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Ulmo faces the shore, an action he hasn’t done in centuries, for those same shores once burned, or were bloodied, or stood bloodied and burned. It was a sight he never wished to see. So he took to the waves, sank beneath them and was swallowed by its enveloping greatness. He let his waters breathe in other’s words, let them bring him news while he stood amongst the pressure.
Until.
Until, on the shore stood a being of such light and fairness that, at once, he turned his back to salt and sea.
This Elf, she walks the shore day and night, arms wrapped as if to shape herself. Ulmo takes pity, he sees the darkness within her, shrouded in blinding light. Had he not watched the fire, he would have thought all shine brilliant.
Her eyes crowd her face, wide and dreaming of a shore she already lingers on. He watches, hidden, until her tears bring him forth.
“Child,” is all he says before she gasps and falls to the sand. A dozen ripples reach to break her fall, surrounding her in wine-dark waves. The salt prickles at her skin, she shivers at the coldness.
Her stare morphs from fear to awe. “Ulmo.”
He nods. She reaches a hand out, which fades in the water, the sea that he is. “Celebrían,” she names herself when he beckons. The name swishes around his mouth, more pine than it is salt, but it soothes him all the same.
“Celebrían,” he says. Deep and timbre. “Draw the light within.”
At first, she is confused. Celebrían cocks her head, the pale moonlight shading her face in a halo. Her eyes darken for a moment, the enemy dripping out. And then she remembers who he is.
Ulmo. He who pours.
It is cold like the sea, the luminosity he swarms her with—pouring it into her, until all aspects of evil are covered. It is the light of the sea, the glowing algae and the lantern of an anglerfish. The jellyfish that bloom like a star, sunbeams washing in with the tide. Celebrían drinks it in, willing it to devour her.
She opens her eyes, to find he is gone. The sea laps at her bare arms, she feels her skin thrum.