Kamehameha, god of Akua Aina, could not lift the ocean anymore. He stood on the steps of his temple island and raised one hand. The tide should have leaped to his call. Instead it slid back like water from cupped fingers. Thieves had stolen the relic that tied his power to this world, and each hour without it left him weaker. He did not know where they took it. Without a trail, he was a god running dry. He walked to the sacred tree at the center of his sanctuary. Glowing fruit hung from its branches, each one a small store of the world's life. He plucked one and crushed it in his fist. Light bled between his fingers and sank into his skin. His arms felt steady again, but only for a breath. The tree could feed him. It could not tell him who robbed him. Then he remembered the water remembered everything. Below the temple lay a still lake, packed with fish and drifting sea creatures. Every current in his realm passed through it first. Kamehameha knelt at its edge and pressed both palms to the surface. "Show me," he said. His voice cracked. He poured what strength he had left into the water, the last of his tide. The lake went dark. Fish scattered to the edges. In the center, an image formed on the water like oil spreading. He saw hands wrapping his relic in cloth. He saw a boat. He saw a shore of white towers and silver banners. He knew those banners. They belonged to the elf queen, Aelindra Silverleaf. The image held long enough for him to fix the shore in his mind. Then it broke apart, and the fish swam back into the gap. Kamehameha fell forward onto his hands. The seeing had cost him. His shoulders shook. His skin had gone gray at the knuckles. But he had a place now. A name. He pushed himself up and looked across the water toward the distant coast he could not yet see. The thieves had not simply taken his relic to hide it. They had carried it to a queen's own hall. That meant this was no common theft. Someone with a throne wanted him powerless, and they had nearly done it. Kamehameha turned back to the glowing tree and stripped three fruits from its lowest branch. He would need them for the crossing. His power kept fading with every hour, and now he knew the road ahead led straight to Aelindra Silverleaf's court. He would reach her shore before the tree could no longer keep him standing.

Kamehameha walked until the shore fell out of sight behind him. Three glowing fruits hung at his belt. He crushed one at dawn and one at noon. The light kept his legs moving, but not for long. The road to Aelindra Silverleaf's court stretched days ahead. His last fruit hung heavy against his hip. When he pressed his gray knuckles, the skin no longer sprang back. He could not outrun this. The crossing would drain him before he reached her towers. By dusk he found a low house with soft rounded walls and warm light in its windows. A carved symbol of peace marked the door. Travelers rested here, safe from any quarrel. He knocked and leaned hard against the frame. Three women in matching aprons opened the door. They served this house together, and they moved as one. The eldest, dark-haired, caught him before he fell. "Down. Now," she said, and the other two took his arms. They dragged him to a long table set for twenty. Empty plates and cups waited for a feast that had not come. "I need only rest," Kamehameha said. "And food." The blond sister laughed. "Rest we have. But you need more than bread, stranger. Look at your hands." He looked. The gray had climbed to his wrists. The dark-haired sister leaned close. "We've served gods before. You're burning out. Ordinary food won't hold you." She pulled the last fruit from his belt and held it to the window light. It glowed weak now, half spent. "One of these keeps you standing an hour. You'll never walk to the silver court on one fruit." Kamehameha closed his eyes. She was right. The tree had given him three. Three was not enough. The brown-haired sister disappeared into the kitchen. Pots hung above the stove. She returned with a knife and a wide bowl. "Then we don't waste it," she said. "We cook it." They cut the last fruit into the bowl. They crushed it, boiled it, and stirred until the light spread thin through water and root and grain. Steam rose golden. The eldest ladled it into a cup and pressed it to his mouth. "Drink slow," she said. He drank. The light did not flare and fade like before. It settled. It spread through him like warmth into cold stone. His wrists darkened back to brown. His hands stopped shaking. "One fruit, stretched thin, feeds longer than one fruit swallowed whole," the dark-haired sister said. She corked a flask and pushed it into his palm. "This will carry you to her gates. No further." Kamehameha stood. His legs held. For the first time since the theft, he did not feel himself draining away. "Why help me?" he asked. The eldest wiped her knife clean. "Because the queen who robbed a god will not stop at gods." She opened the door to the dark road. "Go take back what's yours."