The village of Vel Enar slept beneath a veiled sky, cradled by the floating mountains of Ael'Niryn, where the sun rose in spirals of gold and blue.
The air smelled of damp moss, cold ash… and magic.
Here, in the deep lands of Nysereth, magic was no rarity.
It lived in every stone, every leaf, every child's breath.
They called it Ezrath, an ancient force that everyone learned to feel from their very first cry.
And that morning, a child was crying.
In a small house of white wood and gray stone, a newborn squirmed in his cradle, fists clenched, cheeks red.
He had kept his eyes open since birth. Always. As if he refused to blink, afraid to miss something.
Eyes of clear gray, deep as an endless night. Unusual. Troubled.
"Awake again?" a soft voice murmured.
A woman stepped into the room, barefoot, wearing a simple blue linen dress tied at the waist.
Her skin was pale, lightly dusted with freckles. Her hair, deep black with bluish highlights, cascaded down her back.
Her face held the gentleness of a winter morning: calm, quiet, but firm. Moss-green eyes shimmered with mischief.
Lirien Varion, his adoptive mother.
Village healer. A respected woman.
And as tender as the autumn wind.
She knelt beside the cradle and extended her hand. Instantly, the newborn stopped crying.
"You can feel it, can't you?" she whispered. "Ezrath is flowing too strongly this morning… It's dancing around you."
She lifted him into her arms with a tenderness that felt almost sacred — as if she were holding more than just a child.
And perhaps… she was.
Because even in a world where every being is born bound to Ezrath, this baby had something… else.
Something invisible. Dormant.
Something broken.
In the kitchen, a man with the build of a bear was rinsing ash from his hands, his beard unruly, hair tied back in a low tail.
His sun-tanned skin smelled of fire, wood, and hard work. A large scar split his lower lip — a relic of an old duel.
But his sky-blue eyes glowed with a comforting warmth.
Deren Varion, the father.
A blacksmith, former protector of the border city Myral'Tarn.
Now, father to a silent and strange newborn.
"Still awake at this hour? He's draining the house's energy, that one!" he joked, leaning in to kiss the child's forehead.
"He's probably hungry. Or maybe… he feels something," Lirien replied, gaze distant.
"He's not like the others," Deren said, leaning against the wall. "He doesn't cry at night. He stares — at you, at me, at the fire, the moon. It's like…"
"…he's observing," Lirien murmured. "As if he remembers."
They fell silent for a moment.
The newborn reached a hand toward the ceiling, where particles of light gently danced.
Ezrath pulsed around him — slowly… harmoniously.
Too harmoniously for a child only a few weeks old.
Then a storm burst into the room — barefoot, laughing, hair tousled.
"He's still awake, huh?! I bet he's training to spy on me while I sleep!"
The bright, lively voice belonged to a girl of about eight years.
She had inherited her mother's black hair, but her father's blue eyes — feline in their intensity.
Tall for her age, she already carried herself with confidence, her steps light, her movements precise.
Elaia Varion, big sister.
Explosive, sharp-minded, and… prodigious.
At only eight years old, she had already mastered the first three flows of Ezrath — a feat rare even among adults.
But that wasn't what made Elaia special.
It was the connection she had… with Kael.
She looked at him as though he were a missing piece of her own being. Not just a brother. Not only that.
Like a mirror. A promise.
"See, little brother? I told you! The world's way too amazing to sleep through!"
She leaned over the cradle.
Kael let out a tiny sound — almost a muffled laugh.
A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes.
"He smiled at me! Did you see that?!"
Deren laughed, while Lirien shook her head with a smile.
"You're going to make him even more mischievous than you…"
"Too late! I felt a flicker of Ezrath in him earlier. He copied me when I lit the lantern. He's learning! Watching us! I told you he's spying on me!"
The joy in her voice made the walls vibrate.
Kael, in his mother's arms, seemed to absorb every word, every sound… as if it were all both strange and familiar.
Outside, the morning mist rose over golden fields.
Stones hovered gently above the ground, held aloft by the world's own energy.
Ezrath fireflies floated like stars fallen from the sky.
Children's laughter. Songs. Bursts of life.
The world of Nysereth was alive. Intense.
And Kael had just been born into it.
But deep within him…
Something ancient, something dark,
was watching.
Not a memory.
Not a voice.
An echo.
A warning.
End of Chapter 1