CHAPTER 94: THE HIGH KING

Morning brought no peace for poor Hermes.

He went through the motions as he performed his duties. Shoveling horse dung, hauling water buckets, sweeping out the stable floor.

But his head was still trapped in that dream.

The smell of hay and manure clung to him, yet he could still hear the gurgled wail in his ears.

Still see Eirwyn holding that... thing. He jabbed the shovel into the pile harder than necessary. He needed answers or his mind would remain in shambles.

"System." he muttered under his breath.

[The Power Thief has summoned the system. State your request.]

Hermes kept his eyes low, checking that no one was near enough to hear him talking to himself. "Is it actually possible for me to... create life inside someone? Even if it’s a man?"

[It is within the realm of possibility. The Power Thief’s biology is not bound to standard human reproductive limits. If the Power Thief’s genetic material is successfully integrated into a host, cellular manipulation may occur. This could result in the creation of new life.]

Hermes froze mid-shovel. "So... I could have?"

[That depends on the host’s compatibility and the amount of essence transferred. The system cannot verify without direct data.]

He swallowed. "...Did I do it? With Eirwyn?"

[Error 404: Information not found.]

The words hit harder than a "no" ever could.

Hermes frowned at the shovel handle. "Why would you not know?"

[The Power Thief has never requested reproductive tracking before. This data was not logged at the time of contact. The system will refrain from speculation.]

He was still chewing on that answer when two figures ambled up the path toward him. Somner looked half-dead, eyes narrowed at the sunlight, walking like each step was an insult. Aphrodite trailed beside him, quiet as always, with a little leather-bound book tucked under his arm.

Somner stopped at the stable door, squinting at Hermes. "Yeh look far too smug for someone who was out half the night."

Hermes smirked. "Do I? Guess that answers your question then."

Somner’s brow furrowed. "Tch. Didn’t ask one."

"You wanted to know if something happened between me and Glasán. It did. And before you puff up..."

Hermes leaned on his shovel. "I respect you, Somner. I know you said you’re fine with sharing, but I still think you deserve to know when it happens."

Somner gave a little click of his tongue and looked away, muttering something in commoner Irish Hermes couldn’t catch. His ears were red though.

Hermes glanced at Aphrodite. "And you? You alright with that?"

Aphrodite adjusted his grip on his book, eyes on the hay-strewn floor. "I don’t... own you. I only want you to be content."

That simple sincerity warmed Hermes more than the sun on his back. "I’m lucky to have you both."

The moment passed, and Hermes shifted to the heavier matter. "There’s something else. Glasán told me about his mother. Said she was a merrow who lured his father into a cave. That’s how he and his sister came to be."

Aphrodite’s head tilted slightly, interest flickering in his gaze. "Merrows exist?"

His voice was soft, but there was a note of wonder in it. "Could they be... from the Void? Wouldn’t that mean that the Somner bloodline were descended from Voidlings?"

Somner rubbed at his chin. "Yes. And if his mam was one of them, then maybe his sister has Sirentone too. Might not even know it yet."

"If they were of the Void, their bodies would show it when they used their powers."

All three turned. Apple was calmly brushing down a dapple-grey mare, not even looking at them. His tone was as flat as ever, but the way he joined without warning still made the hairs rise on Hermes’ arms.

Hermes considered it. "He’s right. When I use Power Thief, I transform. Or... I used to." His hand tightened on the shovel. "Ever since we split, that beast form doesn’t come out. Even when I use borrowed powers."

Before anyone could respond, a sharp fanfare split the air. The sound of horns rolled over the yard, followed by the tramp of many feet.

Down the lane, a mounted party approached. Men in heavy cloaks, chain shirts, and conical helmets with long nose guards. Spears bristled at their sides, and polished shields caught the light. At their head rode a tall man with a gold torc at his throat, hair the colour of wet straw and a beard streaked red.

High King Áed Findliath.

The yard hushed as the riders drew up. The King’s gaze swept over the workers like a blade.

"Where," he boomed, "Is the lad they call Ridire na Mara!?"

No one spoke.

Hermes stepped forward. "I know where he is, my King. I can take you."

Áed’s eyes locked on him. For a long, unnerving moment, the man went utterly silent. His stare was cold, assessing.

Then, without warning, he grinned wide and barked a laugh that startled a nearby horse. "Hah! Good lad! Lead on!"

Hermes led the way into the village, the King’s guard or perhaps his household guards— or the cliarthairí as they were called— falling in behind. Apple, Aphrodite, and Somner followed as well.

They stopped at the door of the inn. Hermes knocked, and after a moment, Glasán opened it, hair mussed and eyes still heavy with sleep. His face went pale at the sight of the High King.

Áed dismounted, stepping forward with all the weight of his title.

"Is it you?" He said, voice like distant thunder. "The one who told the sea-raiders to drown themselves?"

Glasán’s gaze flicked to Hermes, and in the hazy shimmer of Mindbloom, a thought bubble bloomed above his head. Their bodies pressed together, the salty breeze, the white splatters on the boulder....

Hermes felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Glasán flushed the same shade, both knowing exactly what the other was remembering.

But Hermes still gave him a nod, as if telling him to go answer the King truthfully and not to worry, since he knew Glasán was scared of revealing his true origins.

Glasán’s throat bobbed. "Aye... I did, your Majesty."

The King stared at him for a long beat. Then his hand shot out...

Glasán flinched, expecting to be hit because of how people had been treating him, even his own father.

But the High King just clapped Glasán on the back hard enough to make him stagger.

"Ah! So you’re the lad they’re calling Ridire na Mara," the High King bellowed, his grin wide and wolfish. "Word’s already reached me ears that you sent the Norse to the bottom of the bay with just yer voice!"

He leaned forward suddenly, eyes narrowing in an almost dangerous stillness. He leaned forward to whisper:

"Was it magic?"

When Glasan stammered his answer, Áed’s face split into a booming laugh that made the nearby guards wince. "Ha! I knew it. You’ve got the look of a troublemaking whippersnapper."

He patted the boy’s head like an affectionate father would to a son. "Come to the castle, lad! We’ll fill your belly till you can’t walk no more!"

Everyone cheered, and the street was filled with noise as they paraded the new hero.