One Word

"I'd made bargains I didn't understand, surrendered to forces I couldn't explain, and it turns out the universe was just waiting to see what I'd give up everything for."

The terrain between camp and lagoon had never felt longer.

Joel's weight shifted between us with each step—a tangible manifestation of everything we carried in our hearts. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft crunch of dust beneath our feet and the occasional grunt of exertion as we navigated the uneven ground. Paul and Kain bore most of Joel's weight now, their faces set with the grim determination of men carrying something precious toward an uncertain destination.

My own body protested with every stride. The wound on my chest throbbed its displeasure at the exertion, a dull counterpoint to the sharper pain of what I was watching—my son, limp and lifeless, being carried toward water that might be his salvation or simply the location of his final moments.

This has to work.

The thought was a mantra, a prayer, a desperate assertion against the reality of Joel's stillness.

Clivilius promised. New life. Surrender. This has to fucking work.

The lagoon appeared in the distance, its crystal waters catching the light in ways that seemed almost welcoming. The same lagoon where I'd surrendered to Clivilius's voice, where I'd offered myself in exchange for something I hadn't fully understood.

Now I understood.

Now I was bringing my son here, hoping that whatever bargain I'd struck would extend to him.

The moment the lagoon came into clear view, urgency overtook everything else.

I rushed ahead of the group, leaving Paul and Kain to manage Joel's body as I plunged toward the water. My feet hit the surface and immediately—immediately—the zing of sexual exhilaration shot through me. That familiar, jarring sensation that the lagoon always produced, racing up from my submerged legs with an intensity that would have been overwhelming under any other circumstances.

But not now. Not with Joel's life hanging in the balance.

I pushed the arousal aside through sheer force of will, filing it away in whatever compartment of my brain handled things that couldn't be addressed in moments of crisis. Later. I could process the strangeness later. Right now, there was only Joel.

I held his head with a gentleness that came from somewhere deeper than conscious thought—a paternal instinct I'd never had the chance to develop, suddenly present and fierce and absolutely certain. My hands cradled his skull as Kain and Paul carefully lowered his body into the water.

The cool embrace of the lagoon seemed to suspend us in a moment outside of time. A bubble of desperate hope amidst the crushing weight of reality.

"Make sure he is on his back." Glenda's voice cut through from the shore, her directive sharp with professional concern.

My eyes widened as Kain splashed into the water without hesitation—no pause to remove shoes, no tentative testing of temperature or depth. Just immediate, committed action that matched my own desperate resolve. The sight of him, fully invested in this mad gamble, strengthened something in my chest.

We weren't alone in this. Whatever happened, we faced it together.

"No!" I called out to Paul, catching his movement toward his shoelaces. "Kain and I have got him covered."

The words came out with a determination that surprised me. But beneath the practical excuse was something else—a protective instinct that extended beyond Joel to encompass Kain as well. My nephew would undoubtedly experience what the lagoon would inevitably trigger. The intense arousal, the overwhelming urges. He didn’t need an audience. Not like this.

I can't protect Joel from what's already happened to him. But I can spare Kain that particular humiliation.

Kain and I waded deeper into the lagoon, the water rising to envelop us with its surreal calm. Joel floated between us, his body buoyant in a way that seemed almost cooperative—as if the water itself wanted to cradle him, to hold him in its embrace.

"You sure?" Paul's voice carried across the water, tinged with concern and the frustration of being left on the shore.

"Certain." My reply was stronger than I felt, an echo of resolve thrown back toward the beach. There was no room for doubt. Not here. Not in these moments that felt suspended between the world I knew and something else entirely.

I motioned to Kain, signalling him to follow my lead further into the depths. The decision to keep our backs to Paul and Glenda was more than strategy—it was protection. Whatever happened in these waters needed to happen without the weight of their observation, their questions, their well-meaning interference.

The cool water reached our upper bodies, and I felt the lagoon's effects intensifying with every inch of additional immersion. The arousal was there, persistent and undeniable, but manageable. Compartmentalised. Filed away for later.

I glanced at Kain and saw his face contorting with discomfort—the first signs of the lagoon's influence taking hold.

"Just ignore it," I whispered quickly. "It'll pass."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. I knew it wouldn't pass. Knew that the overwhelming sexual desire the lagoon produced was unavoidable, inescapable, part of whatever strange bargain this place demanded. But Kain didn't need to know that. Not yet.

"It would be nice if they didn't keep their backs to us. I can't see much at all." Paul's voice carried across the water, laden with helplessness and the frustration of being excluded from whatever was unfolding.

From the corner of my eye, I caught Kain's glance—a silent question about whether we should turn, should include them, should offer some semblance of transparency.

I shook my head. The motion was barely perceptible, but Kain understood. His subtle nod confirmed our unspoken agreement: this moment belonged to us and Joel. Whatever miracle or madness was about to occur, it would happen in the private circle we'd created.

Then I saw it.

Speckles of faint glow began emerging from somewhere beneath the surface, drifting upward through the crystal water like bioluminescent stars ascending toward heaven. The ethereal display was unexpected and otherworldly—tiny points of light that seemed to pulse with purpose as they rose toward Joel's floating form.

My heart lurched.

The glow. My glow. From yesterday.

The realisation hit me with the force of revelation. What I'd released into this water during my moment of surrender—the physical manifestation of that surrender—was still here. Still active. Still carrying whatever properties Clivilius had imbued it with.

I watched, unblinking, as the luminescence intensified. The acceleration was mesmerising, a visual symphony that defied every law of nature I'd ever understood. The tiny glowing particles seemed drawn to Joel's body like iron filings to a magnet, converging on his still form with unmistakable intent.

How is this possible? How has it survived this long? How—

The questions dissolved as I witnessed the impossible.

The glow penetrated Joel's exposed flesh.

I watched it happen—watched my own essence, transformed by whatever magic or science governed this place, disappear into my son's skin as if called to a purpose far greater than I could fathom. The light seemed to sink into him, absorbed by his body, vanishing beneath the surface of his pale skin.

The air around us held its breath. The world paused.

And in that moment, standing on the precipice between despair and hope, between the known and the unknowable, I allowed myself to believe.

Joel gasped.

The sound was loud, sudden, violent—a desperate intake of air that shattered the crystalline silence and marked the beginning of something that shouldn't have been possible. His bright blue eyes flew open, vivid and alive, a stark contrast to the stillness that had claimed him just moments before.

"What's happening?" Glenda's voice from the shore was sharp with shock.

A smile spread across my face—broad, uncontrollable, born from a place of joy so profound it hurt. "He's breathing again!" I yelled back, my voice carrying triumph and relief and disbelief all tangled together.

Beside me, Kain stood frozen. His body was rigid, his face a mask of incomprehension as he tried to process what his eyes were showing him. Joel—dead Joel, throat-slit Joel, no-blood-left Joel—was alive. Breathing. His eyes open and tracking.

Then Joel's arms began to twitch—involuntary movements as his body struggled to adjust to its sudden return to function. The sight triggered immediate concern.

"Steady him." The instruction came out firm, focused. The last thing we needed was for Joel to swallow water in his vulnerable state, to survive resurrection only to drown in the lagoon that had saved him.

Kain's expression shifted from shock to determination. He pressed Joel's left arm against his belly and moved closer, his actions deliberate, ensuring Joel remained stable in the water.

"Just breathe gently. It's okay. You're okay." I found myself speaking directly to Joel now, my voice a calm presence in the chaos of his awakening. The words were more than comfort—they were a lifeline, a promise that he wasn't alone in this bewildering transition back to consciousness.

Gradually, Joel's breathing evened out. The ragged gasps smoothed into something steady, rhythmic. The panic that had clenched my heart began to ease, replaced by a profound relief and a sense of awe at what I was witnessing.

"He has blood now?" Kain's question was laden with surprise and incredulity. He looked up at me, searching for confirmation, for some explanation that could make sense of the miracle we'd just participated in.

"Of course he does." My response was flat, leaving no room for doubt. The impossible had become possible. Joel was alive. The details of how could wait.

When Joel's twitching finally ceased—his body calming from its initial shock—Kain cautiously released his arm. The gesture was a silent acknowledgment that the crisis had passed, that whatever dark threshold we'd been standing on had been stepped back from.

In the cool waters of the lagoon, we had witnessed rebirth.

As I held Joel gently in the water, a warm smile spread across my face. His bright blue eyes—my eyes—followed my every movement with an alertness that seemed impossible given what he'd been through.

"What's going on out there?" Glenda's voice carried concern and professional duty in equal measure. I could hear her removing her shoes, preparing to wade in and examine what she couldn't see from the shore.

"It's okay." My voice was steady, reassuring. "We've got it under control."

The decision to keep the full truth hidden was instinctive—a protective urge to shield this fragile moment from scrutiny and disbelief. Glenda didn't need to know about the glow. About what it meant. About the strange, impossible transaction that had just restored my son's life.

"But I really should examine him." Her dedication to her role as healer made her reluctant to stand by without offering expertise.

I didn't respond. Instead, I continued moving Joel through the water, focusing on the gentle motions that seemed to soothe us both. The lagoon had become a sanctuary—a haven from the storm of emotions and events that had brought us here.

Minutes passed. From the corner of my eye, I caught Paul and Glenda turning away, heading back toward camp. Their departure was unmarked by waves or farewells—just two figures retreating to process the day's impossible events in their own way.

Relief washed through me as they disappeared from view.

They don't need to stay. They don't need to see what happens next.

"I should probably leave too." Kain's voice was soft, reluctant, as he turned toward the shore. His words struck a chord of panic within me—the prospect of facing the aftermath alone suddenly more than I could bear.

"Kain, wait!" The words rushed out, desperate. "Please stay with me. Just for a while."

The request was more than a plea for companionship. It was an admission of vulnerability, of the need for support in the face of overwhelming emotion.

After a moment's hesitation, Kain slowly nodded.

"Thank you," I whispered, the gratitude sincere and profound.

Kain gasped.

His body tensed, his eyes closing tightly. The abruptness of his reaction caught me off guard—concern flooding through me as I tried to understand what was happening.

Is he okay? Is something wrong?

Then his entire body shuddered—a visible manifestation of something overwhelming taking hold. My heart raced, anxiety spiking as I watched my nephew struggle with whatever the lagoon was doing to him.

And then I understood.

"Get out of the fucking water!" The command tore from my throat, fear and protection surging through me in equal measure.

Kain's eyes flew open, wide with alarm. He scrambled onto the shore with movements that were hurried, almost frantic, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. His knees hit the soft dust of the shoreline as he collapsed forward.

I turned my gaze away, offering him whatever semblance of privacy was possible in this moment. But I couldn't suppress the grin that spread across my face as the air filled with Kain's loud, pleasurable moan—the kind of sound that spoke of overwhelming release, of the body being pushed past every threshold of sensation.

The thud of his body hitting the dust was distinct. Followed by another soft moan. The epitome of intoxicating bliss.

When silence finally descended, curiosity overcame my hesitation. I glanced toward Kain to find him lying on his back, apparently unconscious, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of what he'd experienced.

An unexpected laugh bubbled up from within me. "This lagoon is fucking insane," I remarked, half to myself, half to Joel.

Kain stirred, his hand coming up to shield his eyes from the sun. Propping himself into a sitting position, his voice carried confusion and awe. "What the hell just happened?"

"I'd say you've just had your first true orgasm." Another loud chuckle escaped me.

Kain looked away, embarrassed.

"You passed out," I explained, guiding Joel closer to the shore. "But don't worry. It was no more than a minute."

His cheeks flushed deep red, and he averted his gaze once more, as if seeking solace in the lagoon's mysterious expanse.

I sat on the rocky bank of the lagoon, my feet dangling in the water, balancing Joel carefully from underneath his back as he continued to float calmly.

"Consider yourself lucky the others had left already," I offered with a light-hearted smile, attempting to ease the tension.

Kain's hesitation was palpable as he ventured his question. "Is... Is this why you didn't let them come in?"

"Mostly," I admitted.

"Only mostly?" Kain pressed.

My brows knitted together as I considered how much to share. "I think it happens to all of us. But perhaps a little differently."

"How differently?"

"Well, sure, I've felt aroused in the lagoon. But nothing like you experienced." The confession came easier than expected—perhaps because Kain had already been forced into vulnerability, and it seemed only fair to reciprocate.

His eyebrow arched in surprise as he processed the information.

"Parts of the river seem to have a similar effect. Although very minor," I added, trying to provide context for the strangeness that permeated this place.

Kain's expression shifted to quizzical intrigue. "So," he began hesitantly, "how do you think this affects Joel?"

The question pierced the protective veil I'd unconsciously wrapped around the details of Joel's revival.

"Hmm." I murmured, buying time to think. Just how much should I be telling Kain?

Before I could formulate a response, Kain interjected. "It's okay. You don't have to explain, really."

His words offered reprieve, but something had shifted in me. If Kain was going to share personal moments—even unwillingly—it seemed only fair to return the favour. Besides, it felt good to have someone to talk to about it.

"You saw that glow in the water, didn't you?"

"Yeah. What was that? Looked like some sort of algae or something."

"It was sperm." I laughed lightly. "My sperm."

Kain's mouth dropped open. "What the fuck," he whispered. "But I saw it enter Joel's body. Through his skin!"

"Yeah." My voice carried wonder and confusion in equal measure. "I don't really understand it at all. But I think the water might have healing properties. See this scab on my chest?" I lifted my shirt to reveal the evidence.

Kain's gasp was sharp.

"Just yesterday this was a life-threatening welt. I probably would have died if not for this lagoon." A profound sense of gratitude washed over me. "And Glenda," I added quickly.

"Oh," Kain murmured softly.

"And what you saw today wasn't the first time."

"It wasn't?"

"No. I uh... I had a wank in the lagoon yesterday. As soon as I ejaculated, I noticed the glow immediately, so I assumed that's what it was."

Kain swallowed nervously. "So, that glow was still from yesterday?"

"I think so." My face screwed up with reflection. I had come down here with Duke earlier.

"What?" Kain prodded.

My nose scrunched. "Unless it was from someone else. But I'm pretty sure it was mine." The confidence in my voice was deliberate—it was what I needed to believe. Besides, Duke hadn't appeared the least bit affected by the lagoon. Not that I'd been paying close attention, but surely it would have been obvious.

"I should probably clean myself up," Kain announced, breaking the contemplative silence. He pushed himself to his feet, movements still slightly unsteady.

"Make sure you take the river. But stay close to the edge. It gets deep quickly and has a strong current."

"Sure thing."

"Hey, Kain?" I couldn't let him leave without saying something more. As he paused, turning with a swivel that kicked up short bursts of dust, I found the courage.

"I'm sorry you ended up here. But I'm glad we've got your help."

His response was a simple shrug—understated, but somehow meaningful. Then he turned and made his way toward the river, his figure gradually blending with the landscape until he disappeared around the bend.

"Looks like it's just the two of us now," I murmured to Joel.

My feet had begun to cramp from the awkward position on the rocky bank, so I allowed myself to slide back into the lagoon's soothing embrace. The water welcomed me, cool and calm, easing the discomfort that had been building.

Joel's response was subtle but unmistakable.

His eyes blinked. Three times in rapid succession.

My heart skipped.

"Did you just...?" The words trailed off, my voice a whisper of awe.

Then Joel's arm rose above the water—wet, dripping, impossibly alive. Each droplet that fell from his skin back to the lagoon caught the light like tiny diamonds, sparkling testaments to the miracle I was witnessing.

The warmth of his hand on my bare arm sent a jolt of emotion through me. His grip was tight, deliberate—a silent communication of presence, of return, of life reclaimed. It was a touch that conveyed more than words ever could.

"Dad."

Joel's voice was croaky, rough from disuse and whatever trauma his throat had endured. But the word was clear. Unmistakable.

Dad.

The sound of it—a sound I had feared I might never hear—was like a balm to every wound I carried. In that single word, spoken with such effort and yet such clarity, the world beyond seemed to fade into insignificance.

My son had called me Dad.

For the first time.

Tears I hadn't known were building spilled down my cheeks. Not tears of grief this time, but something else entirely. Joy. Relief. The overwhelming emotion of a father hearing his child's voice, of a bond finally acknowledged after eighteen years of ignorance.

"I'm here," I managed to say, my own voice cracking. "I'm here, Joel. I'm not going anywhere."

The lagoon held us both—father and son, connected at last, floating in waters that had given us this impossible second chance. Whatever mysteries Clivilius held, whatever bargains I'd made without fully understanding, this moment made all of it worthwhile.

Joel was alive.

Joel had called me Dad.

And in that moment, nothing else in any dimension mattered.