Yesterday went by fairly quickly.

Night-time felt cozy, and for the first time in a long while… it felt peaceful. Truly.

Morning arrived the same way it always did. Sunlight filtered through the windows, warm and familiar. Breakfast, however, felt livelier than usual. Mom and Dad chatted animatedly about their work, about crops, about things I didn’t fully understand yet, and about my future.

I listened quietly while eating, content to let their voices fill the room.

Dad stretched his arms as he stood up. “Hmm~ I’m going to go check out the fields,” he said casually, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walked toward the door.

Mom and I nodded.

The door closed behind him with a soft thud.

The house settled into silence, not an uncomfortable one, but a familiar kind. Mom began clearing the table, humming softly under her breath.

I finished my food and stood up. “I’m going outside for a bit,” I said.

Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t go too far,” she replied without hesitation.

I nodded again. And just like that, I was alone. 

I stepped outside, the cool morning air brushing against my face. The village was already awake. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys, mingling with the scent of damp earth and freshly baked bread. I walked along the familiar paths without a destination in mind. Every step felt lighter than usual. Maybe it was the calm. Maybe it was the quiet confidence that came with time passing, with control finally settling into my bones.

Villagers greeted me as I passed. Some smiled. Others nodded, busy with their own routines. To them, I was just

Kairon, the farmer’s son. Nothing more. 

And that’s how it should stay. 

I wandered closer to the edge of the village, where wooden houses gave way to open land. The air changed; there was less smoke, more wind. The grass swayed gently, and beyond it, the fields stretched endlessly under the morning sun. 

I walked further towards the open stretch near the farmlands. The dirt path was familiar beneath my feet, worn smooth by years of villagers passing through. Everything felt…ordinary. 

Too ordinary. 

I stopped near the edge of the fields, watching a group of children playing not too far away. They were older than I; some were five years old, some six…that’s if you don’t include my past life. 

They chased each other through the grass, laughter carrying easily in the open air. One of them tripped, tumbling forward, only to be pulled back up by others. 

I smiled faintly. This is what peace looked like. 

My gaze drifted beyond them—to the tree line bordering the fields. It stood still, dark and quiet, like it always had. But something felt…off. The wind didn’t reach that far. The leaves barely moved. 

My core shifted. Not violently. Not urgently. 

Just…aware. I frowned. Pressing a hand lightly against my chest. Don’t overthink it, I told myself. You’ve been doing that a lot lately. 

Still, my eyes didn’t leave the tree. A moment later, birds rose from the trees, flying and chirping as if they were being attacked. 

“…that’s strange,” I murmured under my breath. 

I was snapped out of my daze when a scream reached my ears. My head snapped toward the source. 

A boy had fallen hard, clutching his leg, his face twisted as the others crowded around him in panic. Blood seeped through torn fabric, staining the grass beneath him. 

Villagers nearby began to notice. People started running. And suddenly, the peace felt thin. Fragile. 

The boy cried in pain, and other children ran away, leaving the kid there with an injured leg.

The bushes at the edge of the field trembled. At first, I thought it was just the wind…until the leaves were pushed aside from within. 

Something crawled out. 

It was low to the ground, its body long and uneven, as if it had been stitched together from mismatched parts. Dull, grayish hide clung tightly to its frame, cracked in places like dried mud. Its limbs bent at unnatural angles, joints popping softly as it moved.

Its head was the worst part. 

It was low to the ground. Too elongated. A jaw that opened wider than it should have, lined with uneven teeth stained dark, as if they’d never been clean. No eyes—only shallow, pulsing hollows that seemed to sense rather than see. 

When it inhaled, the air around it wrapped slightly. The grass beneath its claws wilted. A low sound escaped its throat, not a roar, but a grinding rasp, like stone dragged against stone.

A beast, it was a weak one by classification. But here—this close to the village—it might as well have been a nightmare. 

My core reacted instantly. 

My body grew warm as fire flickered faintly in my veins; it was eager to be let out. I took a step forward, my face hardening as I glared at the beast. 

Flame formed around my finger, waiting for me to command it. 

“You shouldn’t use your powers in front of others. Not until you’re ready.” Mother’s words rang in my mind. She warned me not to do anything; I have to stay hidden.

I clenched my fists. I could kill it. That thought came easily. Too easily.

One step forward was all it would take. 

But the moment I move, every pair of eyes would turn toward me. And then…there would be no going back.

The beast was close to the kid, with thick saliva dripping from its mouth. The child was frozen. Too scared to scream. Too frightened to run. His small hands trembled as he stumbled backward, heel catching on a stone, sending him down hard onto the ground, but the beast only leaned closer, its malformed jaw creaking as it opened wider. 

The world felt unbearably quiet. 

No one moved. The villagers stood at a distance, rooted by fear and helplessness. A shout died in someone’s throat. My gaze drifted towards a mother who clutched her child to her chest and turned away. Anyone with a second-phase core could kill this beast…but they were too scared to do it, they weren’t soldiers…just villagers. And they all knew someone would die, and none of them could stop it.

A low growl rolled from the beast’s throat. Not loud. Not aggressive. Almost pleased. One clawed foot stepped forward, sinking into the earth with a dull crunch. Then another. It wasn’t rushing, because why would it? Prey that couldn’t run wasn’t prey anymore. It was already food.

My fingers curled into fists. I could feel my eidra stir, responding to my pulse. Wind gathered instinctively, tugging at my clothes. The ground beneath me felt dense, heavy, waiting. All it would take was one step. One thought. I could crush the beast into dirt before it ever touched him. 

Don’t. Mom’s voice echoed in my head. Stay hidden… Damn it! Frustration took root in me. 

I could only watch as the boy whimpered, finally finding his voice. A weak sound, barely louder than the rustle of leaves. The beast reacted instantly, head snapping toward him, jaw stretched wider than it should have been. Saliva spilled freely now, splattering onto the dirt inches from the child’s hand. 

Someone screamed. Not the boy. But an adult, it broke the silence like glass—but it didn’t save him. 

The beast reared back, muscles coiling, preparing to strike. Time seemed to slow, every detail burning itself into my vision: the quiver in the child’s shoulders, the glint of teeth, the shadow falling over him. 

I took a step forward. 

The air shifted. 

Not from me. 

From somewhere else. 

A pressure swept through the clearing—sharp, focused, controlled. The beast stiffened, its head jerked upward as if it had sensed something it shouldn’t have.

Then—

Thud

The body dropped. 

The beast didn’t hit the ground whole. Its head rolled first, carving a shallow groove through the dirt before stopping at the boy’s feet. The body followed a heartbeat later, collapsing in on itself as a puppet with its strings cut. The ground was stained crimson from its blood.

No roar, struggle, or final twitch. It just…ended. 

A man stood behind it. 

I hadn’t heard him approach. Hadn’t sensed him. It was as if he’d simply decided to exist there. His blade—short, plain, and stained dark—hung loosely at his side, already clean of blood as if the kill hadn’t even been worth acknowledging.

He looked at the corpse once. “Took too long,” he said flatly. 

The boy stared, frozen, unable to scream or move. The man crouched beside him and placed two fingers against the child’s wrist, checking his pulse. Satisfied, he stood again. 

“Run home,” he said. Not unkindly. Not gentle. Just final. 

The child didn’t hesitate. He scrambled to his feet and ran towards his parents. 

The man turned fully now.

He was tall, with long, cream-toned hair that fell straight down his back, barely stirring in the breeze. His ears tapered sharply, unmistakable. An elf. His blue eyes were clear and cold, like a winter sky that didn’t care who stood beneath it.

His gaze settled on me. And for the first time since he arrived…something changed. He stared at me for a while, his gaze locked on where my core was.

His brow twitched. Barely, but I saw it. “…No,” he muttered under his breath. 

The pressure in the air shifted. Subtle, but deliberate. He wasn’t releasing his power—he was measuring. Probing. His eyes sharpened, no longer dismissive.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade.  “Second phase…” he said slowly, disbelief threading through his voice. “No—almost third.” 

Silence stretched. 

“That’s impossible.” Disbelief was laced in his voice. 

My chest tightened. I hadn’t moved. Hadn’t drawn my eidra. And yet, he could see through me like I was made of glass. 

“You’re too young,” he continued, eyes narrowing. “A child like you should still be forming a core. Not standing here with one that’s already—”

The world shattered. The wind screamed. The ground cracked beneath my feet as a presence slammed into the space between us, violent and absolute. I staggered back, heart leaping into my throat.

Mom stood there. Her hair swayed in the wind that was being gathered around her. A green glow was wrapped around her body, eyes glowing green. 

She hadn’t arrived—she had appeared, as if distance had simply failed to apply to her. Her eidra flared instinctively, sharp and restrained, a storm locked behind iron control. 

Her eyes burned as they locked onto the elf. “Step away from my son.” 

The elf froze. It wasn’t because she told him to. But because he recognized her. 

“…Amilia Vael,” he said quietly. The way he spoke her name wasn’t casual. It was cautious.

The elf lowered his blade. Not fully. Just enough to show he wasn’t attacking. 

Then—slowly—he inclined his head. It wasn’t a bow of loyalty, nor respect. It was recognition. “Amilia Vael,” he repeated, his voice even. “I didn’t expect to find you here.” 

Her stance didn’t change. She stepped in front of me without looking back, placing herself squarely between us. The pressure in the air sharpened, her eidra tightening like a drawn blade.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said. 

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Not amused. Thoughtful. “Neither should that child.” 

Her gaze darkened. “Leave.” 

My heart slammed against my ribcage. For a moment, the two of them stood still. Two predators measuring distance, timing, and consequences. The elf’s eyes flicked past her, briefly, toward me again. I could almost hear his thoughts, second phase. Nearly third. A child. 

“…This won’t stay hidden,” he said quietly. “Not with a core like that. Not for long.” 

Mom’s fingers twitched. “I’ll handle it,” she replied, voice cold. “As I always have.” 

The elf straightened. “I hope you do.” His eyes lingered on me one last time. “For his sake.”

Then the wind shifted. 

One step and he was gone. No flash, no sound. Just absence, as if he had never been there at all. The forest exhaled. 

Only then did Mom turn to me. She knelt in front of me, her hands settling on my shoulders. They were warm and steady. But I could feel the tension she hadn’t let go of yet.

“…You shouldn’t wander this far alone,” she said softly, and that was it, no shouting, no panic, just that. 

I lowered my head. “I know.” 

Her grip tightened for a second, then loosened. She sighed, brushing a stray lock from my face. “You’re not in trouble,” she said, as if reading my thoughts. “But you can’t be careless. Not anymore.” 

I nodded again, slower this time. 

Her eyes searched me, my core, my breathing, the way my eidra settled back into place. Only when she was satisfied did she straighten up. 

“Let’s go home,” she said, holding my hand. “Your father will be back soon.” 

As we walked, the forest felt quieter than before. Too quiet. The place where the beast had fallen was already being reclaimed by the wind and leaves. The beast had withered away after being slain. 

It was done in a single strike. No hesitation. No mercy. And the way that elf looked at me—like I wasn’t just a child who’d wandered too far. 

As the house came into view, I realized something unsettling. This wasn’t the first time I’d been noticed. And it wouldn’t be the last.