then his arms, his chest, until his entire body glowed. He gasped, but didn’t flee. He welcomed the magic. Let it surge through him like an unstoppable tide.

The water’s surface trembled… and he saw a face he didn’t recognize at first.

His features, once hollowed by pain and loneliness, were now smooth, balanced—almost ethereal. His eyes glowed with an abyssal blue, and his skin shimmered like morning dew. His hair, darker now, fell in soft waves, and every movement he made felt deliberate, almost choreographed.

He touched his face, in disbelief.

— What have you done to me, Nerathys…?

No answer came. But he understood.

The god of the ocean hadn’t just granted him powers—he had purified him. Rebuilt him.

The boy who had been rejected by his people no longer existed.

The one standing there now was something else.

Something new. A being shaped by the sea itself.

A smirk crept onto his lips. Not arrogance—awareness.

He was no longer weak. No longer alone.

He was beautiful—almost too much so. Like a warning.

His appearance had become divine, unreal… terrifying, even.

Because now, one no longer saw just a young man—

But a god in the making.