Orca

Orca

The ferry horn moans in the distance as you find the medallion lodged in a chunk of driftwood at the edge of a rocky inlet. You brush sand from its bronze face—and the sky blinks.

No, not the sky. A dorsal fin. Then another. Then silence.

Then—

“TA-DA!”

An orca erupts from the water in a dramatic breach, lands with a thunderous splash, and vanishes again.

You wait.

A beat.

Another beat.

Then, with an elegant swirl and a triumphant trumpet of bubbles, the orca reemerges, floating just offshore like a star awaiting applause.

“You may begin gasping now,” he says. “I’ll wait.”

“Uh… hello?”

“Oh good, you’re not just standing there gaping. Always a risk with landfolk.” He swishes in place. “Name’s Oberon. No relation to fairy kings, but I am the maestro of the Midnight Tides Revue. Opening act, closing act, and intermission entertainment. You’re welcome.”

You blink. “There’s… a revue?”

“Of course!” Oberon beams. “We’ve got seal duets, porpoise pirouettes, and the humpback herself humming harmonies that’ll make a rock blush.”

He leans in, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. “Though between you and me, Sea Lion still doesn’t know his key. Embarrassing.”

You try to ask your question, but he cuts in with a splash of his tail.

“Let me guess! ‘Why is this happening?’ ‘What do the medallions mean?’ ‘Why mammals and not, say, starfish with interpretive dance potential?’”

“Well, I—”

He gives a mock gasp. “Darling, please. The medallions are portals of possibility! Invitations to rejoin the grand production! For so long, we’ve sung solo in the dark—now? We’re tuning up for something big. Bigger than fish. Bigger than whales. Bigger than you, even. No offense.”

“None taken… I think.”

Oberon circles lazily, then sighs with theatrical weight.

“Truth is, I don’t know what happens when they’re all found. But I do know this: when the final medallion hums and the curtain rises, the world won’t go back to whispers. It’ll roar.”

He winks. “And I intend to have a spotlight.”

As the tide pulls him gently away, he offers a final flourish of fins.

“Now go, darling. Find your stage. Just—if you see the raccoon, don’t lend him chalk. Trust me.”

And with a spin and a splash, the ocean closes around him like velvet after a show.