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Snake Boi Callum Week - Day 2: Snakes/Power

A Star is Born

Callum's heart pounded as he took in the eerie, monochromatic landscape that stretched endlessly before him. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the gentle lapping of the dark, frigid water against his ankles. He shivered, a deep sense of unease creeping up his spine as he recalled the whispered legends of this place - a purgatory for those who dared to dabble in the forbidden arts of dark magic.

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, slowly taking shape. With a start, Callum realized he was staring at a dark reflection of himself. The other Callum's eyes glinted with malice.

"Well, well," the apparition spoke, its voice a mocking echo of Callum's own. "If it isn't the great Callum, paragon of goodness and light. 'Destiny is a book you write yourself,' wasn't that your nauseating little catchphrase?" Dark Callum's lips curled into a sneer. "And yet, here you are. It seems destiny had other plans."

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, slowly taking shape. With a start, Callum realized he was staring at a dark reflection of himself. The other Callum's eyes glinted with malice.

"But this time, things are going to go a bit differently," Dark Callum whispered, his voice laced with malicious promise. With a sudden, violent motion, he swept his arm through the air, and the once-still waters erupted into chaos.

Callum watched in abject horror as serpentine tendrils, black as the void and pulsing with an unholy energy, burst forth from the churning waves. They lunged towards him with terrifying speed, coiling around his limbs like constricting boas. Callum thrashed and fought, but it was futile - the dark magic snakes only tightened their grip, morphing and hardening into unbreakable chains. With a sickening lurch, they began to drag him down, down into the icy, bottomless depths.

As the freezing water engulfed him, Callum's panicked mind suddenly snapped into focus with a blinding moment of clarity. This place, this hellish dimension – the one every mage was sent to the first time they use dark magic – it existed outside the constraints of the material world, untethered from the relentless march of time. Images flashed before his eyes, snippets and fragments of his life, both the moments he had already lived and those yet to come.

With a mighty effort of will, Callum tore his consciousness free from the shackles of his physical form. If he could only reach the right point in time, the one moment that could help him, the one moment that could change everything...

***

“You wanted to see me?”

Callum stepped into the grand throne room, his footsteps echoing against the polished marble. The vaulted ceilings soared overhead, but Callum's eyes were fixed on the figure standing before the ornate throne - his stepfather, King Harrow.

The king turned to face him, his brow furrowed with worry. "Prince Callum," he said gravely, his voice heavy with unspoken emotion.

“Prince Callum,” he said gravely.

Callum approached, the weight of the moment bearing down upon his young shoulders. He bowed stiffly. "My King."

Harrow seemed to flinch at the formality. He reached out a tentative hand, as if to bridge the gap between them. "No, I... please."

As Callum straightened, a curious thing happened. For the briefest of moments, his form glowed with an ethereal light, as if some otherworldly presence had slipped into his skin. But Harrow, his gaze cast upward at the soaring architecture, did not notice.

"Callum," the king began, his tone soft, almost hesitant. "I know I'm not your birth father—"

"No, wait, stop." The words burst from Callum's lips, startling them both. Harrow blinked, confusion etched across his face.

"Stop? We only just started talking."

Callum forged ahead, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I know what you're going to say. That even though you're not my birth father, we're still family."

"Yes..." Harrow said slowly, his brow furrowing deeper.

"And that the most important things are written in the letter behind your back."

Harrow glanced down at the parchment clutched in his hand, surprise flickering in his eyes. "How did you—"

“And in that letter, you’re going to map out everything I need to know. How I'm to be Ezran's advisor, how true strength comes from love, how I should unchain myself from history. Past, present, future. A child is freer than a king. All of it."

Harrow looked down at the letter in his hand. “Looks like somehow you got a hold of this already. How are you doing this?”

Callum's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Dad," he whispered, the word catching in his throat. "I need your help."

Harrow's expression softened, concern and love mingling in his gaze. "I'm listening."

The words poured out of Callum like a torrent, his voice shaking with emotion. "I keep trying to do the right thing, to choose what's good. But no matter what I do, someone always gets hurt, or I find myself trapped by forces I can't understand. How do you know what choices to make? How do you decide what's right from wrong?"

Harrow's reply was gentle, but firm. "It all comes back to what I wrote in that letter. The scholars of history will tell you—"

"Yes, yes," Callum interrupted, a note of frustration creeping into his voice. "But in the end, it's you who has to make the choice, isn't it? It's not some grand narrative or divine plan. It's just one person, holding the lives of others in their hands, deciding what to do. So how do you know? How do you choose?"

A sad smile tugged at the corners of Harrow's mouth. "When you have faith that history can be a narrative of love, you'll know."

Callum momentarily looks angry. “What comfort is that?!”

“Comfort?” Harrow laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “There’s no comfort. You’re not going to find comfort here in the castle”.

The king's eyes took on a distant look, as if he were gazing into the depths of memory. "Let me tell you a story," he began, his voice low and measured. "Once, a king and queen, along with the monarchs of another kingdom and a dark mage, set out to find the heart of a Titan. With it, they could save a hundred thousand souls from starvation. They succeeded in their quest, but as they made to depart, the king of dragons descended upon them."

Harrow's face grew somber, the lines of care etched deep. "That king, who had never once faltered in battle, hesitated. In that moment of indecision, the plan unraveled. Soldiers were trapped, chaos reigned. The queen had to step in to save the day, but by then, three of her fellow queens lay dead. And all because one king lost sight of the bigger picture. Callum, you have to keep that big picture in mind."

Harrow puts a calm hand on Callum’s shoulder. “When I told you that you’re free, Callum, that freedom is as much of a burden as it is a gift. Because believe me, I know, you never want to be the person who wants to avoid it because you can’t live with the burden.”

Callum looked up at his stepfather, his eyes searching. “How do you live with it?”

A shadow passed over Harrow's face. "Do you think I'd be here, with assassins at my door, if I had found the answer to that?"

Callum sighed, a sound far too weary for one so young. “And what about the qu…mom? Did she know how to live with it?”

Harrow drew a deep breath, his gaze softening. "She did. Because of you, Callum. You and your brother. You are here, princes in this castle, because of her. But she was also here, as queen, because of you."

Something flickered in Callum's eyes, a spark of understanding. Harrow continued, his voice low but fierce with conviction.

“Because in raising you both, she learned that the hardest thing to do, was the thing that had to be done.”

Callum felt the weight of that truth settle into his bones, even as Harrow sighed, his shoulders slumping as if under some invisible burden.

“I’m sorry, Callum. But there’s no comfort here. You just have to choose your path, pick your burdens, and live with the consequences. As I have.”

Tears slipped down Callum's cheeks as he stepped forward, embracing his stepfather. "Thanks, Dad," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

As Harrow's arms encircled him, Callum felt his stepfather’s form dissipate into dust, all around him, the world faded into nothing.

***

Callum found himself once more face to face with his darkest reflection. The shadowy figure emerged from the inky depths, its form solidifying into a twisted mirror image of Callum himself. Those malevolent eyes glinted with a wicked glee, lips curling into a mocking sneer.

"Well, well," the apparition taunted, its voice a distorted echo of Callum's own. "If it isn't the great Callum, paragon of goodness and light. 'Destiny is a book you write yourself,' wasn't that your nauseating little catchphrase?" Dark Callum's laughter rang hollow in the void. "And yet, here you are. It seems destiny had other plans."

Callum met his doppelganger's gaze, a newfound resolve settling over him like a mantle. He sighed, his voice steady and resigned. "I know. And I know what I have to do now. I might not like it, maybe I would have even been afraid of it before. But not anymore. Because there's no point in being afraid of the inevitable."

Dark Callum shrugged, a gesture of cruel indifference. "Have it your way then."

Once again, serpentine tendrils burst forth from the churning waters, their forms as black as the void and pulsing with an unholy energy. They lunged at Callum with terrifying speed, coiling around his limbs like constricting boas, their touch transforming into icy chains.

But this time, Callum did not resist. He stood firm, allowing the dark serpents to envelop him. Then, with a surge of inner power, the same force he twice used to manipulate dark magic, Callum seized the writhing tendrils in his grasp.

Dark Callum's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait, stop! What are you doing?!"

A guttural scream tore from Callum's throat as he unleashed his power, shattering the chains into a fine dust that swirled around him like a glittering whirlwind.

Callum waved his hand through the shimmering cloud, his whisper filled with wonder.

"Stardust..."

He clenched his fist, and suddenly the dust in his grasp ignited, transforming into a serpentine form of golden light that soared away into the darkness.

"Held together by love..."

Understanding dawned on Callum like the first light of morning. He waved his hand again, this time fueled not by dark magic, but by the purest essence of his own being. With each decisive gesture, more luminous eel-like creatures burst into existence, trailing light in their wake.

They flew ahead, pulling the dust around them like a curtain drawn back to reveal a new path, beckoning Callum forward.

Callum felt a strange sensation, like a gentle tugging at his clothes. His grey uniform, the attire he had worn every day in his role as High Mage, began to disintegrate. It was as if the fabric itself was turning to dust, each particle caught up in the swirling maelstrom of light.

The dust of his old clothing was swept away, carried off into the void by the dancing sprites. But as it cleared, Callum realized he was not left bare. Instead, a new garment had taken its place, materializing as if woven from the very light that surrounded him.

It was a tunic of the purest gold, the fabric shimmering with an inner radiance. The cut was simple yet elegant, the lines of it emphasizing the lean strength of Callum's frame. The gold seemed to shift and change as he moved, as if it were alive, responding to his every breath and heartbeat.

Over this resplendent tunic, a cape of the purest white settled on his shoulders. It was weightless as a breath of air, yet Callum could feel the power in it.

Callum strode forward, purpose etched in every line of his face, his eyes fixed on the dark reflection that had haunted him for so long. "You were right," he said, his voice ringing with a newfound certainty. "You were always right. I have a destiny. But it's my destiny, and I get to choose what I do with it."

As the words left his lips, Dark Callum seemed to fold in on himself, his form crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. He fell to the cold stone floor, his body dissolving into a pile of dust. But instead of scattering on the non-existent wind, the dust began to move, to reshape itself, rising up and solidifying into a new form.

It was a sword, tall and proud, its blade as white as starlight. In the center of its hilt, a brilliant purple stone gleamed, pulsing with an inner fire.

The Nova Blade had appeared before him.

And behind it, rising up from the shadows like a dream made manifest, was a throne. Its spokes radiated outward like the points of a star, each one gleaming with a light that seemed to chase away the darkness.

Callum knew, with a certainty that resonated in his very bones, what he had to do. With a heavy heart, he reached out and grasped the sword's hilt, feeling the weight of it in his hand, the power that thrummed through its blade, then turned to face the waiting throne.

As he settled into the seat, the golden serpents that had guided his way transformed once more, becoming chains that wrapped around Callum and the throne, binding them together. Callum raised the sword, bringing its hilt to rest against his forehead. He closed his eyes, concentrating, drawing all the magical energy that swirled around him into the blade.

Callum raised the sword, bringing its hilt to rest against his forehead. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind, with his heart, with every fiber of his being. He drew the magical energy that swirled around him like a maelstrom, pulling it into himself, into the blade he held.

The power surged through him, filling him until he thought he might burst from the force of it. It gathered in the sword, in the stone that pulsed at its heart, until the blade shone like a captured star.

Callum took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled, long and slow. And as the breath left his body, so too did the power, released in a blinding conflagration that exploded outward, engulfing everything in its path.

The light was searing, all-consuming, chasing away every shadow, every trace of darkness. It filled the void, burning away the monochrome until all that was left was a pure, radiant white.

And thus, a Star was born.