Page 88 of The Last Kelpie

He looked at me for a long moment. “I thought evolution meant betraying what I was, becoming something new to survive. But this isnae betrayal. It's just framing the old truth so it matters again.”

“Yes.”

“Water is still sacred. Desecration still deserves judgment. The world still needs guardians. It still needs me.” He pulled me close and pressed his forehead to mine. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For helping me see that I dinnae have to choose between truth and survival. That maybe they're the same thing.”

Chapter Thirty-One

The campaign shifted within hours.

I wrote Áedán's new story. Then Outreach Team sent it around the globe to all of Velasca's offices for distribution. Caelum had already given a blanket order to all Velasca's office that we were altering our approach from preservation to evolution. Áedán's case would set the course for a new way of helping myths. If it worked.

With this change came fresh ideas from other Velascans who'd been waiting for something like this to shake up the organization. The Velasca branched out. Not only did they publish online articles, but the Outreach Team also created a social media profile for Áedán and posted daily. Press releases were sent to folklore societies, Celtic studies departments, environmental organizations, climate activists, and news stations. Anyone who understood that water was more than a resource and could see the value in Áedán's story. The Velasca's network activated, spreading the narrative through academic channels, community organizations, and grassroots movements.

It worked better than every preservation campaign in the Velasca's history.

Within two weeks, the engagement was staggering. People published their own stories online, added Áedán's posts to their blogs, and shared them with friends. Áedán amassed over a million followers in a week. His posts went viral, and influencers took notice. There were gifs of water horses standing between men in hazmat suits and lakes. YouTube was full of videos about kelpies—from people wearing kelpiecore to cryptid hunters diving in lochs, searching for kelpies.

Folklorists were having a moment, and environmental organizations latched onto the guardian-of-sacred-waters angle. Someone created an infographic about kelpies as symbols of ecological accountability that went viral on three platforms. A climate scientist wrote an article connecting kelpie mythology to modern water-rights activism.

Áedán became more radiant every day. He stopped forgetting things. When we made love, he had to tamp down his magic, or the ribbons beneath his skin would blind me. I was certain we had won. We made love every night, laughing and kissing in our joy. We talked about the future.

Then the Editor struck back.

It started with a blog post. Someone claiming to be a folklore researcher presented “newly discovered“ historical documents that contradicted our narrative. He cited the altered books and uploaded edited pictures of old manuscripts.

People started saying that the guardian mythology was a recent invention. That the original kelpie myths had always portrayed them as malevolent creatures who drowned innocents for sport. That our version was revisionist history designed to make dangerous beings seem sympathetic. It was an influencer ploy. The Internet loves an underdog, but when that dog becomes an alpha, they love to watch him fall.

The Editor had turned the tables on us. He had used our own strategy against us. We held a meeting to discuss tactics.

“They're good,” Agnes said grimly. “Using the stories we sought to discredit to discredit us.”

Áedán stood at the window, watching rain streak the glass. “So what do we do?”

“It's time to hold the festivals,” I said. “We need to take you out among people.”

Caelum nodded slowly. “Velas's way. The way stories were always meant to spread. Through person-to-person interaction.”

“Yes, but also, we need to make Áedán real. With AI these days, people can create fake videos of people who don't exist. We need to prove that Áedán isn't just some AI garbage created to get clout.” I pulled out my notebook, already making lists. “We continue with the online campaign, disputing nothing. We are confident in our truth. When you fight back, you only look guilty. But we also go to communities. Hold festivals. We tell the story face-to-face. We let people hear it from Áedán himself. Let them feel his magic.”

Mei Lin opened her calendar book. “I already have several festivals in the works. Traditional Highland celebrations. Midsummer gatherings. I scheduled the first one for four days from now in Luss. I wanted us to begin at his home.”

“I'll create traveling exhibitions,” Eleanor said. “Bring the Archive to the people. Let them see the real manuscripts. Touch them if possible. Make it tangible. Show them that the new story stems from the old and all that other stuff is lies.”

Agnes nodded. “And we encourage communities to share their own memories. Their own stories about water guardians. Make it a collective remembrance to support the evolution.”

I looked at Áedán. “You'll need to be there. At every event we can get you to.”

He turned away from the window. “I can do that.”

“It won't be easy,” Julian warned. “You'll be exposed. Vulnerable. If the Editor wants to strike at you directly—”

“Let them try.” Áedán's voice took on a hard edge. “I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of fading. If this is how I survive, then I'll do it. And if they want to ambush me, they'll find me prepared.”

“We'll leave for Luss tonight,” Julian said.